Lira approached the three-story building at 47 Soldier's Rest Avenue, Southern District — the Mercenary Guild. She'd just dropped from a carriage and crossed to the other side of the road, her boots scraping against worn cobblestone.
She fished out a bronze coin, kissed it — 'For luck. Always for luck.' — and lowered it into the cap of a lean man resting beside the concrete lamppost base. Then she walked through the two large oak doors, both propped open to catch the afternoon breeze.
A young lady with deep blue hair and radiant blue eyes — both charming and welcoming — greeted her at the entrance. She wore a white blouse with the first three buttons undone, revealing her cleavage. Professional attire at the Mercenary Guild, apparently.
She started to stand, then froze mid-rise when she recognized who was walking in.
"Welcome, Lira!" Her smile widened, voice lifting with genuine warmth.
Lira smiled and gently patted her own hair as she approached the desk.
"How's the new job treating you?"
Victoria's gaze dropped for a moment before she brightened again. The hesitation didn't escape Lira's notice.
"Fine, actually. The pay is enough for Emma and me to get by." She paused, fingers fidgeting with a quill on the desk. "But I try to squeeze our expenses—maybe if I save up enough, I can afford to send her to the Imperium Academy. She has a passion for metal scraps and fixing things. I think she'll make a fine engineer."
Lira's smile warmed but carried weight. She knew that hope. Knew how heavy it could get.
"I hope you're able to. I can't promise you much—we all know what a devastating state the economy of this nation is in—but I trust Tris. He's not going to cheat you." She met Victoria's eyes directly. "Work hard and you might even get a raise."
The receptionist's smile spread wide, genuine relief softening her features.
"He told me never to stop smiling because I have a very beautiful smile."
Lira stared at her for a beat. Then scoffed and shook her head.
'Oh, Tris. You absolute bastard.'
"Please don't let him into your skirt. You'll be disappointed."
Victoria's face flushed immediately, and she turned away like she'd been caught stealing. Lira studied her reaction, eyes narrowing as realization dawned.
"Oh no." She sighed. "Too late."
The pink deepened across Victoria's cheeks until it practically glowed. She shook her hand quickly, desperately.
"I-it was only his hand!" Her gaze fell, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Clara came in and chased him..." The words tumbled out, dripping with embarrassment and something close to shame.
Lira watched her for a moment, suppressing the urge to laugh at how flustered the young lady already was.
'Poor girl. She has no idea what she's gotten herself into.'
She shook her head, keeping her voice gentle but firm.
"Keep your distance from Tris as much as you can. He has three kids from three different women. Unless you want to become the fourth, make sure you know what you're doing, Victoria."
Victoria — with her straight bangs lining the top of her brows perfectly — looked genuinely surprised, but quickly recovered.
"Yes, ma'am! Thank you so much for that information, Lira! I never knew!"
'Of course you didn't. He never mentions them until it's too late.' Lira shrugged and glanced at the door beside the reception desk.
"Is Clara around?"
"Oh yes, she is. And there's not much of a crowd today—just the regulars."
Lira chuckled, the sound dry.
"I wasn't really worried. I just hate the men around here."
Victoria tilted her head, smiling sweetly with that innocent charm that would absolutely get her in trouble someday.
"I know."
Lira scoffed and touched her shoulder. "Take care, anyways. I'll see you later."
She walked through the door and stepped into the main hall. The usual smell of ale, roasted meat, and woodsmoke hit her immediately — thick and familiar, mingling with the low hum of conversation and scattered laughter that eased something tight in her chest.
The main hall spread out before her: twelve wooden tables filled the center, each flanked by long benches that could seat between eight and ten people depending on how friendly everyone was feeling. The flooring was wide wooden planks, scarred and worn from years of boots, spills, and the occasional brawl. Exposed wooden beams held up the ceiling, iron chandeliers dangling from them with flickering candles that cast dancing shadows across the walls.
Lira didn't walk toward the center where the regulars were drinking and laughing. Instead, she headed west, reaching the bar where a gruff man with a rusted metallic prosthetic hand stood mixing ale for an old man leaning heavily on the counter. Behind him, sparse shelves held different brands of ale in dusty glass bottles — most of them cheap, a few that weren't.
When he spotted Lira, he flashed a welcoming smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Lira Velan herself. Been a while since I saw you around."
Lira tucked her hands into her coat pockets, casual.
"Work's been busy these days, surprisingly." She raised an eyebrow. "Is Clara in?"
The man glanced at the door in the west corner, pausing to think. His prosthetic hand clinked softly against a glass mug.
"Oh, I'm not sure. I think I saw her earlier, but she should be around." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I mean, it's not like we get jobs anymore."
Lira nodded with a small smile and walked through the door, leaving the noise of the hall behind. Reaching the kitchen, she passed through quickly, returning greetings from the cook and a couple of dishwashers before reaching another small room — more like storage than anything else, with a bunk bed shoved against one wall and, next to it, a rickety table and chair.
A young lady with chestnut hair was asleep, slumped over the table with her head resting on her folded arms.
Lira gently took a seat on the bed, trying not to make the frame creak.
But as soon as she did, the lady snapped her head up, instantly alert. Her hand had moved toward her hip — toward a weapon that wasn't there — before she registered who it was. Seeing Lira, she sighed and stretched, joints popping audibly. Her voice came out rough and honeyed when she spoke, still thick with interrupted sleep.
"Hey, it's been a while..." She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Don't tell me you're here because you want to check your stats again."
Lira smiled. That particular smile.
Clara recognized it immediately and sighed, already pulling open her drawer with resigned familiarity.
"I'll do this for you as many times as you want me to, but Lira—as a friend—I've got to be straight with you." She rummaged through the drawer's contents, pushing aside papers and trinkets. "This thing is impossible. It's ancient history, one that you can't trust. It's impossible to increase your essence pool with Havana or whatever you call it."
Lira didn't respond. A small, confident smile played on her lips — the kind that said she knew something Clara didn't — as Clara settled a dull rainbow-colored orb on the table with a soft thunk.
Clara loosened her brown leather corset top, adjusting it so she could breathe properly, letting her breasts slightly lift the fabric of her rumpled grey shirt. After she set the orb carefully on a soft pillow to keep it from rolling, she turned to Lira with tired but curious eyes.
"There. Place your hand over it."
Lira already knew the drill — her hand was moving before Clara finished speaking, fingers spreading over the smooth surface.
Her hand rested gently over the sphere. A subtle white glow emanated from within, building in intensity, spilling out a holographic panel just above it with crisp, glowing letters.
[LIRA VELAN]
[Essence Pool: 400/400]
[Rank: D]
[Bloodline Ability: Low-Tier Healing]
Both their eyes widened as they looked at each other.
Lira was D rank, which meant her essence pool limit ought to be three hundred. That was the standard. The rule. The last time they'd checked — three months ago, almost to the day — it had been clearly, definitively three hundred.
But now?
Four hundred.
Clara's eyes trembled, darting between the holographic display and Lira's face like she was trying to find the trick. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
'This isn't possible. This doesn't happen. Ever.'
Lira's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement, a wide, beaming smile spreading across her lips as she stared at the increased number. This was proof. This was a symbol of hope, tangible and real and glowing right in front of her.
Clara's voice cracked when she finally found words.
"H—How... come? W—What d—did you do?" Her eyes widened further, realization dawning with horror. "Who d—did you do it with this time?" She covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her next words. "Wait, don't tell me." Her voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "You had sex with a giantkin?!"
Lira's frown came swift and sharp. "What? No." She gestured at herself pointedly. "Would I still be alive if I did?"
A graceful smile curved her lips then — slow and satisfied, like that of a woman who'd just discovered the universe's best-kept secret and wasn't about to share.
"It's a secret."