Golden Thread and Mithril - Quill of Chaos

Chapter 1: The Clash of Scholar and Seamstress

Nakoxia's robe was torn.

Not just an ordinary tear; the entire cuff had been eaten through by acid, exposing pale white skin still dotted with a few burn marks. He stood vexed in the center of the laboratory, a toppled test-tube rack at his feet, the room thick with the acrid stench of sulfuric acid and scorched metal.

Nakoxia clenched his fists, a cold flame, glaring fiercely at the chaos before him.

"Damn it." His curse was low and hoarse, bearing the restraint characteristic of a scholar. In the instant of the explosion, he had shielded the reagent bottle but neglected himself. The Scholarly Sect's youngest and most brilliant professor always prioritized experimental results over his own safety. He rubbed his brow, trying to tally the losses: a month's painstaking work, half a bottle of meteor solution, and this robe.

The only decent piece of formal wear he owned.

He needed it repaired. Immediately.

Tomorrow was the academic conference jointly held by the Scholarly Sect and the Council. He could not face those arrogant noble sponsors dressed in rags.

The problem was, he didn't even know how to thread a needle.

Nakoxia's gaze swept across the laboratory, stopping at a gold candlestick in the corner, engraved with a cursive name, its wax tears congealed like scars. It had been a congratulatory gift from a fellow Goldborne of the highest wealthy stratum, sent out of politeness when Nakoxia was promoted to full professor. If he remembered correctly, the name was Aglaea. Renowned for her seamstress craft, a designer who could command many Clothiers; it was said her needle and thread could transform rags into immortal art.

"No choice." The professor gritted his teeth, wrapped his wounds hastily in bandages, pushed open the laboratory door, and stepped into the night.

Aglaea's atelier was located in Okhema's bustling commercial district, a great distance from Nakoxia's laboratory. Her residence was like a bas-relief palace. Behind vine-entwined golden iron gates, lights blazed, and the faint sounds of velvet laughter mingled with the clink of wine glasses drifted out.

Nakoxia stood before the gate, thinly clad, the very picture of a shabby scholar. He knocked. The clang of the iron ring striking the door was piercing in the deep night.

The door opened.

A handmaid in a satin gown glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Whom are you seeking?"

"Aglaea."

Nakoxia's voice was cold and hard, edged with an undeniable sharpness. "I have urgent business."

The handmaid looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the tattered cuff with a hint of mockery tugging at her lips. "The Lady is receiving distinguished guests. I'm afraid…"

"Tell her," Nakoxia cut her off, a pinpoint of red light burning at the center of his ice-blue eyes, "that Anaxagoras, a fellow Goldborne and professor of the Divine Enlightenment Tree Court, urgently requires a robe repair. If she doesn't wish to miss out on business, she'd best not keep me waiting."

The handmaid hesitated, overwhelmed by his presence, then immediately turned and went inside to announce him.

Nakoxia stood quietly outside the gate. A breeze passed, and the tear in his robe seemed to mock his wretched state.

He caught a wisp of ethereal fragrance, like roses mingled with incense, romantic yet invasive, unsettling his nerves. It was the pheromones of a top-tier Alpha, overbearing and unrestrained, the scent nearly saturating the entire courtyard. He frowned, realizing the smell emanated from the heart of the residence.

"Come in, Professor." The handmaid returned, her tone grudging. "The Mistress will see you."

The atelier was on the mansion's top floor. It was less a workshop than a temple of the senses. Tapestries embroidered with Gold Thread hung on the walls, crystal lamplight swayed, shimmering against the silks and pearls on the tables, all blending into an extravagant dream.

Aglaea reclined on a mahogany chaise lounge, a long needle in her hand, passing it through flannel woven from flame-spider silk. The needle tip glittered like a star. Her golden hair curled softly at her collarbones, intricately turned inward to reveal a stretch of long, graceful neck. Her full, high breasts were wrapped in an ivory-white, low-cut, backless gown, and her impossibly long legs were crossed with elegant poise, like the most alluring of traps.

"Professor. A late-night visit. What a rare guest."

Her voice was low and soft, tinged with curiosity, but her gaze never left the needle and thread in her hands. "I heard your robe encountered a bit of... trouble?"

Nakoxia stood frozen at the doorway, his hand pressed against the firearm at his waist, refusing to enter. He felt an invisible pressure, like approaching a dangerous beast's lair. Aglaea's pheromones had intensified; the scent of burning roses coiled toward him, attempting to infiltrate his consciousness. He clenched his jaw. His Omega instincts heightened his alertness, resisting any step into a strange Alpha's domain.

"It's no minor trouble," he said coldly. "It's an emergency. I need this robe to wear tomorrow."

Aglaea finally looked up. Her eyes swept over his entire body and stopped at the torn sleeve, a smile curling at the corner of her lips. "Oh, poor scholar. Did your laboratory explode? Or did some acid steal a kiss?"

She rose, her skirt flowing like water, and walked slowly closer. "Let me see."

Nakoxia stiffened. She was too close. Her scent hit him like a wave of heat, disrupting his breathing. He instinctively stepped back but came up against the door frame behind him.

"Don't get too close." His voice was low, carrying a warning.

Aglaea halted, her smile deepening. "Is the Professor shy? Or... afraid?"

She tilted her head, the exceedingly long silver needle spinning deftly between her fingers. The tip whirled at high speed before stopping abruptly, aimed at Nakoxia's chest. "I just want to examine the robe, Professor. No need to be nervous."

Nakoxia glared at her, anger burning in his eyes. He removed his outer robe and handed it over, left in only a thin shirt. He stood there stiffly. "Fix it. Name your price."

Aglaea took the robe, her fingertips gliding over the tear as she let out a soft tut. "Eaten through by acid. Charred edges. The sleeve is practically ruined." She lifted her eyes, her gaze lingering on the Professor's bare, tender upper arm with undisguised scrutiny. "That elegantly lined arm of yours is worth more than the robe."

"Spare me the chatter." Nakoxia's cheeks warmed. He crossed his arms, trying to hide his unease. "If you can fix it, fix it. If not, I'm going back to the lab."

"No need to rush."

The tall Aglaea turned and walked back toward her worktable with a queenly air, spreading the robe out. She picked up a spool of Gold Thread, which glittered like liquid starlight in the candlelight. "This robe is an old style. The fabric is hardly of any quality, unworthy of someone as brilliant in academia as you." She cast the Professor a deep glance, her tone teasing. "I can give it a rebirth. But I have a condition."

"What condition?" Nakoxia's voice was as cold as a blade.

"Take off that thin shirt. Let me take your measurements." A glint of cunning flashed in Aglaea's eyes. "I need to ensure that once repaired, it will conform smoothly to your form, fitting like a second skin, so comfortable you'll be... reluctant to take it off. You know, I have many repeat customers."

Nakoxia's fists clenched.

He knew this was a trap. Aglaea's smile was too dangerous, like an invitation to step into a swamp. But he had no time to find another seamstress. The conference's sponsorships were crucial to his laboratory's survival.

"Then take them." He gritted his teeth and unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time.

The process of being measured was a torment.

Aglaea's fingertips glided over the Professor's bare shoulder blades, nipples, navel, hip bones. Every touch ignited a spark. Nakoxia stood ramrod straight, his gaze fixed on a tapestry on the wall, trying to distract himself with formulas: the melting point of meteors, the concentration of acid, the energy release of explosions... but Aglaea's pheromones were pervasive. The scent of roses and incense drilled into his nasal passages, disrupting his reason.

"Relax, Professor." Aglaea's voice echoed just behind Nakoxia's ear, her warm breath making his scalp tingle until it felt as though his hair roots might detonate.

"You're as stiff as a stone tablet. How can I get an accurate measurement?"

"You're doing this on purpose." Nakoxia growled, red light flickering in his pale blue eyes. "Don't toy with me."

"Toy with you?" Aglaea narrowed her eyes in a soft laugh, stepping back. The silver needle glinted between her fingers. "I'm simply taking professional measurements. You and your wildly imaginative Omega mind. Your pheromones, however, are quite pleasant." She sniffed the air without a shred of subtlety, a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Like ice-cold peppermint, hiding a little lemon balm."

Nakoxia's face instantly reddened.

He had always taken suppressants, keeping his scent at an imperceptible concentration. Never in his life had he been so starkly analyzed, his most private realm laid bare. He snatched up his shirt from the floor, ready to turn and leave.

But Aglaea seized his wrist in one swift motion.

"Oh, don't rush off."

Her grip was not forceful, but nor was it something he could easily slip. Nakoxia found himself unable to move. Her gaze locked onto the Professor like a butcher eyeing a plucked animal ready for slaughter. "The robe isn't mended yet. Do you intend to walk out bare-chested? There are many Alpha clients waiting downstairs. Every one of their orders is ahead of yours."

Nakoxia was panting, trying to break free, but found her fingers clamped down like an eagle's talons. "Let go."

His voice trembled, not from fear, but from some more dangerous emotion. He smelled his own long-suppressed pheromones beginning to escape. The rational scent of peppermint wafted out, intertwining with her romantic rose, their strange combination making him dizzy.

"Interesting."

Aglaea opened her gorgeous, fervent eyes wide and leaned close to the Professor, the tip of her nose nearly touching the scent gland on his neck. "Truly a lovely fragrance."

"The Professor's skin is softer than silk. But that sharp little mouth of yours is as hard as a mathematical formula."

She lifted her other hand, her fingertip gently tracing his jaw, leaving a cool, shadowy sensation in its wake. "I'm guessing you've never been kissed before. Am I right?"

Nakoxia's pupils contracted sharply. "You wouldn't dare…"

Before he could finish, Aglaea's lips covered his mouth, which was poised to curse her.

It was no light kiss. It was a plundering. Possessed of the Alpha's domineering quality and the scorching heat of incense. Her slick tongue pried open the Professor's teeth, throwing his breath into chaos. The pheromones in her saliva flooded in, burning Nakoxia's cheeks crimson, leaving his mind blank.

Nakoxia froze. His hands pushed against Aglaea's smooth shoulders but found no strength. His heart pounded like a war drum, his chest heaving. His Omega instincts nearly made him submit.

One long second. Two. Three.

Aglaea withdrew with polite grace, lifting the corners of her mouth in a triumphant smile. "A good taste."

She licked the corner of her lips. "Better than I imagined."

Nakoxia panted, fury and shame burning in his eyes. "You... you have no shame!"

He shoved Aglaea violently, stumbling backward and knocking over a delicate stool. "Snatching a customer's first kiss, is this the business you excel at?"

Aglaea maintained her elegant demeanor and shrugged, watching Nakoxia as he wiped his mouth repeatedly, entirely unbothered. "Business is business. In the clothing world, I am indeed very capable. Pleasure... is pleasure. I am equally skilled at seeking pleasure." She turned silkily, picked up the Gold Thread and the robe, and sat back down at the worktable. "The robe will be repaired tonight and delivered to your laboratory first thing tomorrow morning. The original fee would have been one hundred and fifty gold coins, doubled for a rush order cutting the line. But this time, considering the Professor has supplied his first kiss, the charge is waived."

Nakoxia glared at her, his fists trembling. He wanted to curse her, wanted to slam the door and leave, but reason told him he needed this robe. Aglaea's fees were far steeper than he had imagined. Truth be told, if he tallied everything he owned, even if he sold that firearm too, Nakoxia still could not scrape together fifty gold coins. He drew a deep breath, suppressing his emotions. "Fix it. And no more tricks."

"As you wish, Cute Professor."

Aglaea lowered her head and smiled, her silver needle threading through the fabric with focused, dance-like speed. Beneath the crystal lamp, her golden hair shimmered with a dim light, like an untamed divine beast.

Nakoxia, as if offended by the word "cute," threw on his thin shirt at top speed, turned, pushed open the door, and fled with quickened steps.

Hurrying through the night-shrouded courtyard, his face still burned like fire. He touched his lips, which had been fiercely kissed, still stained with her scent. Roses and incense. So strong it made his heart palpitate.

Nakoxia's pheromones were still leaking. The coolness of peppermint drifted faintly around him, carrying a hint of sweet lemon he refused to acknowledge.

"Dealing with people is such a troublesome affair."

Nakoxia murmured to himself, "At least mathematical formulas don't mock me."

A trace of vulnerability flickered in his pale blue eyes. Starlight spilled over the road as he made his way home alone. The world was so profoundly still, like the final blank space left at the end of a poem.

The next morning, a satin gift box tied with an enormous golden bow sat outside the laboratory door. Nakoxia opened it. Inside was the repaired robe. The cuff was densely embroidered with Gold Thread, fine and resplendent as a galaxy, the tear vanished without a trace. He stroked the fabric. Smooth as a second skin, yet faintly steeped in the scent of roses.

Inside the box also lay a sheet of parchment, heavy with fragrance. The handwriting was delicate and graceful: "Professor, I await your next visit to my shop. Aglaea."

As if laying eyes on something foul, Nakoxia rolled his eyes, crumpled the letter forcefully into a ball, and tossed it into the laboratory furnace. Soon, the ink traces that resembled evidence of a clandestine affair were reduced to ash by the flames.

His hand covered his lips. He hesitated for a moment.

Yet in the end, he could not bring himself to wipe away the lingering heat.

Chapter 2: Undercurrents of the Auction

Within the Hero's Baths, dozens of arcane lamps blazed with brilliant light, gilding the auction banquet in opulence. The air was thick with the fragrance of aged vintage wines and the finest perfumes, interlaced with the faint, nearly inaudible whisper of gold coins changing hands, the gratuities bestowed upon attendants for their discreet delivery of fine spirits. Nobles and wealthy merchants from every corner of the Holy City, adorned in ceremonial robes, conversed in hushed tones, their gazes drifting across each item on the display dais, searching for the next antiquity that might bring glory or fortune to their families.

Nakoxia stood in an inconspicuous corner at the edge of the baths, his form half-consumed by shadow. His scholar's robes were conspicuously out of place, almost plain. Yet his ice-blue eyes burned like two deep-buried sparks, locked inexorably upon the auction piece about to be presented, the legendary Black Diamond Sash.

The sash rested with meticulous care upon a velvet cushion. Through the transparent protective ward, it resembled a sliver of frozen night sky, studded with tiny black diamonds that glittered with a profound, dark luster. The diamond dust, fine as motes, possessed a sorcery that devoured light. This was no ordinary ornament. Nakoxia understood better than anyone that it was a prized artifact mentioned in ancient alchemical texts, one capable of greatly enhancing the stability of alchemical barriers. His laboratory had suffered an "unexpected detonation" only days ago. If his experiments were to continue, this Black Diamond Sash was an indispensable key.

He had prepared all his savings for this auction, even being forced to dip into the next term's research funds. To him, money had always been merely numbers, a necessary means to keep the laboratory running, never before tied to such a concrete objective. Tonight, his sole objective was this sash.

The auctioneer's resounding voice echoed through the hall, recounting the Black Diamond Sash's mysterious origins and legendary history. Nakoxia's heart clenched with every bid. His fingers brushed lightly against the coin purse at his waist. Just as the price neared the absolute limit of what he could bear, a soft yet low feminine voice rang out, carrying an unmistakable arrogance. "One thousand gold pieces."

Silence instantly fell upon the hall. That price was nearly half a year's expenditure for a typical noble household. Nakoxia's brow furrowed. He followed the voice with his eyes, and his gaze finally settled upon the most prominent seat in the front row of the auction hall.

Aglaea.

She was dressed tonight in a moonlight-white silk organza gown, the daring plunge of its neckline dipping boldly to her navel. Her long legs were crossed, her snow-pale breasts half-exposed, the hem of her skirt traced with intricate gold line patterns that sketched out climbing vines, setting off an aura of elegant magnificence. She wore a pair of white silk opera gloves studded with crystal petals. She lifted her hand and called out her bid with perfect composure, as though what she had just quoted was not a thousand gold pieces but a single copper coin. The arcane lamps cast a liquid sheen through her hair. A faint, ambiguous smile curved her lips. Her gaze, like a searchlight, pierced through the crowd and fell squarely upon Nakoxia's hiding place. Upon discovering the professor's figure, her eyes widened slightly and her smile deepened.

Nakoxia rigidly maintained an outward mask of composure, but within, tempestuous waves were surging.

This woman was nothing short of his nightmare. Her sudden ambush last time, plundering the experience of his first kiss, all for the sake of mending a ruined robe, though that robe was of critical importance to him, the feeling of being belittled, of being toyed with, still gnawed at him even now.

The auctioneer loudly called for any higher bids. After a brief silence, a small stir rippled through the hall. Evidently, Aglaea's sudden intervention had caused many of the bidders who had been itching to compete to shrink back.

Nakoxia drew a deep breath, suppressing the irritation in his heart. For the Black Diamond Sash, he had no other choice. "One thousand and fifty gold pieces." His voice was low and resolute, like a rough streak of ink slashed across a canvas of luxury.

Aglaea gave a soft laugh, a sound like silver bells that echoed through the auction hall, tinged with provocation. She turned her head, gracefully lifted a glass of champagne from an attendant's tray, and took a delicate sip. Yet her eyes remained locked upon Nakoxia. "Two thousand gold pieces." Her voice rang out again, utterly casual.

Another uproar swept the hall. This had already far exceeded the market value of the Black Diamond Sash. Only a truly desperate buyer would squander money so. Nakoxia's face turned ashen. Two thousand gold pieces; that was nearly the sum of all his funding. If it were not absolutely unavoidable, he would never waste a single copper on such senseless bidding. Yet, thinking of the stability of his alchemical experiments, he clenched his jaw. "Two thousand and ten gold pieces." His voice emerged with a trace of hoarseness, the result of being pushed to his utmost limit.

Aglaea's smile deepened. She set down her champagne glass and slowly rose to her feet. Her figure was tall and arrogant, her gown glittering beneath the crystal chandelier, like a night-blooming cereus unfurling at midnight. She tilted her chin lightly in Nakoxia's direction, the depths of her eyes glinting with excited light. "Three thousand gold pieces."

This time, it was not only the distinguished guests who were stunned. Even Nakoxia himself felt a shock that was almost suffocating. Three thousand gold pieces! She was not after this sash at all. She was simply toying with him, humiliating him. His poverty and her extravagance were laid bare, bleeding, before the eyes of all. He could feel the curious, contemptuous stares the surrounding nobles directed at him. They were probably thinking what an overreaching scholar he was, to dare bid against the city's most elite seamstress, the fabulously wealthy Lady Aglaea. Nakoxia's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to retort, to roar, to denounce her absurdity and malice, but in the end, he only slowly, powerlessly sank back into the shadows.

He had no more budget. He had lost.

The auctioneer's hammer fell three times. The Black Diamond Sash ultimately belonged to Aglaea. Her face bore not the slightest hint of triumphant joy. She only gazed thoughtfully in Nakoxia's direction, and then, surrounded by her maids and Clothiers, she departed the auction hall. Nakoxia remained frozen in place, dazed, until the auction concluded and the lights gradually dimmed.

A sense of defeat, unprecedented, engulfed his mind. It was not the loss of the sash, but the fact that before this woman, he had been utterly crushed, all his weakness and powerlessness laid bare. He had thought he could contend against her with knowledge and intellect, but in the face of absolute wealth and power, everything seemed so laughable.

Just as he was preparing to leave in dejection, a maidservant quietly approached him, holding a delicate gift box in both hands.

"Excuse me, are you Professor Anaxagoras?" the maid asked respectfully. Nakoxia nodded. "Lady Aglaea instructed me to deliver this to you," the maid said, opening the wooden box.

Within the box lay the very Black Diamond Sash he had yearned for, its deep luster still exuding allure even in the dim light. Nakoxia's head shot up. He stared at the maid, his eyes filled with bewilderment.

"She also said this is a condition of exchange." The servant pointed to the laboratory key fastened to Nakoxia's belt. "My mistress hopes you will use your laboratory key to trade with her."

Nakoxia's heart gave a violent lurch. This woman, having so easily acquired the thing he had exhausted every effort to obtain, was now casually using it as a bargaining chip. What did she want with a poor scholar's laboratory key? What interest could a seamstress possibly have in alchemy? Did she intend to invade his private space? This unsettled and angered him far more than simply taking the Black Diamond Sash would have. Yet Nakoxia endured it. What was a key, compared to obtaining the sash for free? Silently, he unfastened the clasp and placed the key into the maid's hand.

"She also said…" The maid flushed slightly, then added, "Tonight, she will personally come to collect the remuneration." Leaving those words behind, the maid bowed and withdrew.

Nakoxia stood rooted to the spot, the heavy wooden box cradled in his hands. A sense of crisis, greater than anything he had felt before, enveloped him. This woman… what exactly was her purpose?

---

The night deepened. The chirping of insects rose in a gradual chorus, adding a hint of uncanny vitality to this sanctuary of learning. Within the research laboratory of the Divine Enlightenment Tree Court, the air was laced with the faint bitterness of reagents, the dry scent of paper, and a trace, barely perceptible, of an Omega's light pheromones. This was the unique fragrance Nakoxia had accumulated through his long immersion here, tranquil, focused, carrying a subtle, barely-detectable coolness of mint, especially refreshing to the senses.

Nakoxia placed the Black Diamond Sash carefully onto the table, unable to tear his gaze away. The key that once belonged solely to him, the key that unlocked his private domain, had been taken. He could not imagine how Aglaea intended to "collect her remuneration." Would she force her way in, or would she appear with her usual mocking poise? Either possibility troubled him, and stirred a restlessness that was difficult to put into words. He tried to focus himself on the sash, beginning to conceive how to integrate it into the alchemical barrier. Yet his thoughts were like a pool of disturbed water, refusing to settle.

The branches outside the window swayed in the night breeze, their silhouettes cast upon the wall like countless specters waiting to strike. Every faint noise set the professor's nerves on edge.

A soft click, nearly inaudible, came from the door lock. Nakoxia spun around. A sliver of dim light filtered through the crack of the door. Then, a tall, beautiful silhouette, radiating an oppressive presence, stepped gracefully into his laboratory.

Aglaea.

She had already changed out of the magnificent gown from the auction. In its place was a tailored, masculine white robe, striking in its handsome elegance, its hem draping down to her ankles. It was adorned with fine gold thread embroidery that glinted faintly in the gloom. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. She carried an aura of immense presence as she entered a space that did not belong to her.

Her pheromones were the rich and blazing scent of burning incense and roses, carrying a sharp spiciness like potent liquor. Like an invisible net, it instantly enveloped Nakoxia. He felt the invasion of dominant Alpha pheromones almost immediately, his body instinctively trembling as a sensation shot through him, a nearly knee-buckling impulse of being instantly suppressed by an apex predator. Yet the pride and rationality deep in his bones would not allow him to show weakness.

"Professor." Her voice was soft and low. "Thank you for waiting."

"What have you come for?" Nakoxia's question was slightly hoarse. He forced himself to remain steady, doing his utmost to prevent his own pheromones from releasing under her pressure. Aglaea did not answer. She merely surveyed the environment, slowly walking toward the desk. Her gaze swept over the instruments on the table, the scattered books, and the carefully placed Black Diamond Sash. Finally, she took the laboratory key from her pocket and set it down beside the table.

"My remuneration," she said softly. "I did say I would come to collect it personally." Then her gaze returned to Nakoxia's person, a dangerous light flickering in her eyes. "Now, it is time to pay, Professor."

Nakoxia's body went rigid. He knew exactly what she meant by "pay." She had never concealed her "interest" in him. From that forceful kiss last time, she had been perpetually trying to breach his defenses. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a deep voice, attempting to use the hardness of words to mask his inner unease.

Aglaea gave a light laugh. Then, she did something Nakoxia had utterly failed to anticipate. She extended her hand, and from her sleeve, countless strands of arcane gold threads, fine as hairs, flowed out softly. The threads shimmered with a faint luster in the dim light, wrapping gently around her fingertips like living creatures.

"These are no ordinary gold threads, Professor," she murmured, her voice laced with enticement. "They carry my magic. They are a symbol of the soul."

Nakoxia reacted instantly. He snatched up the pistol beside him and fired repeatedly at Aglaea's face. Aglaea dodged the attacks with several swift, darting movements, already closing in. Her motion was too fast for the professor to evade. Her slender yet powerful arm encircled her prey's waist, and she slammed him down onto the cold, hard desk. The pistol and research materials were knocked flying, clattering loudly to the floor.

Nakoxia instinctively twisted away, trying to push her off. However, Aglaea's emotions had been roused by the fight, and her pheromones erupted in full force at that moment. The intense rose scent nearly suffocated Nakoxia. His Omega instincts were violently suppressed in an instant, his body weakening, his limbs refusing to obey.

"Let go of me!" he struggled, his voice strained.

Aglaea paid no heed to his protest. She raised her other hand, and the gold threads quickly, intricately wound themselves around Nakoxia's limbs. Under her magical manipulation, the gold threads were like living vines, climbing upward from his ankles, gently biting into his skin. They brought a cold, smooth touch, and a strange, suffocating sensation of restraint. Nakoxia stiffened abruptly.

This was no ordinary binding. The sensation of the gold threads biting into his skin reminded him of her taking his measurements last time, and the forceful kiss that followed. That feeling of being invaded, of being violated, swept over him once more. It was a symbol, a proclamation, a proclamation that his private territory was being forcibly occupied by her.

Aglaea's devastatingly beautiful face slowly drew near. Her breath fanned across his nose. The thick pheromones wrapped the professor completely. Nakoxia could see clearly into the depths of her eyes, those abyss-like eyes burning with desire.

"Oh, Professor, this is my remuneration." Her voice was low. "You traded your laboratory key for this sash. And I will use the deliciously fragrant you… to settle this payment."

Her teeth gently nibbled at Nakoxia's Adam's apple. This time, unlike the surprise attack before, her movements were unhurried, carrying a kind of almost leisurely aggression. The tip of her tongue lightly licked the scent gland on his neck, as if savoring precious caviar, or testing her prey's defenses. Nakoxia's body tensed. He struggled against his restraints, only to find the gold threads tightening the more he fought.

Aglaea's kisses rained down everywhere. Wherever they passed, the gold threads loosened some of his clothing. In no time, the professor lay on the table, half-naked and disheveled, his legs spread wide open by the threads. After trailing kisses from the crown of his head to the tops of his feet, Aglaea turned back, cradled the professor's face, and smiled, pressing kisses to his cheeks, flushed crimson with fury and shame.

"Enough, already…" Nakoxia's hair was disheveled. He turned his head away, unable to meet Aglaea's gaze.

"It should have been enough," Aglaea said, stroking Nakoxia's earlobe. "But why are you so delicious, Professor? Kissing you just makes one feel it isn't enough." Aglaea's thumb pried open Nakoxia's clenched teeth. Mesmerized, her eyes burning with fervent intensity, she gazed at him as her fingers gently stroked the professor's pink tongue.

Unrestrained, rich Alpha pheromones flooded into Nakoxia's mouth and nose, stimulating his Omega glands. A heat began to spread involuntarily along his spine, and a reaction gradually stirred in his groin. Aglaea withdrew her hand. She bent down to kiss the professor's lips, then gently sucked on the tip of his tongue. Her manner of kissing was so tender, so cherishing, as if nothing in the world were more worthy of being treasured than this kiss. Nakoxia felt a strange, addictive electric current spread from the tip of his tongue. His mind went blank. All his anger and irritation were utterly forgotten. He wanted to resist, to defend his pitiful pride, but his physical body, as if enchanted, gradually softened under her countless kisses, becoming something beyond his control. The sensation of the gold threads biting into his skin grew sharper, like an invisible knot binding their fates tightly together. This was no longer simple possession, but rather the forging of a bond, a fetter of lust and power.

Aglaea's kisses slid from his lips to his nipples. She fiercely sucked and bit both sides, tormenting them for a long while until Nakoxia was unbearably tense, his nipples standing rigid, red, swollen, and aching. The path of her kisses gradually descended, finally pausing near the professor's erect penis. She kissed the sensitive tip, enveloping it with her scorching tongue and intense pheromones, as if declaring sovereignty. But after merely gliding it smoothly deep into her throat a few times, she continued to wander further back, until she reached Nakoxia's wet, slick-seeping rear entrance.

Aglaea's lips pressed close, warm and deft. Her tongue traced over the professor's most private domain, slow and precise, as delicate as when she embroidered with gold thread. Nakoxia was so tense he nearly forgot to breathe. Just when he thought everything was finally about to end, Aglaea's tongue suddenly thrust sharply past his sphincter. Scalding and agile, it was like igniting a silent blaze of fire. Nakoxia jolted in shock, his entire body trembling. "No… what are you doing… ah!"

Aglaea began earnestly fucking the professor with her tongue, with rhythm. Every lick pulled the professor's nerves taut as bowstrings. Nakoxia's scalp tingled, the flesh of his buttocks trembling. The amorous secretions, scented with mint and bergamot, thoroughly wetted his intestinal tract, flowing out into a glistening pool across the desk. Aglaea did not stop. Her tongue plunged deeper, thrusting and withdrawing, gradually adding her hand. She gripped Nakoxia's penis firmly and began to stroke him, manipulate him, boldly sampling his flavor. The rhythm of her caresses grew increasingly urgent, as if dismantling every one of the professor's defenses.

Finally, physiological tears welled up and broke from the corners of Nakoxia's eyes. Groans escaped his throat, wave after wave, laced with helplessness and surrender. His legs could barely support him; the gold threads became his sole reliance. A torrent of heat surged through his body, burning his mind into a white void. Nakoxia's cries rose in pitch. His body convulsed violently, and his semen burst forth like a fountain, a great torrent spurting from between the pumping ring of Aglaea's fist, splashing across Aglaea's head in ropes of white turbidity. A faint, sobbing whimper spilled from his throat.

The veins on Nakoxia's taut forehead and neck had not yet receded. His entire body was flushed red, his breathing ragged and disordered. He felt as though he were about to die.

Aglaea leisurely withdrew her tongue. The corners of her lips carried a triumphant smile, and within her eyes lay a desire that had not yet faded. Her fingertips delicately traced over Nakoxia's wrists, still wrapped in the gold threads, feeling the traces where the lines had bitten into his skin.

"Are you satisfied with this method of payment, Professor?" Her voice was deep and magnetic, carrying a hint of playfulness.

Nakoxia panted heavily, struggling to fix his gaze on the ceiling, trying to quell the pheromones churning within him. "This hardly counts as a fair trade," he answered through gritted teeth, his handsome face still flushed, his voice brimming with resentment and anger.

Aglaea merely gave a soft laugh, a sound full of slyness. "Is that so?" She wiped the sticky fluids from her hair, straightened her body, and the gold threads smoothly loosened, quickly retracting into her sleeve. "I think this is the fairest trade of all. Trading your scholarly pride for a tiny, tiny bit of my… stirred heart."

She turned gracefully and walked slowly toward the laboratory door. The night breeze blew in through the open door, bringing a touch of coolness, yet it could not disperse the lingering, pleasured scent of the two intermingled pheromones within the room.

"I look forward to the Professor's next 'visit'."

She murmured the words, her voice carrying a lingering, unfinished mockery, and then she vanished into the night.

Nakoxia curled up naked on the desk. His hands and feet bore not the slightest bruise, but the sensation of being restrained had sunk deep into his marrow. He closed his eyes. Replaying endlessly in his mind was Aglaea's predatory kiss, and her words: "scholarly pride, traded for a tiny bit of a stirred heart."

He had always believed that wealth and class were the insurmountable gulf between them. He was impoverished, she was extravagant; he was rational, she was willful. And yet, she seemed to have seen the stubbornness and pride he hid beneath his calm exterior, and had even been "stirred" by it. This plunged Nakoxia into an unprecedented turmoil. The Black Diamond Sash still lay quietly on the table, shimmering with a faint, mysterious luster. He had obtained the thing he wanted, but he had also lost the defenses he had believed to be impenetrable.

Nakoxia sat in silence for a long time, naked, his bare bottom on the desk. He had never been in such close contact with an Alpha, much less been so nakedly suppressed and teased by pheromones. He had always prided himself on being the embodiment of reason, yet before Aglaea, all his defenses had proven utterly fragile.

He picked up the Black Diamond Sash from the table. The sash flowed through his fingertips, its texture cold and sleek, like a river of night sky in motion. It was indeed the material he had dreamed of, the final puzzle piece for completing his critical experiment. For it, he had lost his unassailable private boundaries. Aglaea, this woman, had controlled this transaction in a manner that bordered on play. She never seemed to play by the rules; every move was laden with intent. She knew perfectly well of his desperate desire for this sash, yet she had driven the price up, cornering him into a predicament. Then she had casually "bestowed" it upon him, in exchange for a single key, an excuse to invade his private space. What she wanted was never money or material things. What she wanted was his reaction, his loss of control, that spark of ignited fury and resentment in his eyes. She savored this sense of power, this feeling of twisting him around her finger, watching him fall from his lofty posture as a scholar, revealing his vulnerability and disarray.

He thought of her nonchalant "three thousand gold pieces" at the auction, her beautiful, smug smile as she left. She occupied a position of such high status that the money she spent on a whim was a sum he could not hope to attain in years, even decades. This immense class disparity had always been the reason for the subtle aversion he felt toward Aglaea. A penniless scholar and an extravagant seamstress; they were people from two different worlds. He despised her ostentation and artifice, despised the frivolity with which she treated everything as a game.

Yet, when her desire-filled, hollow eyes had pierced through the shadows to fix upon him, when her fragrant breath had spilled across his neck, when that aggressive kiss had consumed him, what he felt… was not merely disgust. There was also an ineffable pull, like a black hole, that made him dizzy.

Nakoxia walked to the window and drew back the heavy curtains, letting the cold, clear moonlight spill into the room. The moonlight gilded the space, filled with instruments and books, with a silver-gray halo. He saw his own reflection in the moonlight, stretched long and distorted, like a soul being torn apart.

"This hardly counts as a fair trade," Nakoxia murmured to himself, his voice filled with conflict and struggle. This sentence was both his protest against her, and his justification to himself. He could not accept that he would, in such a way, driven by lust, yield to a woman he had once striven so hard to reject. And yet, he knew that this was a trade. An unequal trade, orchestrated by her. She had used his most desired "Black Diamond Sash" as bait, to trade for his most treasured "self-control." She had trespassed into his private space, as if trespassing into his very heart, leaving behind a mess, and traces that would be difficult to erase.

He slowly raised his hand, his fingertips lightly touching his own neck. The scent gland seemed to still hold the warmth of her lips. He felt a dull ache in his gland, a weariness from stimulation, and an emptiness after being awakened.

This woman was like a pair of sharp tailor's shears, precisely locating the most vulnerable point in his defenses, and then, with effortless ease, snipping them to shreds. He could not deny that, in the moment the gold threads bit into his wrists, in that instant when their pheromones intertwined, his body had given its most honest response. His heart had pounded, his blood had boiled, a passion unlike anything he had known had surged through him. This feeling was foreign, and it was dangerous. He was accustomed to control, accustomed to prediction, but she made him lose his mind completely.

He looked again at the Black Diamond Sash on the laboratory desk. It lay there quietly, waiting to be given a new purpose. But Nakoxia knew that this sash now carried more than just the secrets of alchemy. It carried a "trade" of power, of lust, of conquest. This trade had no written contract, no witness of a notary. It was engraved into his skin, into his mind, and into the utterly disrupted rhythm of his heartbeat.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him. Not physical exhaustion, but spiritual. Yet, deep within that exhaustion, a subtle, defiant fighting spirit flickered dimly to life. He knew he should not feel any positive emotion toward this woman who toyed with him in the palm of her hand, but he could not deny that this feeling of being challenged, of being provoked, had added a certain… unpredictable color to his formerly dull academic life.

How would he deal with her next "collaboration"? He did not know. But he knew this was far from over.

Nakoxia picked up the Black Diamond Sash and placed it carefully into a drawer. This was not to protect the sash itself, but to protect himself. To prevent this sash, tainted with the scent of her roses, from once again stirring the chaos within him that had yet to settle.

The laboratory sank back into silence, broken only by the rustle of wind-stirred leaves outside the window. Nakoxia finally remembered that he ought to cover up his bare backside. Wearily, he dressed himself properly, tidied the scattered materials on the floor, plucked a few bullets embedded in the bookshelf, and picked up an alchemy manuscript, trying to return himself to the familiar world of academia. Yet the words on the page blurred before his eyes. What echoed through his mind again and again was Aglaea's predatory kiss, and her elegant words: "I look forward to your next visit."

The undercurrents of this auction had long since transformed, from a bidding war over money and material, into a far deeper entanglement over self and desire. And he was clearly already caught within it.

Chapter 3: The Masquerade Game

The Holy City's sexennial masquerade was held in the Council banquet hall. Gioiarian living flames lit the venue bright as day, and thousands of finely polished magic crystals refracted rainbow-hued auras that gilded every inch of the room in lavish, romantic color.

The air was suffused with the light fragrance of ivy leaves blended with neroli, a room diffuser Nakoxia had carefully formulated to purify stray pheromones and make the ball more comfortable.

Melodious strings echoed from the orchestra. Each Scholarly Sect had invited its twenty largest donors among the nobility, and they entered one after another, all wearing exquisite masks.

Resplendent attire glittered under the lights; feathers and jewels swayed. Every guest was an actor in this grand masquerade game, and hidden beneath each gorgeous mask lay an unknown identity, and desires that flowed in secret.

Nakoxia wore an elegant silver antler mask that concealed most of his face, revealing only his pale blue eyes, calm as a lake, and his handsome jaw. His black ceremonial robe was not ostentatious, but the cut was form-fitting, accentuating his tall, straight figure to perfection.

The Professor had never been enthusiastic about such occasions, but the Scholarly Sect's funding crisis loomed. To make the acquaintance of patrons, for the sake of certain unspeakable "necessary social obligations"; he had bowed to his colleagues' strong recommendation and attended.

Amid the clamorous crowd, he seemed as out of place as ever, his gaze sweeping his surroundings with detachment, observing the sycophancy and calculation hidden beneath the laughter and chatter. He stroked his cuff uneasily, the place Aglaea had mended. The embroidery was so intricate, so complex, it was a work of art; hard to imagine it had been produced in a single night.

Suddenly, he caught a familiar scent. Rose and frankincense, a combination unique to one person, gently stirred his consciousness. He swept his gaze across the dance floor, searching for her figure beneath the masks.

Masks concealed the nobles' true faces, but they could not hide the undercurrents of pheromones. Nakoxia clenched his fist; a flash of red light flickered through his pale blue eyes.

A long-legged figure with proud curves slowly descended the staircase and paused beside the railing, surveying the hall. She wore a golden wolf mask whose patterns were so luxurious that, though it covered her entire face, it could not hide her innate, commanding aura. Her backless gown was fashioned from golden spider silk, slit at the side to reveal a snow-white thigh, embroidered with vines and blossoms by the most exquisite hand, every stitch breathtaking, proclaiming indisputable wealth and artisanship. With every gesture and motion, her full bosom exuded a blazing rose fragrance: her Alpha pheromones, domineering and flamboyant, distinct even in so noisy an environment.

Nakoxia's heart jolted violently. He shifted his feet, stepping back a few paces, trying to keep his distance. He recognized those pheromones, and he recognized that particular, arrogant bearing that even a mask could not hide.

The golden wolf stood motionless, fixing him with a feral gaze. Then she flicked her fingers, dismissing the serving maids and Clothiers attending her, and walked straight toward him.

"My dear Antler Sir. Unclaimed, all alone?" A low, soft voice, teasing as velvet, and a slender arm extended forward. "Would you care to share a dance with me?"

Nakoxia's breath caught. Her tone was courteous, but it carried an insistence that brooked no refusal.

"Thank you for the invitation, Lady Wolf." His voice was dry. "I am here to discuss business. I cannot accompany you in dance."

"Oh, but this is a ball." She drew a step nearer, her fingertips brushing across his cuff, Gold Thread glinting faintly beneath her fingers. "It is also a hunting ground. Would you like to win a small donation? Or would you prefer long-term sponsorship, free from all future budget worries? I am willing to help with either."

Her finger glided to the wrist exposed beyond his cuff and gave it a light squeeze. "The condition is simple. Only allow me one dance."

Nakoxia glared at her. He knew this was a trap. Other patrons' gazes were already turning from the dance floor toward them; to refuse any longer would be rude. "Just one dance."

He sighed and let Aglaea's hand slide onto his waist.

The dance floor shimmered like a lake's surface; the nobles' masks glowed under the lights. Aglaea took his hand, stepping backward to lead him in, her powerful snow-white thigh pressing back as her skirt billowed like a wave.

Her palm hooked around his waist, the force light yet impossible to refuse. The scent of rose and frankincense enveloped him instantly, quickening his breath.

"Relax, Antler Sir." Her hand slid across his waistline and pinched, igniting a spark. "I won't eat you. At least, not here." She laughed lowly, drawing closer still, her nose nearly brushing the side of his neck. Frankincense, rose, and his own cool mint gradually mingled, thick as a confession.

Nakoxia's cheeks flushed crimson. The sensation of their bodies pressed together made the familiar internal heat surge once more. The dance steps quickened; he tried to focus on the rhythm to distract himself, but he could not ignore her touch.

Her waist was slender yet strong. Skirt hem and robe corner flew and tangled like two undercurrents converging. The strings grew brisk and sprightly, and they spun rapidly into the center of the floor.

Aglaea's steps were bold and precise. She led him; every crisp turn, every withdrawal and approach, carried a perfectly measured ambiguity. Her gaze, through the eyeholes of the golden mask, scorched him, practically piercing his soul.

That familiar sensation of being drawn in struck once more. This time, however, Nakoxia did not feel the complete helplessness he had felt bound in the research chamber. The push-and-pull of their bodies, neither fully yielding nor fully resisting, made the desire between them a churning torrent, twisting tighter in dizzying spins.

For the first time, Nakoxia discovered that a partnered dance could be intoxicating, exhilarating, every successful grand rotation like a perfect experiment yielding its results. His forehead was lightly beaded with sweat. Pheromones escaped his control and spilled outward, catching the attention of several Alphas on the dance floor. He tried to steady himself, only to find the Wolf Lady's fingers slipping secretly to his nape, caressing his gland.

"Don't touch there." He warned her, but he could not disguise the weakness in his voice.

"Why? Your pheromones are calling, like a song. I only want to hear it more clearly."

Her fingertips kneaded his gland. He stumbled, nearly falling.

The music reached its climax. Nakoxia's consciousness blurred. He tried to break free but was pulled tighter still, her full, soft bosom pressing against his chest, eroding his reason.

"You…" He panted, voice a murmur. "Always pushing your luck."

"Pushing my luck?" The Wolf Lady smiled, the corner of her lips brushing his mouth with something like fondness. "I only take what I am due." Her fingertips slid to his chin, tilting it up, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Well, perhaps a little more. After all, we have danced more than one dance."

Her long, solid, fair leg pushed slightly between his thighs, mocking the unmistakable hardness inside his trousers.

Nakoxia's pupils contracted. They had danced, lost in pleasure, one dance after another, gluey as flies caught in a spider's web, and utterly unaware. He wanted to push her away, only to find his own hand resting limply on her waist, unwilling to withdraw.

"I have no wish to become one of the collectibles in your wardrobe," he said through gritted teeth, his voice stubborn.

"Is that so?" Aglaea leaned close, still dancing, both hands embracing him with intense intimacy, her fingers sliding slowly up his spine and making him tremble. "Your body is lying, Anaxagoras."

The music had ended. Nobles were returning to their tables to converse; the dance floor was gradually emptying.

Nakoxia broke free of the embrace and stumbled backward, panting. His pale blue eyes burned with fury. "You knew it was me all along? Even through the mask?"

"Antler Sir's form, once measured, can never be forgotten." Aglaea's voice carried both mockery and certainty. "Even with the face hidden, it cannot be concealed. A beauty, harmonious and long-limbed. No man on this floor possesses a waist more alluring than yours."

Nakoxia's body went rigid. She had recognized him from the very beginning. A surge of humiliated fury at being toyed with rushed to his head, but he quickly suppressed it. This was Aglaea. She always used this approach, stripping away all his concealments, leaving him nowhere to hide.

"Lady Wolf's powers of observation are keener than I had imagined," he bit out, striking back with equal sarcasm.

Aglaea laughed lowly, the sound carrying a trace of smugness. "You are a fascinating person, Professor. No one dares address me with such a casual attitude, not in this Holy City, not anywhere. Ordinary Alphas must lower their heads and speak softly before me. Omegas would already be kneeling at my feet. Only you require me to negotiate terms even for a single dance."

She gently took his hand and gestured for him to follow. She led him through the bustling crowd, dodging every glance cast their way, until they arrived at a terrace in a quiet corner of the ballroom.

The breeze was cool, dispersing the cloying sweetness of the dance floor. Moonlight spilled like quicksilver across the stone railing. Distant lights gleamed like dewdrops in the night. It was a wonderfully private spot, overlooking the entire city, shutting out all worldly clamor.

Nakoxia's heartbeat became clearly audible in the silence. He knew that being alone with him had been her true objective all along.

Aglaea turned. Beneath the moonlight, she slowly raised her hands and removed the golden wolf mask. Her face appeared even more beautiful under the moon, those deep, unfathomable, tranquil eyes regaining their luster the moment they settled on him, like two clusters of blazing living flame.

"Professor. Now we can talk properly."

Nakoxia looked at her, feeling a rush of heat sweep from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head. He knew what she would do next, and his body, lured by pheromones, had long since anticipated the response.

His heart raced; his chest rose and fell. Aglaea gently extended her hand and touched his antler-masked face. Her fingertips slowly traced the edge of the mask, finally coming to rest at his lips. Nakoxia's body tensed. He could feel her breath, so near.

"Professor, don't hide anymore." She coaxed him softly, and then, with cautious care, as if afraid of startling him, she slowly removed the antler mask.

Beneath it was his pale, sweat-damp, handsome face. His pale blue eyes were full of struggle, desire, and a mortification he could barely conceal.

She set the mask aside on the stone railing. Then, slowly, almost reverently, her face drew close.

Her lips pressed against his. This kiss was nothing like the one after the auction; it held no aggression, no predation, only an extreme tenderness and careful probing. The tip of her tongue traced his gums, then gently pried his teeth apart and slipped into the roof of his mouth.

Nakoxia shuddered sharply; a faint gasp escaped his throat. Her kiss was like the richest nectar, drowning him. His mind went blank. All reason crumbled beneath her gentleness.

The kiss lasted a very long time, deep and lingering, carrying a desire to meld into each other. When she pulled away, his lips were slightly swollen, glistening with moisture. He panted, his head spinning, his cock aching from prolonged erection.

"I won't sleep with anyone for sponsorship," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know." Aglaea tilted her head, gazing at him beneath the moonlight with deep affection. Her fingertips caressed his lips, which shone with moisture; undisguised devotion shone in her eyes.

"I, too, do not casually sleep with guests, Professor." Her voice was tinged with an inexpressible melancholy. "I once admired a little creature with cat ears. But she left long ago, so long ago I have forgotten she was ever here."

Aglaea tapped her own chest. "Since then, I have been close to no one. Though many have wished to kiss the tops of my feet, begging for my pity; I only felt that everything was gray. I even felt my humanity slowly draining away. Only endless tailoring and garment-making, through the infinite beauty of art, could fill that hollow emptiness."

"But I met you, Professor. You truly are unique." Her tone held no disparagement; instead, it carried a peculiar admiration. "Those nobles only praise the uniqueness of the Gold Thread in my sleeve, yet understand nothing of the meaning behind it. Only you could see directly through to the essence of binding and sensation, draw your gun early, and even dare to fire it, to question it."

Her words struck like a lightning bolt, hitting the most hidden part of his heart.

Question. That word was his nature.

He remembered when he was young. While children his age frolicked on the grassy fields, only he hid in the shade of trees, picking up fallen leaves, muttering to himself: "Why can't the earth beasts fly toward the sky?" He remembered the sacred precepts in the temple, the ones everyone accepted without thought, which always made him unable to resist asking: "If the gods are omnipotent, why do they still fear death?"

He was ridiculed by his peers as a "bookworm" and driven from the temple hall by exasperated priests. That misanthropic streak, that questioning spirit so out of step with the world, had once been his greatest confusion and pain. On the path of seeking knowledge, he had ceaselessly struggled to find answers.

"Binding and sensation. What can your Gold Thread read from me?" Nakoxia's voice held an almost imperceptible tremor, not from desire, but from the sudden shock of being understood. He rarely revealed his past to outsiders, especially those childhood experiences that had marked him as odd.

Aglaea's smile turned mysterious. Her fingertips traced the tense line of his jaw. "I understand the pain of losing your loved ones, and your obsession with alchemy, Professor." She murmured, her gaze piercing through his eyes straight into the depths of his soul. "That madness that transcends everything in pursuit of a goal. Because I have it too."

She paused, her eyes turning toward the blurred lights of the banquet, her tone becoming distant. "My Gold Thread, my silk, my pursuit of transcendent tailoring skill; to some, they are merely gorgeous facades. But to me, they too are a pursuit, a creation. They contain the world's most precise techniques, its most romantic fantasies, and its deepest desires."

"Is that why you used it to… bind me?" Nakoxia countered, his tone laced with self-mockery.

"No." Aglaea's gaze returned to him, shining with unprecedented light. "Not bind. Join. Just as you, through precise alchemy, join elements to one another to compose new substances; I, through Gold Thread, join certain things between you and me. Together."

Her words artfully connected the academic domain with the tailor's art, and Nakoxia was astonished. He had never imagined that a seamstress could possess such a unique understanding of his alchemy.

Aglaea cupped his handsome face, her thumb gently stroking beneath the corner of his eye, where a very faint scar lay, like a tear stain, almost imperceptible.

"You have lost much before, Professor. Haven't you?" She looked at him with pity, her gaze like a sigh, carrying a poignant insight. "Your pursuit of 'precision' is perhaps a resistance to fate's once having been 'out of control.' You fear loss, and so you seek control."

Nakoxia's body stiffened. Her words, like a sharp blade, had precisely carved open the deepest scar of his heart.

The Black Tide attacking. Home destroyed. His sister in the ruins with her belly torn open and entrails spilling out. He had rushed back but arrived too late. The child who had always prided himself on reason descended into madness, kneeling on the ground, laughing and weeping in helplessness.

He laughed at his own foolishness, having left his most precious family to chase a dream. He wept for his own misery, his belly full of knowledge yet powerless to change the tragedy. His forehead against the yellow earth, he clawed and tore at the ground until his nails peeled away into bloody clumps. He clutched his head and howled as if there were no tomorrow, until his tears dried, until his vocal cords bled, until the day dissolved into a blur of trembling night.

That was a past he had never been willing to mention to anyone, scars buried deep in his heart. Ever since entering the academy, Nakoxia had striven to suppress that madness, fashioning himself into a calm, rational scholar, all to escape that fear of losing control.

"You…" His voice was hoarse, carrying anger and shock at being seen through. How in the world did this woman know these things?

A flicker of pity passed through Aglaea's eyes, but was quickly replaced by desire. She knew she had touched his most fragile part, and that very fragility made her want all the more to possess him entirely.

"I can see, deep within your eyes. That loneliness." She said it softly, her voice full of enticement. "Just like when you were young, hiding alone in the tree shade, watching fallen leaves, pondering why beasts cannot fly to the sky. You have always been different, Professor. Even among so many scholars, you are that final puzzle piece that cannot be fitted. And I happen to like that difference."

Her hand slowly slid to his nape, gently massaging his gland. Nakoxia's body shuddered at her touch. His Omega pheromones leaked copiously again, carrying a cool, crisp fragrance.

"You are afraid of desire, are you not?" Aglaea whispered, her voice filled with seduction. "Because the hollow emptiness that follows desire is like a small death. An ultimate loss of control. An ultimate unknown."

She kissed him again. This kiss was no longer mere possession or provocation, but carried a profound understanding and solace. She seemed to be telling him through her kiss:

Your loneliness, your questioning, your fear; I know them. I understand them all.

And upon this understanding, I want to give you a new gift. A most primal, most instinctual, most irresistible desire.

"Let me hold you, if I may. I hope I have the honor of becoming Anaxagoras's first woman."

Nakoxia's resistance crumbled. Both hands seized Aglaea's clothing, pulling her tightly against his body. He kissed her back, carrying all his years of accumulated loneliness, grief, rage, and the long-suppressed desire she had now ignited in him. His lips moved over hers, his tongue wildly answering hers. Every sensory cell in his body was screaming, compelling him to sink further, to lose more control.

The waistline she had once praised now pressed flush against her flesh. He felt his body fit hers seamlessly, intimately, as though they were born to be this way.

Then Nakoxia felt a sudden, indescribable impulse, a need to strike back, to pull this goddess-like woman down from her pedestal. He reached out and seized the string of bows made of golden ribbon on her gown. Even the ribbon was embroidered with a family crest, so exquisite, so arrogantly supreme. With almost all the strength he could muster, he yanked it.

R-i-i-p. The golden ribbon snapped cleanly, like a chastity belt torn asunder, scattering across the moonlit terrace floor with jarring sharpness. The gown loosened instantly, the golden-spider-silk fabric falling open to reveal, beneath Aglaea's delicate collarbones, her soft, high, rounded breasts.

Aglaea's smile froze. Her eyes flickered with astonishment, then were rapidly overtaken by an even denser excitement and thrill. She had not expected this seemingly abstinent Omega Professor to possess such a rough side.

Her breathing quickened. Her Alpha pheromones grew more potent, carrying a hint of provoked wildness.

"Antler Sir, you do have a knack for mischief." Her voice was husky, tinged with the pleasure of being teased. "That was a very naughty act."

Nakoxia looked at her disheveled state. Under the moonlight, the curves beneath her low-cut gown were fully exposed, radiating a fatal allure. He knew what he had done, and he knew what it implied. It was a retaliation and a response. In his own way, he had torn apart her surface elegance and control, dragging her into a wilder game.

"This is my true nature, Lady Wolf." He panted, his blue eyes gleaming exceptionally bright under the moon, holding an unprecedented persistence and provocation. "Your favorite part, isn't it?" The act of snapping that ribbon, and those words; he wanted her to know that he was no plaything to be manipulated at her whim. He too had his pride, and the capacity to strike back.

A dangerous, captivating light glinted in Aglaea's eyes. She was not angry; she was even more aroused. She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, her fingertips slightly warm. "Yes, Professor. I like it very much. Too much." She whispered, her voice holding a wicked edge. "So much that I want to swallow you whole."

She flicked her wrist, loosing her Gold Thread, and pulled the Professor down to the floor in one motion. A wild light blazed in her eyes. Almost simultaneously, she knelt astride his face.

Nakoxia's eyes were shut tight, his breathing rapid and disordered. Shyly, he opened his mouth, his cheeks flushing red, letting her push her swollen cock inch by inch into the depths of his throat.

This masquerade game had long since exceeded the boundaries of social engagement. It had transformed into a vortex of lust, a feast of control and loss of control, seduction and response.

Aglaea tilted back her exquisitely beautiful neck, undulating her hips as she roughly fucked the Professor's mouth, letting out loud moans. Her cock filled his throat entirely. Nakoxia, utterly inexperienced and devoid of skill, only knew that he was about to suffocate. Waves of numbing, tingling pleasure transmitted from his gland.

He had once thought he could control everything, yet this woman had demolished all his defenses with the most precise means possible.

Blurred images flickered through his mind: the muddy paths of a remote city-state, his sister's gentle smiling face, himself crouching beneath the tree shade observing fallen leaves, the voices of peers mocking him as a "bookworm," and the arrogance and loneliness with which he had once questioned the gods. Those distant memories seemed to be awakened amid this wild ride by some intense sensory stimulation.

He had once believed that only knowledge was his salvation and support, and for it he had paid the price of home and family. He had striven to abandon the past, to integrate into so-called "noble" academia, yet had never truly cast off the poverty and misfit nature deep in his bones.

But now, on this luxurious ballroom terrace, before this woman who had rent all his dignity and disguise, he felt an unprecedented authenticity. Her desire, her directness, her wildness; they were all like a mirror, reflecting the emotions and instincts long suppressed deep within his heart.

He remembered how his sister had sacrificed everything for his insignificant dream of "becoming a great scholar," and how she had been swallowed in the ruins of the Black Tide. Those past losses and pains had made him pursue the precision and rationality of knowledge with even greater determination. He feared losing control; he feared loss. And so he had built high walls, wrapping himself in cold detachment and books.

But Aglaea, this woman reckless as flame, had effortlessly crushed his outer shell. She had used the most direct means to tell him that sensory pleasure, the entanglement of desire, was also a kind of truth.

She withdrew her cock and shifted to a different position. She hastily opened the Professor's trousers, took the glans into her mouth with unfathomable relish, and pushed her own cock toward his lips, fucking into his mouth with comfort. This position was deeper and wilder than the earlier face-sitting; no longer mere probing and provocation, but the mutual devouring of two desires.

Aglaea deep-throated him with intense, powerful suction. And as if some floodgate inside him had been blown wide open, Nakoxia no longer resisted; he even eagerly reciprocated. He strove to relax his throat, letting her fuck it, while his hands, unconsciously, began to grip her thrusting, shapely ass in return.

He suckled and swallowed with even fiercer intensity, with a vengeful madness, as if he wanted to suck her completely dry. This was not for desire itself; it was more like a cathartic release of all his past repressions. He wanted to make Aglaea pay a price for everything she had done to stir the waters of his heart.

Nakoxia ejaculated in a dizzy spell. He felt Aglaea's hands exerting force, her nails nearly sinking into the fabric of his trousers. She emitted a low moan of satisfaction and drank down every last drop of his semen, as if in answer to his wildness.

Aglaea licked her lips with satisfaction and drew her impossibly long cock out of his throat. She pulled back a slight distance, allowing their breaths to interlace, but her eyes remained scorchingly locked on him. In the moonlight, her disheveled gown and half-exposed, rounded breasts silently beckoned.

"Professor, you snapped my exquisite ribbon." Her voice was a little breathless, carrying an alluring huskiness. "It was spun using the ancient gold-cocoon weaving technique, combined with the Gold Thread of Meneitha. It symbolizes… binding."

A flicker of contempt crossed Nakoxia's eyes. She always loved to hang words brimming with symbolism on her lips, as though everything could be at her command. He recalled, at the auction, how she had used the Black Diamond Sash to entice him, and how she had used Gold Thread to bind him.

"Bound?" He asked it lowly, his throat carrying the raw hoarseness of what it had just endured, and a trace of disdain. "Looks to me more like some overhyped decoration."

He knew he was being stubborn, even sharp-tongued. But this was his only way to protect himself: to use the sharp edge of language to hold off her sensory offensive. He could not let her succeed entirely, could not let her think she could toy with his mind at will.

Aglaea showed no anger. Instead, she chuckled lightly. "Oh, this decoration demands very substantial compensation." She extended a finger and touched his face, flushed from agitation. "Naughty boys might need a little lesson from big sister."

She pushed the Professor's trousers down to his knees, flipped him over, and began spanking him hard.

The Professor jumped in shock, nearly crying out. One smack. Then another. Heavy and merciless. The crisp, loud sound of slaps echoed across the terrace. His face was beet-red; he felt his knees trembling. If she hadn't been holding his waist tightly, he might have collapsed to the ground.

He had always governed himself by reason, armored with knowledge, dismissing all sensory impulses as weakness. But before Aglaea, the armor seemed to become transparent; his reason crumbled inch by inch under her onslaught.

At the thirty-fifth strike, the Professor's entire backside was sore and numb. His face was crimson, impossible to tell apart the tears, snot, and saliva on his cheeks. He groaned faintly and miserably. Aglaea lowered her head and licked the moisture at the corner of his eye, her voice carrying a teasing, cloying sweetness: "Professor, you're hard again. And your rear is drenched."

Her hands passed through his hair, fingertips touching his cool scalp, then rubbing the sensitive gland at the back of his neck. Then downward, farther downward, two fingers slowly slid into his sodden passage.

Nakoxia clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the heat coursing through his body. "Mmh…" Shame burned his cheeks, but it could not mask his trembling.

She added another finger, pressing deeper and deeper, with a will to explore him, to probe his sensitive spots, fucking his ass ruthlessly with three fingers.

"Ah… no…" His voice trembled, shame and pleasure intertwined.

Her thrusts were merciless, rubbing against every inch of him. Heat and rhythm swept through his nerves like a tide. His wails grew louder, echoing in the open space, like a musical movement torn apart, each push making him sink deeper. The corners of Aglaea's lips curved upward in a triumphant arc.

Her hand slid to her gown, revealing her still-erect cock, hard and blazing, gleaming with a dangerous sheen beneath the moonlight. She withdrew her dripping wet fingers and gripped his waist instead. "Dear Professor, your crying voice," she whispered, the corner of her lips grazing his nape, leaving a wet, hot trail, "is more precious than any rare fabric. So beautiful."

With a fierce thrust, she entered the deepest part of him, a place no one had ever visited. Every impact reached the entrance of his Reproductive Chamber, making him tremble madly from the sensations of tearing and fullness.

His buttocks hurt and stung. His prostate was violently stimulated. He nearly went limp, panting, pale blue eyes overflowing with tears. His face burned; his robe hung open, draped messily over his body, exposing his quivering nipples. "You…" His voice was choppy, carrying a powerless tension. "Be gentle. I'm about to split open."

Aglaea slowed her pace a little, but did not stop fucking him. She leaned down and gently kissed his nape. "Professor, you are far too lovable. The sight of you blushing and begging for mercy, it is practically criminal." She licked her lips. "What a magnificent masterpiece."

The scent of mint and rose intertwined; the force that destroyed everything was so sweet. Nakoxia's reason collapsed. His Omega instincts made him yield completely. His soft moans turned to wails; heat surged through his body as Aglaea's organ rampaged inside him, its rhythm increasingly urgent, as precise as stitching Gold Thread, each thrust carrying terrifying pleasure.

His toes gradually curled tight, then suddenly convulsed. A numbing sensation spread from his neck to his cheeks to the crown of his head. Orgasm bolted through him like lightning, sweeping through every inch of his nerves. He ejaculated with an almost-howl; pheromones burst forth, violently entangling with her rose, transforming into a feverish nightmare.

Aglaea closed her eyes, her lower body tensing. She let out a high, keening moan of pleasure. Semen flooded his passage. In her extreme excitement, she began to knot.

The Professor, feeling the pressure swelling larger and larger inside him, choked and coughed several times, his face covered in snot, tears, and saliva, a wretched sight like a plundered sacrificial offering.

This masquerade ball. In the end, only two souls who had removed their masks remained, entangled without restraint on the terrace, within the vortex of lust.

While waiting for the knot to subside, Aglaea drew the Professor into her embrace, letting him lean against the soft, full cushion of her bosom. Her Alpha pheromones wrapped around him as much as possible, like the most comfortable of nests.

"Now, Professor, your compensation debt has been fully settled," Aglaea whispered contentedly.

Nakoxia buried his face blankly against her neck. He felt the warmth of her skin, the encirclement of her pheromones. He did not know whether this counted as a transaction, but he knew that from this moment on, the simple relationship of scholar and seamstress between them no longer existed.

They were a pair of opponents who had spun and probed each other in the ball, and in this chase, now near, now far, they had unveiled each other's truest visages.

Moonlight slanted across the stone railing. The clamor of the ball gradually receded; only the occasional faint laugh drifted from the distance. On the terrace, the two still held each other in silence. Nakoxia's forehead rested against Aglaea's collarbone, as though hiding inside an illogical yet intensely real dream.

She said nothing more, only stroked his back gently. Gold Thread dangled from her fingertips, tidying the scattered clothing, as though fate itself, in this tranquil night, was weaving for them a connection that could no longer be pulled apart.

Nakoxia's eyelids drooped slightly. His gaze swept over the scattered golden silk ribbon on the ground. His thoughts, like that ribbon, had been loosened then tightened, tightened then tangled.

"If this was compensation… I fear…" He murmured, his voice like a drop of water falling into a silver basin. "I've suffered a loss."

Aglaea laughed softly, a sound more ambiguous than frankincense and more invasive than roses. She lowered her head and pressed a kiss to his forehead, her tone tender. "Then, Professor, remember to let me compensate you next time."

Nakoxia smiled bitterly and gave no reply.

Aglaea had already obtained what she wanted. He was not sure whether a next time between them was even possible, but he knew that the "joining" of this night had left an indelible mark on him: not just the palm prints on his buttocks, but something deeper. Something he himself could not articulate.

After recovering a little of their strength, the two began to tidy their attire. Nakoxia helped re-fasten Aglaea's disheveled gown, his fingers unconsciously forming an unusually intricate alchemical magic array to secure the ribbon. His movements carried the same expression he wore when handling trace reactions in the laboratory, intensely focused, extremely serious.

"What are you doing?" she asked, amused.

"Leaving a mark," he said flatly.

She did not press further, only watched the handsome, focused Professor figuring out how to fix the ribbon properly onto the gown's fine fabric.

Once done, Nakoxia donned his ceremonial robe, endured the dull ache between his legs, and limped back toward the masquerade that was now concluding as the guests departed. Perhaps his buttocks had been struck too harshly; his posture was somewhat pitiable.

Aglaea stood still at the edge of the terrace, watching his retreating figure. She did not leave with him; she merely pressed her fingers to the freshly tied ribbon at her waist and gently held it there.

That was the knot he had left for her, and the ambiguous message of this ball, known to no one else.

Chapter 4: Beneath the Gilded Thread

The afterglow of the masquerade, like an invisible gilded thread, quietly drew Nakoxia and Aglaea together. The madness and surrender of that night on the terrace seemed to have forged an irreversible intimacy between them. Even if they never spoke of it, their scents had already intertwined, becoming a silent, unspoken understanding.

Thereafter, the Clothiers' workshop carriage occasionally appeared at the Divine Enlightenment Tree Court. Mornings were too formal, and nights too suggestive, so it was usually in the afternoon. On some day with warm, gentle sunlight, never too harsh, Aglaea would have her handmaiden deliver a gold-embossed invitation, the handwriting delicate and flowing, inviting the professor to her residence for afternoon tea.

Nakoxia, a scholar who once disdained a life of luxury, accepted again and again, defying all precedent.

The seamstress's residence, like the woman herself, was magnificent and exquisite. On each visit, Nakoxia noticed small changes: perhaps a newly built pavilion in the garden, new floor-length curtains with a different pattern in the drawing room, or a few inventive pastries on the crystal tray.

Yet the space between them remained a courteous distance. They would sit in the sunlight-drenched glass conservatory, savoring fine teas from the far East, discussing newly published academic journals or the latest trends in the Holy City's couture world, sometimes trading playful barbs. Aglaea would smile faintly, listening to Nakoxia's lengthy discourses on alchemy, then offer unique insights that touched the essence of science from an artistic angle, often to his surprise. Nakoxia in turn would listen patiently when Aglaea spoke of fabrics and design, pointing out the potential applications of rare minerals in dyes and fibers.

An invisible line seemed to exist between them, courteous and gentle. Neither encroached excessively upon the other's work or life, nor trespassed into their core domains. The soft clink of teacups, their gazes occasionally meeting; all carried a romance yet to be spoken. Nakoxia noticed the desire flickering briefly in her eyes; Aglaea observed the faint tension in the professor's hands. Those subtle gestures revealed the emotions hidden beneath their restraint far more than any words could.

Yet beneath the surface of restraint and detachment, Aglaea steadily permeated the professor's life in her own way.

After one ordinary afternoon tea, Nakoxia was driven home by the carriage. The handmaiden respectfully presented a contract stamped with the Aglaea family crest. It was a massive, staggering endowment funding long-term sponsorship for the Scholarly Sect at the Divine Enlightenment Tree Court. The contract clearly stipulated that the funds were for commissioned research into a rut suppressant for high-order Goldborne Alphas. Once the research was complete, the remaining sum would be entirely at Professor Nakoxia's disposal.

Goldborne Alphas were exceedingly rare, and their ruts were often extremely violent and uncontrollable. This sponsorship was not merely generous support for academic research; it was a silent, personal precaution for the donor herself.

Nakoxia stared at the simple line written on the back of the contract: "Compensation after the masquerade."

Tracing Aglaea's elegantly flowing signature, complex emotions rose unbidden in his heart. She always made offers that were difficult to refuse, carrying out her will in circuitous yet forceful ways.

The seamstress's more personal care manifested in subtler forms. One early morning, as Nakoxia prepared to go out gathering experimental materials, he found a beautifully wrapped gift box waiting at his door. Curious, he lifted the lid, and a man's silk scarf lay quietly within. The dark silk fabric was smooth and cool to the touch. Along the scarf's edge, impossibly fine magical gold thread traced meandering vine patterns, each gilded leaf edge seeming to pulse with life, glistening in the morning light.

Nakoxia picked it up, feeling the exquisite embroidery and the magic woven into it. Such elegant and intricate weaving; only Aglaea could have made it. This was a protective scarf custom-crafted for an Omega, able to effectively block the pheromone onslaught of an Alpha in rut, conceal Omega pheromone leakage, and even provide physical bite-proof protection in an emergency. It silently declared the maker's identity, and the profound, unspoken courtship behind it.

He tried it on, wrapping it around his neck. The silk rested against the skin around his gland, and Aglaea's fragrance, now gentle and diffuse, blended subtly with the faint, cool scent of mint.

This protective scarf was like a silent embrace, reminding Nakoxia of the bond between them, still unspoken, yet deeply embedded in their hearts.

---

Inside the seamstress's mansion, the handmaidens would sometimes exchange a cheerful glance from corners out of their mistress's sight. It had been a long time since they had seen their lady so at ease. When Aglaea sketched clothing drafts, a faint, unconscious smile often lingered on her lips. When she cut silk, a tenderness never seen before flickered in her eyes. They watched their mistress devote months of effort, personally selecting the ideal bite-proof material for a protective scarf, and embroidering the vines upon it with nearly reverent care.

Their mistress never spoke those three words to others, nor even to Professor Nakoxia. But they all knew that their exalted mistress, the proud, aloof Aglaea whose heart had once been parched and withered, had fallen in love again. This deep affection was hidden in the carefully chosen tea pastries, in the quietly signed contract, and finally crystallized in that luxurious, exquisite protective scarf.

And all of this happened before the storm of her rut descended.

---

Inside the workshop, the fragrance was so dense it was nearly viscous. Every inch of space was saturated with a choking intensity of rose, incense-like, an invisible flame burning fiercely just beyond sight. This was no ordinary fragrance. It carried mania, loss of control, and extreme possessiveness, each wisp like an invisible needle, piercing the most vulnerable parts of the senses.

The room was in chaos. Silk half-cut lay torn into strips, hanging crookedly from half-destroyed mannequins. The sewing box had been knocked over, threads of every color tangled into a chaotic web, glinting with an eerie sheen. The French windows were veiled by velvet curtains; a few faint slivers of light seeped through the gaps, only making the room seem darker, more oppressive.

Aglaea, the woman who usually presented an image of perfection, controlling everything between needle and thread, sat hunched beside the cutting table, a once-lavish white gown with a sweetheart neckline and fishtail hem now tattered and half-open. Several violent gashes tore across the chest, revealing the deep, snowy-white curve of her cleavage. Her golden hair was disheveled, strands plastered to cheeks covered in cold sweat. Her eyes, no longer rational, were veiled by a thin, turbid film of desire, her pupils burning with two inextinguishable flames.

Her rut, absent for many years, had come with a ferocity beyond anything before. The Goldborne's innate combativeness shattered the image she so carefully maintained, leaving only the raw, feral Alpha instinct. She destroyed every unfinished piece, because none approached "ultimate beauty." Low, terrifying growls rumbled from deep in her throat, filled with the suppressed pain of a trapped beast. Occasionally, a few garbled curses escaped, echoing through the darkened space. The handmaidens, pale with fright, trembled and kept their distance, not daring to approach. They knew an Alpha in rut was like an unhinged madman; for one as dominant as Aglaea, a pheromone rampage could overwhelm any lesser Alpha or Omega.

After multiple failed attempts to administer sedatives, their only option was to send someone to seek help from the professor their mistress held so close.

"Professor! Please, Lady Aglaea… she's in terrible condition!" The head handmaiden arrived at the Divine Enlightenment Tree Court, her voice tearful as she urgently knocked on the laboratory door.

Nakoxia looked up sharply. Even from the residual scent clinging to the handmaiden, he could sense an Alpha pheromone fluctuation far beyond the ordinary. That overbearing, intense rose fragrance seemed to penetrate every barrier, directly assaulting his Omega gland. He understood what had happened. Aglaea's rut. And it seemed even more dangerous than any Alpha rut of legend.

He hesitated only a moment. Nakoxia seized the small leather satchel beside him, containing the neutralizing agent he had long since developed. It was a formula derived from ancient texts of alchemy, refined with modern knowledge, specifically designed to counter the runaway pheromones of a high-order Alpha. Though it could not shorten the rut itself, it could pacify the manic rage and prevent harm to those nearby.

Nakoxia drew a deep breath. Months of harmonious interaction with the seamstress had long since convinced him that when his heat came, Aglaea would be his only choice to spend it with. But an Alpha's rut… Nakoxia had witnessed it only once. The memory of Phaenon, usually a cheerful model student, drawing his sword and smashing the Truth-Lion's Mouth to pieces still filled him with lingering dread. He shook his head, casting aside the unease in his heart, wrapped the protective scarf around his neck to suppress his Omega pheromones as much as possible, and boarded the carriage with the handmaiden.

Yet when he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the workshop, the sight before him still shook him to his core. The thick rose pheromones struck like a heavy hammer, nearly buckling his knees. The fierce, oppressive force instantly triggered his Omega instincts. His gland trembled faintly, secreting a light, cool mint scent that tried to resist but felt utterly powerless. The room was dim, shattered fabric everywhere, as if a storm had just passed through.

And Aglaea, a monster trapped in desire, crouched before the sewing table, clutching a measuring ruler, her eyes scanning the intruder with manic ferocity. Low growls rumbled through her teeth. Her half-open gown traced a breathtakingly perfect silhouette, every inch of skin flushed with carnal heat.

"Aglaea? I've brought medicine." Nakoxia stepped inside, knocking on the doorframe to announce himself.

She caught his scent. Though the professor tried his utmost to conceal it, her senses, sharpened to their absolute limit, precisely captured that thread of cool mint.

The seamstress's pupils contracted violently. The wildness in her eyes shifted into something else: an extreme, ravenous possession. "Anaxagoras…" Her voice was rough and low, like a summons from the depths of hell. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, not from weakness, but because the primal desire for the Omega within her surged even more violently now that her target was in sight.

She launched herself from the floor, countless gilded threads shooting toward him like arrows loosed from a bow. Nakoxia tried to dodge, but his hands held the medicine. Afraid of breaking the vial, he let the golden threads coil around his limbs. She dragged him back onto the cold wooden surface of the cutting table. The violent pull sent Nakoxia crashing into the stacked materials on the table, the impact producing a dull thud. An unstoppered ink bottle toppled over, its cork dislodged, dark ink dripping like black teardrops from the table's edge. Aglaea's pristine white gown was quickly stained, the ink soaking the fabric across her chest, tracing curves both seductive and suggestive in the gloom.

Aglaea's breathing grew more ragged. Her Alpha instincts were enraged by this sensation of being "defiled." She snarled in manic fury, venting all her rage upon Nakoxia. "You ruined my gown…!" Her voice carried rage and grievance so raw it was the vulnerability exposed only in the utter uncontrol of a rut. She reached out, seized the professor's chest, and yanked him forward with brutal force.

Nakoxia refused to yield. He braced his knee against Aglaea's ribs, preventing her from closing in. "Take the medicine first," he coaxed the enraged seamstress. "Look, I'm wearing the gift you gave me." He tilted his chin toward his neck, where the bite-proof protective scarf sat securely, its golden threads embroidered with beautiful patterns and the family crest.

"Mine… not someone else's," Aglaea growled lowly. "No one else." Nakoxia reached out and opened the vial. "Only us… You can kiss me now, with peace of mind."

Nakoxia tipped his head back, holding the potion in his mouth. The next second, Aglaea, granted permission, was upon his lips, devouring him. Knocked off balance by her kiss, Nakoxia opened his mouth, letting the potion flow between their entwined tongues into her mouth. Her sharp teeth nipped his tongue, bringing a sharp sting. A thick surge of pheromones flooded in from the bite, like venom injected directly into the bloodstream, shooting straight up Nakoxia's spine. His Omega instincts stirred under the pheromone onslaught. An unprecedented, numbing pleasure spread from his mouth, paralyzing every nerve.

Aglaea pulled away from his lips. She moved lower, seeking the back of his neck. Her lips drew back, revealing a row of sharp white fangs, and she bit down savagely, the instinctive reaction of an Alpha driven by extreme desire and possessiveness to directly mark her Omega. Pain lanced through Nakoxia, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Yet he felt a surge of gratitude that he had worn the bite-proof protective scarf; it functioned perfectly, blocking the attack aimed at his gland.

"You destroyed my sash at the masquerade, and now you've ruined my gown!" Aglaea's voice was muffled against the scarf, low and indistinct, tinged with feral satisfaction and cruelty. "Now… you must pay with your entire life!"

A buzzing filled Nakoxia's mind. His consciousness began to blur. He knew what she was implying, what she wanted. A drive more primal than copulation: the Alpha's need to mark an Omega in the throes of rut. He felt his body heat uncontrollably, an unprecedented wave of desire surging from deep within his gland and battering his reason. But marking was a momentous decision. It could not happen here, in such chaos, on such impulse. They had never discussed it. So it was absolutely forbidden.

He struggled, trying to push away her teeth. In the confusion, they tumbled together into the pile of fabrics beneath the cutting table. Soft and plush, like countless gentle tendrils, the fabrics swallowed them whole. The shredded silk, cotton, and linen gave off their characteristic crisp scent, yet even that could not mask the maddening pheromones saturating the air.

They writhed in the nest of cloth, their bodies pressed close. Aglaea still bit down on Nakoxia's nape from behind, her scorching tongue tracing the skin pressed beneath her teeth, sending wave after wave of tingling sensation through him. The scarf absorbed the bite; it was not a true mark, but an extreme, probing simulation of one. Nakoxia could clearly feel the heat of her body and the violent rise and fall of her chest against his back, fueled by arousal. The seamstress's long-nailed hand slipped through a gap in his shirt, kneading and caressing his nipple with possessive tenderness.

"Let go… Aglaea, be good… and I will give you a reward." Nakoxia's voice, colored by the numbness in his chest beneath her touch, had grown husky with desire, no longer distinguishable as resistance or a moan.

Aglaea's full breasts ground repeatedly against him. The potion seemed to be taking effect; she regained a sliver of control and stopped biting his neck. Her wet lips trailed to his earlobe, her voice a low rasp: "I'm being obedient… Professor… I am a wonderful woman, am I not?" Her hand released his nipple and slid beneath the hem of his robe, stroking the lean plane of his flank before dipping into the cleft of his rear. Her fingers massaged his perineum and sphincter with lewd skill.

"I truly… like the Professor far too much. So much that I don't know what to do. Your brilliant mind, your sharp thoughts, your beautiful collarbone, your adorable sulking in the corner, your lips sipping tea, your hands writing, your profile when you frown in thought, your scent when you're nervous, the faint happy smile when you dance. I like every piece of you. Even when you scold people, it seems unbearably sexy to me! Every time we have tea, truly every single time, all I want, only want, is to tear your trousers off on the spot, toy with you with my tongue and fingers until you can't breathe, and then press you down on the conservatory table, fuck your face hard, fuck your arse, fuck you until your guts and throat are filled with my seed, fuck you until the whole workshop hears our cries. But I know, if I did that, everything would be ruined. You would never dare see me again. So I have held back, held back so carefully. Dear Professor, I let go. I've been good, haven't I? I've been enduring so well all this time, haven't I? Can you listen to me now, too… and let such a wonderful woman… give you a proper seeing-to?"

Nakoxia was stunned into silence, his entire face flushing crimson to his hairline. His soul was shaken by this crude yet devastatingly sincere confession. He thought of himself as merely a rational, focused scholar pursuing the path of truth, a commonplace, unremarkable, solitary Omega who always spent his heat cycles on suppressants. He had thought afternoon tea was simply part of their casual friendship, wholly unaware that he had been drawn into an intricate web of courtship.

"I need you, Professor. I want only you…!" Aglaea's voice, frayed and wild from the torment of desire, was both plea and command. Her fingers no longer probed but kneaded his buttocks with reckless abandon. She pinned him with her thigh against his groin and kissed him, stifling every struggling gasp in his throat. Only their ragged breaths and the insane tangle of their pheromones remained in the room. The ink-stained gown, the shredded silk, their sweat-slicked bodies; it was the most obscene vision in that whirlpool of lust.

Nakoxia sighed. With the last shred of reason, he began unbuttoning his shirt. If he didn't undress, Aglaea would likely tear everything to shreds. Dodging the seamstress's fervor, he stripped off his clothes and kicked them aside. "I understand. You take off that dirty dress too… and once you're done…" Nakoxia gritted his teeth. It was always so easy for him to feel embarrassed; now, completely naked, he truly didn't know how to speak properly. "…come claim your reward." He combed his disheveled bangs back with his fingers, revealing his handsome face. Blushing furiously, he averted his gaze and parted his legs slightly toward Aglaea. Save for the silk scarf at his neck, the professor wore not a single stitch. His lean, toned body and erect member were fully exposed beneath Aglaea's ravenous stare.

Aglaea let out a moan of eager anticipation. She rose slowly from the sea of fabrics, like a goddess of revolution emerging, or a demon queen poised to harvest her prey's soul. Slowly, as if emerging from a chrysalis, she shed her gown. High, round breasts sprang free, followed by a slender waist. The gown slid to the floor, revealing firm, shapely buttocks and a neckline as fluid as marble sculpture, gleaming with a hazy sheen of sweat. She extended one proud, long leg, its muscle definition breathtaking. Her bare foot moved lightly, warm and impossibly strong, slowly rubbing against the professor's exposed nipples before gliding downward, across his pectorals, the ridged muscles of his abdomen, past his navel and lower belly, coming to rest gently upon his straining erection.

Her toes slid with deft skill, the rhythm alternating between teasingly light and firmly pressing. Heat built at every point of skin-to-skin friction, teasing every nerve in Nakoxia's body, nearly stopping his breath. She pressed down harder, pinning him more thoroughly. Nakoxia's body curved upward as a choked, tiny moan escaped him. The seamstress's leg lay heavy between his thighs, dominant and merciless. Nakoxia endured desperately, but the pleasure came swift and sharp. He felt his reproductive chamber trickling with slick arousal, his lower body played into a slick, dripping mess. He was practically sitting in a puddle.

"Stop stepping… ah… stop it, dear…" Nakoxia pleaded, his shame burning as he raised an arm to cover his flushed, scalding face, his voice dwindling to a whisper. "…You can give me a proper seeing-to now."

Aglaea's body went rigid. She withdrew her foot. Then she slowly crouched down over the professor's hips, her feminine slit poised beneath her massive Alpha member. She adjusted her position, gradually taking Nakoxia's cock into her depths. Nakoxia groaned in despair, feeling himself completely devoured by her slick heat. He no longer resisted, no longer thought; only the rawest breath and passive endurance remained. In the tempest of Aglaea's rut, under her temptation, he had been utterly conquered.

The two were now almost entirely embedded in their soft nest of fabrics. She dictated the rhythm, her hips rising and falling with confidence, twisting and clenching around him. With each deep, driving stroke, bright desire burned in her eyes. Nakoxia's hands were pinned as he groaned, matching her riding motions. His vision was filled with the bouncing, pale expanse of her huge breasts, and he could speak no words, only pant ceaselessly, like a hound sprinting at full tilt under a blazing sun. Only when she accelerated her writhing and drove him straight to climax did the professor finally release a deep breath, his racing heart easing slightly. As he felt his seed erupt inside her, Aglaea remained seated steadily, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

Aglaea's sweat-drenched body relaxed. She buried her face in the crook of the professor's neck. Her breathing was still rapid, but the violent tidal wave of her pheromones had gradually steadied. Her eyes gleamed. She nudged Nakoxia's shoulder, her voice low and firm: "Turn around."

Nakoxia hesitated for just an instant, but she gave him no choice. Golden threads secured the professor as she forcefully flipped him over. On his stomach, his back to her, his spine tensed, he felt the faint, cool sensation of his member sliding against her skin. Memory rushed back to that night at the masquerade, when Aglaea's massive phallus had pierced him savagely, wild and merciless, almost battering through his reproductive chamber. The impact of that night had left him limping for five full days, every step evoking a deep, lingering echo. A thread of unease wound through Nakoxia.

Aglaea's fingers were deft and unyielding. She spread the professor's tight, slick buttocks, and without hesitation, aimed the Goldborne Alpha's giant erection and thrust viciously inside, carving open his passage without mercy. The bestial ravishment unfolded instantly, each stroke fierce and heavy. Nakoxia was ruthlessly pinned, split open, pounded deep. He closed his eyes, his breathing unsteady, physiological tears seeping from the corners of his lashes and streaking his cheeks. She bent over him, her hot breath spilling onto his nape: "At the auction, do you know how much I wanted to throw you to the floor and fuck your arsehole raw, right in front of those nobles? Seeing you so tense and uneasy… I was so hard I couldn't bear it!" An extreme shudder coursed through her. Her breathing grew even rougher. "I want to pound you until your whole body trembles, every thrust hitting your deepest point, until you're so overwhelmed with pleasure you can only cry my name and beg me to go harder! Do you want that… to be fucked until you can't even stand?"

"Ah… in your dreams, Aglaea. I will not beg you to go harder… because you are already going quite hard enough…!" His face burning at her shameless words, Nakoxia protested fiercely: "I will not… risk injury… at the cost of my research! Hold yourself back! If… ahh…"

"If… you still want… mm… me to invite you to spend… my heat with me…"

"…Then you must ensure… that I can still walk home properly…"

Aglaea's eyes blazed with naked, burning desire. She drove into the professor at a punishing pace. As she neared the peak, she threw her head back, baring her fangs, and bit down savagely on the back of his neck, releasing a roar of ecstatic satisfaction. Her Alpha pheromones erupted in a final wild surge. Even through the protective scarf, they saturated Nakoxia's gland entirely. It was a simulated "mark." Though it left no real wound, Nakoxia felt with crystal clarity that his gland was being claimed, invaded, by Aglaea's pheromones.

A half-bond had been forged between them. Here, in the seamstress's rut, in this primal and feral state, a part of the professor's soul was corroded, infiltrated. Nakoxia felt a wave of utter depletion. The expanding knot locked inside him, and he felt as though he might be split in two. He lay limp in the soft fabric nest, his body paralyzed and weak from the violent passion moments before. A warm, numbing sensation radiated from his gland, the aftermath of being partially marked. If they continued to interact so intensely from now on, he and Aglaea would be bound by a deeper, spiritual connection.

---

Several days later. The handmaiden finally heard the call of her mistress's bell. The rut was over.

"Anaxagoras…" Aglaea whispered softly. Her voice carried the fatigue of the rut's aftermath, but it was also filled with satisfaction. Nakoxia opened his eyes wearily. He was grateful he was a Goldborne Omega with a strong constitution. Otherwise, after days of unbridled excess ravaging him, fainting more than once, pulling himself together again would not have been easy.

Amber points of light shimmered before his eyes. Nakoxia, pale-faced, woke fully. A deep sense of fullness radiated from within him. Aglaea had yet to withdraw her member; it remained stubbornly lodged inside the professor.

"Professor, my adorable Professor. Please don't hate me?" Aglaea's expression held a touch of sorrow. She feared her loss of control had been too wanton for the famously rational professor. She feared he would hide from her, far away, and never look back.

Nakoxia weakly raised a hand and gently stroked Aglaea's disheveled golden hair. All of this had happened. He had been possessed by an Alpha out of control, lost for days in the abyss of desire. He felt neither shame nor rage. Before such extreme carnality, all reason seemed so helplessly fragile. He felt only an unprecedented exhaustion, and a strange… liberation. He had been utterly ravaged. But because of that, the iron fortress around his heart, the one that had kept everyone at a distance, seemed to have crumbled.

Aglaea gathered Nakoxia close, cradling him against the soft valley of her breasts, pressing the professor's face deeper, into the hazy fragrance of roses. Like a young beast seeking shelter, Nakoxia felt the warmth of her body, and the lingering tenderness in her pheromones, meant to soothe a beloved Omega. "I'm alright…" Nakoxia answered softly, his voice tinged with a barely perceptible hoarseness. "Aglaea."

"Don't worry. Let me sleep a little more."

Inside the workshop, the light gradually brightened. That oppressive, manic energy had vanished, replaced by a peaceful stillness woven with the lingering afterglow of passion. The tangled silks and ink stains would forever mark the peril and passion of this rut.

Chapter 5: Woven Scars

Once again, Nakoxia opened his eyes from exhaustion.

His legs ached from prolonged tension and the drain of lust; every muscle protested in silence. The professor lay sprawled upon the extravagantly luxurious bed and reached tentatively toward his neck. The bite-proof scarf was still in place. The sticky residue of passion had already been cleansed from his skin by the attendants, and he had been changed into a minimalist scholar's robe. A wave of warm numbness radiated from the scent gland at the back of his neck, the lingering aftermath of Aglaea's assault through the protective scarf. Though there was no actual wound, the Alpha's overwhelming pheromones already enveloped him, declaring an indisputable claim.

He turned his stiff neck and looked beside him.

Aglaea lay on her side next to him, similarly radiating the freshness of having bathed. Her long arm rested protectively across the professor's waist, her silk sleeping robe half-open, revealing full, round breasts. Her golden hair spilled across the pillow like seaweed, veiling most of her face. Only the slight rise and fall of her ample bosom and her steady breathing proved she was merely lost in deep slumber. Her sleeping expression had shed its usual aristocratic poise and majesty, appearing unusually serene, even bearing a girlish innocence.

And yet, Nakoxia could not quiet his mind enough to appreciate the beauty before him. He felt only an unprecedented apprehension. He had once believed he could forever transcend his Omega instincts, holding knowledge and order as his sole faith. He remembered his childhood, digging through rubble with bare hands for his sister's remains; that helpless despair had made him swear to master all the variables of the world, to pursue the precision of alchemy, to piece together the broken and uncontrollable aspects of life. Yet now, the distance he used as defense had been utterly pierced by another person.

Nakoxia noticed an exquisite crystal case resting on the table beside the bed. Inside the translucent box lay the sash he had torn apart with his own hands on the night of the Masquerade. Preserved so meticulously, as if it housed the trophy of a first night. The fractured tear resembled an ugly wound, mocking the professor's pitiful little "revenge." That sash had once symbolized restraint, which he had personally shredded. The irony was that the one ultimately bound was himself.

A silent weakness seeped out from the marrow of his bones.

Aglaea seemed to sense the professor's stirring. She let out a low groan and slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze was still tinged with drowsy haze, but the flames of her rut had completely receded, replaced by a deep, satisfied softness. Her eyes fell upon Nakoxia, moving from the slightly parted collar of his scholar's robe, along the taut, handsome line of his jaw, finally resting on the spot over his scent gland, hidden beneath the scarf.

"Professor..." The seamstress's lips curved into the faintest, nearly translucent smile.

Nakoxia's body stiffened abruptly.

He could not face this gentle attitude from Aglaea; it unsettled him far more than any of her dominance ever had. Struggling, he tried to rise and escape from the "prison" of her arm.

"The medication... I completed the commission. What was the effect?" Nakoxia's voice was hoarse and discomposed. He attempted to break this suffocating intimacy by discussing official business.

Aglaea did not answer. Instead, she helped the aching Nakoxia sit up, her robe parting further with the motion to reveal nearly an entire bare shoulder. She reached out and cupped his cheek, her fingertips warm.

"You did very well. At least this time, no one was injured." Her tone brimmed with victorious certainty. Her pupils reflected Nakoxia's pallid face and the unresolved unease deep in his eyes.

"My backside disagrees with that statement," Nakoxia protested in a low voice.

Aglaea's eyes widened as if she had swallowed a fly, and then she burst out laughing, nearly breathless. Her laughter gradually softened, and she slowly leaned her head against the professor's shoulder.

Nakoxia could clearly smell the rose fragrance emanating from her, now gentle and lingering, without oppressive force, yet stubbornly reminding him that she had already left her mark upon him.

"You're afraid I'll bind you, aren't you?" Aglaea spoke quietly. "Whether body or soul. You fear I'll walk into your soul and tear you apart, so you always rush to stitch up the weak points where light has seeped through, using your knowledge, your reason."

Nakoxia's expression stiffened again at her penetrating words. She could always cut with surgical precision straight into his deepest fears. He thought of his sister, who had squeezed her meager wages to buy books and scrape together tuition for her younger brother's dreams of education, only to become, after the monsters attacked, a corpse crushed beneath rubble, torn limb from limb. A chill ran through him. Those unhealed wounds were the nightmare he could never escape his entire life. He would rather hide in a dark cocoon and read, alone for a lifetime. Because he could not bear to lose anyone else.

"Listen well, Anaxagoras. I will not do that. To cage you like a pet songbird would be too foolish. Because what I love most is the sight of you radiating brilliance as you present your academic research. You are an eagle, a free and keen predator with sharp talons, destined to soar above the clouds. If I may, I would gladly be the updraft that holds your wings aloft."

Aglaea leaned against the professor, her eyes devoid of any lust, holding only the utmost candor. "My rut is my greatest weakness. Before this, no medicine could soothe a Goldborne Alpha's bloodthirsty impulses; no one was brilliant enough to succeed in its research. Someone was always gravely injured, something important was always destroyed. Can you imagine the feeling of regaining consciousness to find yourself standing in a courtyard, drenched in blood? If the Clothiers had not restrained me, I would have slaughtered every imagined enemy who set foot on the estate grounds! All elegance forgotten, all decorum abandoned, in such an ugly posture, exposing every desire and madness. You saw it, and you heard all my thoughts, didn't you?"

Nakoxia patted the seamstress's back comfortingly. This was the first time he had seen Aglaea so candid. No finery, no mask, no lofty arrogance. She was like an infant stripped of all defenses, confessing her most unsightly weakness.

"Yes." He answered hoarsely, his voice carrying an almost imperceptible pain.

He had indeed seen: all her frenzy, all her vulnerability, and the fondness for the professor she had striven so hard to conceal. And he had heard, too, what he should and should not have heard, all of it.

"I heard very clearly. Every time you invited me to afternoon tea, you undressed me with your eyes, your mind filled with thoughts of how to press me onto the table and fuck me senseless. It seems my utterly ordinary shut-in backside holds a strange appeal for nobility."

Having finished speaking awkwardly, Nakoxia averted his gaze, his own ears flushing crimson.

"You are a daring Omega..." Aglaea extended her fingertip and gently stroked the professor's throat, where her residual pheromones lingered. Her gaze was profound, filled with an ineffable tenderness. "You accepted my tea invitations every single time, like a gazelle coming to drink in a crocodile pool... and when my rut erupted, you were willing to come to my aid. Even my most senior handmaidens lacked the courage to step through that door." She did not say "soothe" or "save" but chose a different expression. "You chose to use your own body to stitch up my weakness."

Nakoxia's heart jolted violently.

Stitch up. That word. It was an unforeseen "repair operation" conducted under her direction. He had once yearned to suture the world's wounds with knowledge, yet now he had become the suture itself, the offering in this healing ritual.

Aglaea pressed her cheek close, listening to the professor's violently pounding heart. Her Alpha pheromones no longer carried any oppressive force, yet they were like an invisible net, trapping Nakoxia securely within.

"You used your reason and wisdom to stitch up my uncontrollable impulses." She spoke softly, her voice laden with a fated acknowledgment. "I used my patience and desire to tear apart your icy defenses. And then, in the chaos, perhaps we can become better people. Perhaps we can become a better pair."

Nakoxia closed his eyes, feeling his body gently leaned upon. "Perhaps." He was persuaded. He knew that from this moment onward, what lay between him and Aglaea was no longer seamstress and casual customer, no longer rivals at the auction house, no longer the elegant dance partners drifting near and far at the ball.

Nakoxia lifted his hand and slowly returned Aglaea's embrace, holding her tightly in his arms.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, spilling across their entwined bodies and gilding this intimate tableau with a soft halo.

Outside the door of the seamstress's chamber, the handmaidens exchanged knowing smiles. They knew that all within the room had quieted. And inside, Nakoxia and Aglaea silently held each other, using the warmth of their bodies and the mingling of their pheromones to stitch together their respective flaws, welcoming a completely new way of being together.

---

Afterward, the carriage from the seamstress's workshop would still come to invite the professor to afternoon tea. Only, the professor's stays at the seamstress's residence grew longer. When afternoon tea concluded, he practically crawled back to the carriage, clothes disheveled, gasping for breath. Occasionally, when the seamstress finished her work, she would also visit the professor in his laboratory in person. She would leave Clothiers to guard the door, and the laboratory's lights would burn bright all night.

Once a long-term bond of trust was established, Nakoxia finally decided to place the laboratory key in Aglaea's hand and, lowering his voice, told her a date.

His next heat cycle.

Aglaea had never awaited a day's arrival with such blissful anticipation.

---

The laboratory was heavy with the bitterness of medicinal herbs and the acrid sting of alchemical solvents, mingled with Nakoxia's faint mint pheromones. The Omega at this moment bore pain and vulnerability. The heat cycle had already begun, but he first had to handle the emergency before him.

Nakoxia sat at the laboratory bench, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. His upper garment was half-removed, revealing a lean, defined chest and abdomen. A savage gash split open across his wrist, skin and flesh peeled back. Golden blood, like a stream breaking free of its bonds, stained his skin and dripped steadily onto the cold floor. He made no groan, only pressing his lips tightly together, brows deeply furrowed. His handsome face, illuminated by candlelight, looked exceptionally weary.

Nakoxia tried to staunch the bleeding with a standard medicinal agent, but his body, now in the grip of its heat cycle, had lost its precision, making self-bandaging difficult. The process of harvesting the root of the "Bone-Devouring Vine" had proven more difficult than Nakoxia had anticipated. The plant was exceedingly aggressive, and to obtain an intact sample, he had paid a price.

The door panel was tapped lightly a few times, followed by the sound of a lock turning. A tall figure, carrying the scent of roses, entered from the backlight of the setting sun. It was Aglaea, arriving as promised.

She saw Nakoxia's injury and froze for a moment; her usual composure and pride were instantly replaced by anxiety. She set aside the luggage prepared for spending the heat cycle together and strode swiftly toward him. The light, backless white gown she wore stirred a faint fragrant breeze in her wake, and her Alpha pheromones now grew heavy with protective urgency.

"What happened?" She did not ask "Do you need help?" but went straight to Nakoxia, her gaze sweeping over the golden bloodstains on the floor.

Nakoxia looked up and saw the worry in the seamstress's eyes, a jolt running through his heart. He was accustomed to handling everything alone. Yet now, her presence was like a sudden, warm current, soothing his taut nerves.

"A slight issue during collection," he answered shortly, his voice carrying the weakness of endured pain.

Aglaea asked no further questions. She gently pressed him back into the chair, then turned and rummaged through the medical kit on the table for usable supplies, her movements practiced and precise, no less meticulous than her needlework.

She first used a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant to wipe the torn flesh of Nakoxia's wrist. The medicinal liquid touched the wound, bringing sharp, stinging pain. Nakoxia shuddered violently but did not flinch. Another wave of heat from his cycle surged through his lower abdomen; he felt his knees going weak. He gritted his teeth, his other hand clenching into a tight fist, knuckles whitening from the force.

Aglaea smelled it. That gradually thickening, refreshingly sweet mint fragrance. She paused, and her breathing grew slightly heavier.

Aglaea drew a deep breath, picked up the hemostatic forceps and suture needle, and drew from her cuff a thread of gold as fine as a hair, infused with a portion of her magical power, it would aid wound healing.

"Gold Thread hurts more than ordinary sutures, but in the end, it can even erase the scar." Her voice was lower than usual, carrying a commanding tenderness. "Rest assured and leave it to me."

She gave the professor no chance to refuse, directly threading the silky Gold Thread through the curved suture needle with fluid ease. The cold glint of the needle tip reflected in Nakoxia's eyes, and he felt an unprecedented tension, not merely from the pain. He knew the suturing to follow would be a dual torment of body and soul.

The first stitch descended.

The needle tip pierced the torn flesh, penetrated skin, pulled nerves, sending a searing bolt of agony through him. Nakoxia's body arched sharply, and a low, muffled grunt escaped his throat. His body, craving stimulation, fell into chaos; he clenched his jaw, fine cold sweat beading along his collarbone, his erection aching fiercely. He could feel her fingers, caring yet firm, pressing gently against his skin, her unique rose pheromones invading his senses with near-overbearing force.

Aglaea's brows were tightly knit, her focus severe, utterly unshaken. Her Alpha pheromones released quietly in that moment, gently enveloping Nakoxia, seeking to soothe the pain while carrying an undisputable sense of control. This was the most primal protective instinct, driving her to draw the wounded Omega beneath her wing.

Needle and thread danced in her hands, weaving through flesh, every stitch impeccably precise, as if she were sewing the most fantastical gown. Nakoxia could clearly feel the sting of the needle, the pull of the Gold Thread. Yet pain was not the only sensation. He shifted uneasily, trying to let his penis rub slightly, to relieve the increasingly unbearable desire. With her every movement, the seductive rose fragrance upon her grew ever more overwhelming, drowning him like a tide.

Nakoxia's Omega gland began to tremble involuntarily, secreting the sweet scent of mint and bergamot, attempting to respond to the fervent Alpha pheromones. Deep inside his body, a painful, parching heat slowly rose. Pain and lust, two diametrically different sensations, intertwined strangely, forming an extreme, shuddering experience.

In the agony of desire, he watched her downturned face. Her sculpted features were gilded with a soft golden edge by the candlelight within the room. A few strands of golden hair had fallen across her high-bridged nose from focused effort. He noticed her eyelashes trembling with concern, and the tight-pressed curve of her lips. This was an unprecedented vulnerability, displayed only for him.

"Don't move." Aglaea's voice suddenly rang out, carrying a warning yet also suppressing deeper emotion. She had noticed the professor's complex gaze and the ambiguous shift in his pheromones.

Nakoxia ignored her. Unconsciously, he extended his other, uninjured hand and touched, gently, almost reverently, the sharp canine visible between the seam of Aglaea's lips, the very instrument she used to mark. During their afternoon tea rendezvous and late-night visits to the laboratory, she had bitten the back of his neck wantonly many times; even with the bite-proof protective scarf as a barrier, never leaving any mark's trace, the memories of their countless carnal entanglements remained.

He felt Aglaea's body go rigid with perfect clarity.

Aglaea nearly stopped breathing, the hand holding the suture needle pausing for a beat. Her Alpha pheromones instantly diffused an even more potent aura, accompanied by desire triggered from deep within. She had not expected that, at this crucial moment of stitching a wound, Nakoxia would make such a direct, instinctive touch.

"Darling, what are you searching for?" Her voice turned sensually deep, yet the suturing motion did not stop.

Nakoxia's fingertip gently stroked her lip. He knew that every trace of the beast within her was perfectly hidden, and only in the vortex of passion would Aglaea reveal her truest self.

"Looking for what you're going to give me..." Nakoxia, dazed from the intertwining of lust and pain, wanted to say "mark" but could not express it clearly. He was searching for a reciprocal covenant, a mark that belonged to him, inscribed between their two souls.

Aglaea said nothing. She accelerated the pace of her suturing, needle and thread darting like lightning, pulling the torn flesh together inch by inch. The final stitch fell; she tied a practiced knot, the movement as fluid as completing a masterwork.

She raised her head, her burning gaze fixed upon Nakoxia, a ravenous light flickering in her eyes.

She saw that the professor's cheeks were flushed from the heat cycle. Suffering and suppression intertwined in his eyes, giving rise to a hazy, intoxicated beauty.

"You have suffered." She murmured softly, an ultimate form of doting. She bent down and, instead of kissing his lips, gently licked the remaining golden blood from his wrist. Nakoxia shuddered violently, feeling the warmth of her breath fanning against his wound, sending a numbing tremor through him. The slickness of her tongue and the scent of golden blood mingled strangely, becoming a dark provocation.

Deep within Nakoxia's body, the flames of desire had long been kindled. Without any hesitation, he suddenly leaned over and kissed her lips.

The kiss was wild and deep. He was not a passive recipient but an active responder. His tongue explored her mouth with domineering hunger, carrying a vengeful thirst. He wanted to devour her, to inhale every trace of her scent into his very marrow.

Aglaea did not resist. Her breathing quickened, and a satisfied moan escaped her lips. Her Alpha pheromones grew even denser and sweeter in that moment. Nakoxia's hand climbed upward unconsciously, slipping past the side of her gown and sliding onto the soft skin of her back. His fingertips met her smooth flesh, and then, at the peak of surging lust, he lost control and raked several long, bloody scratches fiercely across her spine. These scratches would become the most secret and most profound secret signal between them. It was no longer a unilateral possession but a mutual, equal response. It was not deliberate harm, but an instinctive release.

Aglaea's body stiffened abruptly, and a deeply suppressed snarl tore from her throat. Her pheromones erupted in that instant like a raging tide.

Almost with storm-like urgency, Aglaea hurriedly shed her gown, and then swiftly stripped the robes from Nakoxia's body.

Nakoxia sat naked upon the table, lifting his bloodstained fingertips to his mouth and savoring the taste delicately. The scratches on the back were an Omega's "reverse" possession of an Alpha's body after being claimed, the most primal, most equal mark.

Nakoxia let Aglaea part his legs. The seamstress greedily and swiftly took the professor's penis into her throat. Nakoxia groaned lowly, ignoring the pain in his wound, both hands clutching tightly at Aglaea's golden hair. His breathing was rapid and erratic, his cheeks flushing deeply. Waves of numbing, scorching heat radiated from his gland. He threw his head back and moaned loudly and shamelessly. He was being drawn by this woman, in the most primal way, into another world. Her madness, her desire, her care; all had become the Gold Thread stitching together the flaws within his heart. The severe wound on his wrist seemed, in this moment, no longer so painful.

The setting sun had fully descended, plunging the laboratory into a deeper night. Only the candlelight remained, only two currents of pheromones, entwining fiercely in the air. Their merging symbolized two once-separate souls now preparing to be permanently bound together.

When Aglaea's fingers slid into his passage, Nakoxia's body curled, he sobbed a few times, and immediately came.

"Keep going," Nakoxia gasped, commanding. "Keep fucking me, Aglaea!"

He tilted back his long, beautiful neck, his rear passage contracting feverishly as he savored the swallowing at the front and the ineffable fullness behind. Aglaea swallowed every drop of the semen he spurted cleanly. She concluded the oral service with a fervent kiss as a beautiful finish, and then flipped the professor over and rammed fiercely inside!

"Ah...!" Nakoxia had never cried out so loudly. Always before, he had spent his estrus periods alone and quiet. That agonizing heat could only be endured for days on end, pitifully alleviating himself with soothing herbs and toys.

Aglaea pressed forcefully against the professor's back and fucked him until he shouted aloud. The sounds of their entwined bodies colliding echoed through the laboratory. Nakoxia dared not think about whether other students engaged in nighttime research might hear, or how he would ever calmly use this laboratory again without his thoughts running wild. He had once believed his life would forever pass in cold laboratories and boundless seas of books. He had once believed his heart would be forever imprisoned by the memories of the past. Yet he had met Aglaea. An Alpha who had burned into his world like a falling sun.

Aglaea fucked the professor's ass with absolute devotion, barely slowing her pace, driving with desperate intensity until she herself was drenched in sweat, until thick semen overflowed between the professor's thighs. Even when her Alpha knot swelled, she did not stop; she still strove in rhythmic motion, fucking Nakoxia as he moaned loudly. With immense joy, she fucked him while groping for the gland at the back of the professor's neck.

Nakoxia needed her. The Omega she had kept in her heart all along, growing fonder with every encounter, had given her the key, inviting her to share his heat cycle. And he was not wearing the bite-proof protective scarf. He was not wearing the silk scarf. He was willing.

Aglaea bared a mouthful of stark white fangs and abruptly bit down on the back of Nakoxia's neck. Her teeth sank deep into the skin, pheromones erupting like blazing fire, instantly invading the Omega's senses. Nakoxia clenched his jaw, mint fragrance spilling out uncontrollably, as if an electric current shot through his brain. Their scents surged and clashed within blood and lust, forging a tight resonance.

Her penis had swollen into a knot, massive and scalding hot, thrusting into the tight passage from behind, ravaging without mercy. Every drive was fierce and deep, nearly piercing through his reproductive chamber, bringing a tearing pleasure and pressure.

Nakoxia, bitten hard on the back of his neck and fucked relentlessly, cried out in nearly hoarse wails. His waist was locked tight by powerful hands, shaking violently with the rhythm; sweat and lust mingled, the room filled with the obscene sounds of flesh colliding under Aglaea's domination.

The professor gasped, his voice trembling: "You can let go with your teeth now... slower... too, too big!" His fingers clutched desperately at the edge of the table, trying to withstand the Alpha's fierce thrusts. The bite mark at his nape wept golden blood, and the oppression of pheromones streamed tears down his face.

"Aglaea... ah, Aglaea..." He sobbed, tears sliding down, only to earn her even deeper possession. His powerless pleas were swallowed up in the scorching rhythm. "My Alpha."

The first day of Nakoxia's heat cycle passed in a haze of delirium. He did not know how long he had been briefly unconscious, only vaguely remembering Aglaea feeding him water through kisses, wiping his body, caring for his wound, and then fucking him, with extreme brutality, as if there were no tomorrow.

"Dear Professor," Aglaea, having fucked all night without sleep, spoke in a low voice. Her fingers slid down Nakoxia's sweat-slicked back and moved lower, gripping his trembling buttocks. "My Omega." She slowed her rhythm, her thick penis grinding slowly inside him, like the most obscene dance, each movement precisely crushing his sensitive prostate, eliciting convulsive moans from the professor.

Nakoxia's disheveled hair clung to his face, tears and sweat mingling. It was only the afternoon of the second day, yet his voice was already so hoarse it was nearly fragmented: "Aglaea... it can't be too intense... after the heat cycle, there's a lecture, I have to go on stage to speak..." He tried to push himself up, but she seized his buttocks tightly; everything was under her control.

"A lecture?" Aglaea leaned down, her lips close to his ear, her breath scorching. "May I have an admission ticket? You must be so captivating on stage. It makes one's whole body burn. I love watching you." Her palm kneaded the professor's pectoral, then traveled downward, expertly gripping his already spent and softened penis, stroking it slowly, her fingertip teasingly circling the tip. "Perhaps I should say... fucking you with my eyes."

Nakoxia shuddered violently, a whimper escaping his throat. He nearly crumbled under her dual assault. "No need... for a ticket, it's open admission... only... ahh... feels good... only a few people will come to listen..."

Perhaps the image of the professor on stage aroused Aglaea. She suddenly accelerated, her penis plunging in ferociously. The sounds of flesh striking flesh echoed through the room, mingling with Nakoxia's struggling gasps and Aglaea's low growls.

"You are mine, Anaxagoras, and I also belong to you." She bit his earlobe, her voice carrying undisputable dominance. "I will give you freedom, but you belong to me! No matter where you are, even when you are on stage speaking to many people, do not forget this!"

Nakoxia's consciousness blurred almost completely under the onslaught of intense pleasure. The pheromones left him no escape, able only to drown in her domination. His nails nearly dug into Aglaea's shoulder, knuckles white. His handsome face was vacant and flushed, his eyes shattered and alluring, a classic image from an erotic illustration.

"I won't forget, Aglaea... ah... I won't forget all of this, our encounters, the conversations we've had, those memories... the Alpha who fascinates me... is mine, my own... Goddess!" He cried out, his voice carrying submission and despair. At last, he abandoned resistance, clamped his legs tight, matched her rhythm, and sank into the wild storm of lust.

Nakoxia felt the entire world collapsing and, at the same time, reshaping itself anew. Every impact pushed him toward a deeper abyss, yet from that abyss he drew strength, making him crave more. Aglaea's Alpha pheromones, like viscous honey, soaked through every cell, making him dizzy and intoxicated. The reason he had once prided himself on now shattered into countless fragments under her ferocious assault.

"My professor... my Omega." As Aglaea reached another climax, her ragged breath spilled against his sweat-slicked back. Nakoxia could not think, only passively receive the impacts. His body jolted with her rhythm, his throat emitting broken, barely audible pleas. He felt every nerve in his body screaming, torn simultaneously by pain and pleasure. Her hand, filled with power at this moment, locked tightly around his quivering throat, pressing him deeper into herself.

Aglaea knew this was not merely a union of flesh, but a tangling of souls. He was like the most precious mithril mine. She would claim him, stuff all his past loneliness, all his defenses, all his wounds, full with her own fervor. Every thrust from behind was like an invisible needle, stitching the space between them until no seam remained.

Nakoxia's throat was squeezed; he suffocated, his consciousness hazy. He could only rely on instinct, his penis twitching and spurting thin streams of semen as he let out pitiful, helpless moans, meeting her every advance and retreat. Sweat, tears, and the bodily fluids remaining on each other's skin all became irrefutable evidence of this ecstasy. The laboratory no longer held the cold scent of herbs and the acrid sting of reagents, but instead a chaotic yet sweet, surging tide of pheromones belonging to the two of them.

An unknown span of time passed; the entanglements of the heat cycle, perhaps several days. Nakoxia was fucked into a senseless shell. He may have opened his eyes at times, but his gaze was vacant, taking nothing in, simply spreading his legs and drowning in the waves of desire. At last, Aglaea let out a final, satisfied, low snarl, spraying all her essence deep inside Nakoxia's body. Then, her body suddenly stiffened, her penile knot swelling deep inside, completely plugging Nakoxia's slick passage.

Nakoxia felt an ultimate ache mixed with fullness. He slumped forward, utterly exhausted.

Aglaea held him tightly, burying her teeth once more into the back of his neck. The thick rose pheromones upon her, now softened by the fatigue of days of climax, still domineeringly declared her victory and possession.

Nakoxia felt the stinging pain at his rear gland gradually subside, replaced by a lingering, warm numbness. That was the aftermath of being perfectly marked. He knew that this time, without the barrier of the bite-proof scarf, Aglaea's teeth had truly pierced his skin, and her pheromones were etched into the depths of his soul. A permanent mark, sufficient within an estrus period to establish the deepest level of Omega dependence and bond with an Alpha.

Aglaea's breathing steadied. She lifted her head from the back of Nakoxia's neck; her eyes flickered with profound light in the dimness. Her gaze swept over Nakoxia's sweat-drenched face, noticing the residual tears and exhaustion at the corners of his eyes. She bent down and gently licked away the teardrops, a gesture carrying an unusual tenderness and pity.

"Professor..." Her voice was husky and low, like an ancient lullaby. "You are now my mate."

Her hand gently stroked the sutured wound on his wrist. That wound no longer bled; the Gold Thread shimmered faintly in the dimness, its healing effect astonishing.

Nakoxia did not speak. He only slowly turned his head and covered Aglaea's hand with his own uninjured one.

Aglaea's body trembled slightly. She knew that Nakoxia was no mere passive recipient. With his vulnerability, his stubbornness, his wildness, he had forged a different kind of bond with her.

She held his hand in her palm, fingers interlacing, like two intertwined threads of fate.

"We... can perhaps try being together. Until the end of the Goldborne's destiny," Nakoxia murmured brokenly, his voice carrying the satisfaction of a receding heat cycle. He no longer resisted, no longer struggled. Those fears that had once haunted his heart, poverty, loss, loneliness, losing control, were now all melted by this tenderness, wrapped in her pheromones.

Aglaea held him tighter, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his breathing. She closed her eyes and, amidst exhaustion and fulfillment, smiled softly.

Beyond the laboratory window, the moon rose quietly. Its silver-white light spilled through the glass, falling upon the chaotic tools within and the Gold Thread that shimmered faintly. The space that had once been filled with order was now saturated with the residual warmth of passion and the lingering entanglement of pheromones. This place was no longer the cocoon where Nakoxia faced loneliness and knowledge alone, but a nest woven together by the two of them, belonging to them both.

Nakoxia knew this was only the beginning. His future heat cycles would be spent with Aglaea by his side. And their relationship would also be reborn from this wild and primal "stitching." He was no longer merely a genius hiding behind books and experimental data. And she was no longer merely a seamstress seeking superiority in finery and control. They had found solace in each other's wounds and discovered truth in the other's desire.

Gold Thread and mithril. One represented precision and order, the other symbolized desire and romance. Now, they were no longer opposing forces but entwined, tightly bound, jointly weaving a new life belonging to the two of them, filled with pain and pleasure, unraveling and stitching.

This was a mending without end. Every touch, every entanglement, would bind their souls ever tighter in the future. At least, that was what Nakoxia anticipated.