Chapter 1: The King of Lust
Riya Riot's life is... ordinary. Boring, even.
He woke up like any other day, sunlight bleeding through his curtains, the muffled sound of his sister already making noise somewhere in the house.
He groaned, rolled over, and muttered a sarcastic curse at the ceiling before dragging himself out of bed.
The house felt like a snapshot frozen in time. His father sat silently at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, eyes buried in his phone. Always working. Always distant. If he spoke, it was to ask about school or make some dry remark. He was a man of structure, not emotion.
His mother, meanwhile, flitted around like a ghost. She smiled when she saw Riya, kissed his cheek, asked about breakfast... but something behind her eyes always seemed far away, as if she were remembering a different life entirely. Riya noticed—but never asked.
Then there was his sister. His obnoxiously cheerful, sharp-tongued little sister.
"Oh wow, you're actually awake. Did the earth shake or something?" she teased, watching him pour cereal into a bowl.
"Yeah," he replied dryly, "I think your voice shattered my dreams."
She laughed, unfazed. "Poor dreams. They deserved better."
This was how most mornings went—light teasing, quiet tension, and Riya pretending everything was fine.
He hid his frustration behind sarcasm. It was easier than admitting that he felt completely disconnected from the world around him.
The house was warm. Safe. But it also felt like a cage.
He didn't know what he wanted... but he knew it wasn't this.
That night, Riya fell into bed more exhausted than usual. Not from activity, but from the sheer weight of repetition.
As he drifted into sleep, the edges of his vision darkened, then bloomed into strange, ethereal light.
He stood in a place that didn't obey the rules of reality—shimmering fields under a sky of swirling stars. The ground shifted when he moved, yet never crumbled. Light and shadow played like music around him.
Then she appeared.
A figure emerged from the mist—tall, graceful, impossibly radiant. Her robes billowed like wind itself served her. Her face was beauty and mystery, with eyes that seemed to see through him.
"Riya," she said, her voice like velvet and starlight.
He blinked. "Who the hell are you?"
"I am Merlin," she said, bowing slightly. "Or rather, the Lady of Avalon—your guide in what comes next."
She circled him, like a lioness inspecting prey—or a queen sizing up her champion.
Her grin was both warm and dangerous.
"You feel it, don't you?" she said. "The emptiness. The hunger. You were never meant to live a normal life."
Riya frowned. "Okay... what are you talking about?"
Merlin stopped in front of him, her expression turning more serious. "The Saint Graphs of every female Heroic Spirit have been bound to your soul. Whether by fate or design... your body now holds power that can shape the world."
He stared at her. "Well you're insane."
"Maybe. But that doesn't make me wrong."
She explained: in order to awaken their true strength, he would need to "connect" with each one—by showing Intimately, Seduction, passion and most importantly lust—they were not just tools, but requirements.
There was something ominous behind her beauty, something ancient and manipulative. She wasn't telling him everything—but she was giving him a glimpse.
"Use them, or be used," she said. "This is your story now, Riya. How far are you willing to go to survive?"
Elsewhere, back in the real world, a shadow watched.
Outside Riya's house, cloaked in night, a figure stood still as stone. Their face was hidden, eyes fixed on Riya's window. They didn't blink. Didn't move. They only watched.
The air around them felt heavier. Charged. As if the world itself recognized their presence and held its breath.
Whoever they were, they weren't just curious.
They were waiting.