🔞 R+ Rated | Themes include psychological seduction, sensory memory trauma, stylized sensuality, and the power of desire when wielded like a weapon. For adult readers only (18+). Discretion advised.
The Archive didn't say Velthar's name.
It shuddered it.
Like a moan caught between resistance and memory.
Like a bruise that begged to be touched, just to know it still existed.
And Letha—
Letha heard him in her bones.
Not in voice.
Not in words.
In sensation.
The way her skin tingled when no one was near.
The way her breath hitched when no one had touched her.
The way her thighs pressed together during sleep, uninvited.
Letha (to herself): "You're not real. You're not here."
But the ache?
It told her otherwise.
Selence tried.
She sat behind her, ran fingers through Letha's hair, whispered grounding truths into her ear like a prayer written in patience.
Selence: "You're here. I see you. I want only what you give."
And for a moment—
That helped.
But when night fell?
Letha's fingers moved without permission.
Traced her own ribs.
Paused at her breast.
Then lower.
And every time she gasped—
She felt him smile.
Letha (sobbing): "It feels good. It shouldn't feel good."
Selence: "Then it's not your fault. It's what he left in you."
Letha: "He's inside my memory like it's a script."
Selence: "Then we write over him. Together."
Far above, Syra stood at the edge of the Skywell — watching a ribbon of corrupted Archive text slither through the air.
It didn't speak.
It invited.
Curved like a spine arched in surrender.
And Syra—
She felt it.
Heat.
Longing.
A need that wasn't hers.
Syra: "Velthar…"
Auryne (emerging behind her): "You remember him?"
Syra (flat): "I don't need to. He's writing his name in everyone else."
That night, Letha slipped away from Selence.
She walked naked into the Grove of Echoes, where voices murmured back only what you wanted to hear.
And she let herself fall to her knees, palms open, thighs parted—
Letha: "I give it back. Take it."
The air shifted.
And he came.
Not in form.
In sensation.
A mouth against her neck that wasn't there.
A tongue across her thigh that she never let in.
A pressure between her legs that made her sob from pleasure.
Letha (whispers): "I hate you."
"You love what I made you feel."
Syra found her like that.
Collapsed.
Panting.
Eyes wide.
No one touching her—
But her skin still shivering.
Syra: "Letha—"
Letha: "I didn't stop it. I wanted it. I… I came, Syra. From a memory."
Syra (kneeling): "No. You were rewritten. But you can still write back."
Letha: "He's deeper than my voice. He's in my nerves."
Syra looked at her.
Looked at the space around her—
And felt it too.
A hand on her thigh.
A voice at her ear.
"You've never been touched properly, have you, Syra?"
She snarled.
Syra: "Get out."
"You're strong enough to command armies, but not strong enough to beg for touch."
Syra (to Letha): "Let me in. I can pull him out."
Letha (barely audible): "You'll drown."
Syra: "Then hold my hand while I do it."
Syra pressed her forehead to Letha's.
Their minds touched.
And Velthar's presence swallowed her.
It wasn't darkness.
It was sensation.
A thousand phantom hands.
Mouths speaking her name like worship.
Tongues teasing, testing, tempting—
"You're not cold. You're unclaimed."
"Let me write desire into your bones."
She shook.
Not from fear.
From heat.
Real. Dangerous. Seductive.
She could give in.
Take it.
Feel everything she'd denied herself.
But then—
Letha's hand gripped hers.
And Selence's voice whispered from behind:
Selence: "You don't have to want it to prove you're whole."
And Syra—
She roared.
Not a scream.
A command.
Syra: "Your name ends here."
And with that, the pleasure turned to ash.
The phantom touch became hollow.
And the presence of Velthar shattered like a climax denied—
Furious.
But gone.
They collapsed together.
Breathing hard.
Letha sobbing into Syra's shoulder.
Selence behind them, crying too.
Not for fear.
For relief.
Letha: "He's gone?"
Syra: "He'll come back. But next time… we'll be ready."
Selence: "Next time, he won't find an opening."
The Archive trembled.
Far below, in the Crypt of Erased Names…
a single syllable burned itself back onto a forbidden scroll.
Velthar
And beneath it, one more line appeared.
Not a command.
A warning:
"You may forget the voice… but the body remembers."
End of Chapter 37 – Velthar's Touch Never Ends
Letha relives pleasure placed in her by a presence long erased. Syra risks her own self to break the link, but Velthar's power isn't gone — it's hiding in the space between want and memory.