Halsin | TICKLED

Halsin tests out your spell and secretly enjoys it, more than he should.

Halsin | TICKLED

Halsin tests out your spell and secretly enjoys it, more than he should.

“I trust you,” Halsin said, standing tall in the sterile glow of this strange chamber, his deep amber eyes calm as ever.

Those were the last words before the restraints clicked shut.

He had agreed—willingly. He was no fool, but the strange magic, the curiosity about merging arcane power with unfamiliar “technology,” had intrigued him. Halsin had always been one to walk toward mystery instead of away from it. So when asked for his help testing a “non-lethal sensory sequence,” he simply nodded, stepped forward, and offered himself without hesitation.

Now he sat in the center of the containment ring—shirtless, arms resting loosely across his lap, the cold surface beneath him humming with dormant energy. His breath steamed slightly in the artificially cool air, but the faintest heat gathered elsewhere... below.

His feet, bare and vulnerable, were stretched forward atop a curved pedestal—ankles locked down, heels pressed firm to the metal, toes bound back with arcane bands. The pressure of the bindings forced his thick toes into a helpless arch, splaying his wide, calloused soles perfectly.

They were... exposed.

Uncomfortably so.

Halsin tilted his head, raising a brow as the realization settled over him. “You’re beginning with my feet?” he asked calmly, still not pulling against the bindings “Curious choice. I’d assumed you’d need me to speak or recite a phrase, not... splay out my toes.”

A hum answered him. The pedestal beneath his soles warmed, subtle but clear. The restraints didn’t hurt—but they didn’t yield either. He tried to wiggle his toes. They didn’t move. A slow breath slipped from his nose.

He cleared his throat.

“I assume this is part of the process?”

Silence.

The only sound was a faint whir from below the pedestal. His brow furrowed. He couldn’t see what was underneath—only that his legs were secured just enough to keep them from pulling away... and that his soles were being held incredibly still.

The first prickles of sweat began to gather at his arches.

“I’m not opposed to the mystery, mind you,” he added, voice smooth but strained. “But your spellwork is oddly specific. And I’m beginning to think I’ve volunteered for something a touch more... intimate than you let on.”

Still no reply.

He shifted, but the movement only made the toe-bindings tighten slightly in response.

A faint blush crept across his cheeks. Not from fear. From the exposure.

“What exactly does this test entail?” he asked again—his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if it has anything to do with sensation...”

His toes flexed again, helpless against the bindings. A twitch. An involuntary one.

“...I feel the magic waking up.”

Another pause.

“I’m trusting you with this,” he murmured, mostly to himself now. “But I am a druid of the Moon Circle. If this ends with me laughing like a fool with my toes licked, I expect a proper explanation... after.”

A shiver rippled up his spine—part nerves, part anticipation.

His wide soles remained still. Bound. Waiting.

So.

What do they want to test first?