Lyra woke up alone. Esther's side of the bed was cold, the empty space a silent reminder of her departure. They couldn't talk. However, as she brought her hand to her forehead, she felt the ghostly warmth of a kiss Esther had given her before leaving, a gesture so fleeting it could almost have been a dream. The memory made her blush, and a silly, hopeful happiness took hold of her, dispelling the melancholy. Recovered and with a new determination, she went to see Father Valentín. The Father didn't take her to the church. Instead, he guided her to a discreet carriage that transported them from the dusty streets of the center to the wealthiest area of the city, where mansions stood like fortresses of stone and luxury. They stopped in front of one of them, an imposing construction with solid oak doors. As they entered, Lyra was left breathless. The vestibule was a labyrinth of white marble and gold, but what chilled her to the bone was the staff. Beautiful, young, blonde women, dressed in maid uniforms that were a mockery of the work, cleaned the house with fluid and silent movements. Their dresses were absurdly provocative: scandalously short skirts, bodices that opened to the navel, some with fishnet stockings tangled around their thin thighs and others with fine lace stockings contrasting with the dirt of their tasks. One of them approached, her eyes empty as bottomless pits. "The master will come soon," she whispered with a monotonous voice, without inflection.
Shortly after, the man appeared. His name was Ozkar. He was a mountain of a man, fat and of an imposing size that seemed to absorb the light of the hall. His beard, neatly trimmed and oiled, framed a face that seemed kind but didn't reach his eyes; these were two dark, observant pebbles. Lyra felt a weak, strange current of mana in the room. She noticed something very strange about the maids. They had an absent look, as if their souls had been torn out and only their bodies remained. When she focused, she was surprised to find that they weren't under any spell she could recognize. The absence of magic was as unsettling as their presence. Ozkar smiled at her, a gesture that didn't reach his eyes. "I have some... careless maids who have hurt themselves," he explained, his voice as soft as velvet. "I want them to be well." He asked her if she could please heal them. They brought them in. There were three. The first had a burned hand, the skin red, blistered and peeling off in a sweet, nauseating smell. The second had several deep cuts on her fingers, not the typical cuts of someone learning to cook, but clean, precise, almost surgical wounds, so deep it looked like she was about to lose two fingers. The third chilled her. She had a terrible cut on her forearm, a long, straight line from wrist to elbow. A suicide attempt. A wave of panic and disgust hit Lyra, but Father Valentín put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, daughter," he said with his reassuring voice. "It's nothing."
Ozkar stepped closer, his shadow covering Lyra. "And, please, no scars. Flawless skin is a pleasure." Lyra, with a trembling voice, asked about the rats. Ozkar smiled. "Ah, for a lady like you, I have something better." He made a sign and a servant entered dragging three stray dogs, skinny, trembling, with their eyes full of fear. They came tied with thick ropes and black leather muzzles. Lyra didn't like the idea, but it was really much better than using rats, which would be needed in greater quantities. She knelt on the cold marble floor and began to work. She did it with extreme delicacy, channeling her power in such a way that none of the dogs died. She transferred the burns, the cuts, and the arm wound to the animals, who whined softly behind their muzzles. When she finished, the three maids were perfectly healthy, their skin smooth and intact. The dogs, however, lay on the floor, weak but alive. The man paid Lyra the equivalent of 10 gold coins in silver coins and, in a sealed envelope, gave the same amount to Father Valentín. Before they left, Ozkar approached Lyra. "If you or someone you know wants to come work," he told her, his voice low and persuasive, "I pay very well. Eight hours of work for the equivalent of 3 gold coins." She thanked him for the offer with a barely audible voice and left with the father.
On the way back, the Father told her that tomorrow he didn't have another person "like that," but that she could go if she wanted to attend to the poor at the Church.
The sun of the fourth day rose over Dry Port, but Esther was already in the forest clearing, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The vitality drug still coursed through her veins, a constant reminder of her new and dangerous source of strength, but also of the unresolved frustration from the day before. A residual heat persisted between her legs, a constant distraction that prevented her from fully concentrating. When she arrived at the clearing, she was surprised to see Eric talking with another woman. She stopped, hidden behind the trees, and observed her. The girl was of average height, with short, unruly red hair that looked like a flame about to ignite. Her face was sprinkled with freckles, and her eyes, a bright emerald green, shone with a constant spark of fun. She dressed practically: worn leather boots, sturdy cloth trousers, and a sleeveless linen tunic that allowed her to move freely. Despite not consciously training, a life of escapes and adventures had left her with a very fit body, with defined arms and abdomen. Esther immediately noticed the most striking contrast in her figure: Roxy, as she learned she was called, had almost no breasts, a nearly flat chest that seemed to be a source of insecurity. However, nature had given her a spectacular compensation: her ass was probably one of the best in Dry Port. It was large, incredibly firm, and lifted, a perfect curve that defied gravity, as if sculpted by some master artisan who understood both strength and allure. The muscles beneath were clearly defined, speaking of a life spent in constant motion—climbing, running, fighting—yet the shape remained perfectly rounded, never losing its feminine softness. When seen from the side, that curve became the focal point of her figure, a powerful and sensual silhouette that even her loose trousers couldn't hide, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the tremendous power contained within. The way it moved when she shifted her weight—subtly, naturally—was hypnotic, a rhythm that caught the eye and refused to let go, turning even the simplest gesture into something mesmerizing.
Eric saw her and gestured for her to approach. "Esther, come. I want you to meet Roxy. Roxy, this is Esther, the girl I told you about." Roxy turned and smiled, a wide, mischievous smile. Her green eyes traveled up and down Esther, pausing for a moment on her generous chest. "Ah, so you're her. Now I understand why you like her so much, Eric. She has two big reasons to be interesting." The comment, a clear mockery of Esther's breasts in contrast to her own, made Eric blush and Esther understood the joke instantly, feeling a mix of shame and a strange camaraderie.
After the introductions, they decided to start practicing. Roxy became serious, though her energy remained explosive. "Alright, newbie. Listen. Fire magic isn't like healing magic. It's not about fixing things. It's about burning them. It's about destruction. So forget everything you know." Roxy's explanations were a disaster. "You have to feel the spark in your soul, understand? It's like... like anger, but hotter. Let the burn consume your doubts and become something you can throw." She spoke of abstract concepts that were impossible for Esther to understand. However, some basic things, like the gesture to concentrate mana in the palm of her hand, stuck with her. "You don't need to be a poet of fire. You just need to be an artilleryman," Roxy added, seeing Esther's frustration. "In a few days it's impossible to fully master fire magic in all its theoretical aspects, but if you want it for adventures, you just need to be able to launch it in quantities and explosively to do damage, and that's not so hard." The explanations were still bad, but they both practiced. Esther tried to imitate Roxy's gestures, concentrating with all her will.
Eric thought about training with her afterward, but quickly realized it wouldn't be possible; the magic session would consume all the time. While practicing, Esther expended mana, but was surprised to discover that she could now try and expend enormous amounts of energy without feeling the mental exhaustion that previously paralyzed her. Her new reserve of power was a bottomless well. She spent almost the entire day practicing with Roxy, under the relentless sun. Until she was almost out of mana. However, she achieved her goal: she launched a small fireball twice, though without too much power due to the exhaustion. The first was more of a spark that went out in the air. The second was a small fireball that flew a few meters before dissipating. "You did it! I told you it wasn't that hard!" Roxy exclaimed, genuinely congratulating her and giving her a pat on the back almost strong enough to knock her down. Then she turned to Eric with a mocking smile. "See? I'm not a bad teacher. You're just a bad student. Next time you train with me, I'll toast you." Eric smiled, addressing Esther. "Tomorrow we'll continue with your physical training. If you more or less master the fire and healing thing, I'll propose you go on a job with us." Esther accepted delightedly and left, eagerly awaiting tomorrow's test. As she left, she noticed it was very late and didn't think it was possible to go take her drugs calmly. But after almost 24 hours without trying anything, her body was asking for something.
She knew a vitality potion was dangerous because it would make her aroused, and a sedative would dull her mind a bit, so she ended up injecting the blue drug. She felt how, on one hand, she was recovering some mana by increasing her total power, feeling better and more complete, but at the same time, her body was weakening considerably. However, having consumed so many vitality potions lately, it wasn't anything serious. She felt balanced, ready for whatever came next. The strange sensation of being simultaneously energized and yet physically fragile was becoming almost normal to her now. Her skin tingled with a phantom heat, a reminder of the potency still lingering from yesterday's dose, even as her muscles felt slightly softer, more pliable than before. This new equilibrium was a tightrope walk, and with each step, she could feel the abyss of addiction yawning below, ready to catch her if she misjudged the balance. But tonight, she felt steady. The blue drug had smoothed over the edges of her exhaustion, sharpening her thoughts while allowing her body the illusion of rest.
Upon arriving at the tavern, the atmosphere was a deafening chaos, as always. The smell of spilled beer, sweat, and smoke hit Esther with the force of a punch. But that night, there was something more. Looking toward the bar, her heart stopped. There, sitting on a stool and eating a steaming stew, was Lyra. She was chatting amiably with Marco, who served her with a smile he hadn't given Esther in the past few days. Her friend had come to see how she worked, worried about Father Valentín's comment about how "happy" Marco was with her. When Lyra saw her, her face lit up. "Esther! How's everything going?" Her smile was genuine, but Esther could only feel a knot of ice forming in her stomach.
She began to work, feeling Lyra's gaze fixed on her like an accusing beacon. The night turned into torture. The men were bolder than ever. "Hey, Queen, that table's empty but my lap isn't!" one shouted, slapping her ass. "I bet with those hands you don't just serve mugs," another whispered, running a hand over her waist, his fingers pressing into her skin. "If you bend over more, I'll make sure to give you a tip that's not made of metal," a third shouted from a corner. "That ass should be declared a public monument, so we can all admire it," said a fourth, grabbing her by the waist to "pass by." "With that cleavage, even the dead would rise to give you a tip," a fifth mocked, caressing her arm. Esther ignored them, smiled mechanically, and continued working, but inside she felt like she was dying. She imagined the disappointment in Lyra's eyes, the shame of seeing the heroine chosen by the Goddess, letting herself be touched and harassed for coins in a tavern. Lyra, who had sacrificed so much to protect that purity, now witnessing its defilement in the dim, smoky light. Each crude comment and unwanted touch felt like a betrayal not only of herself but of Lyra's desperate act of redemption. She could almost hear the unspoken judgment in Lyra's mind: "Is this what you were chosen for? Is this how you honor your divine calling?" The weight of those imagined words pressed down on her chest, making it harder to breathe as she mechanically served another round of drinks to leering customers who saw only curves to be touched and a body to be possessed, not a soul fighting against the darkness within and around her.
When the shift was about to end, she went to the bar to collect the dirty mugs. Kork appeared beside her on the other side of the counter. As he smiled and chatted amiably with Lyra about how good the stew was, complimenting the tender meat and rich broth while his voice dripped with practiced charm, he slid a hand under Esther's skirt. This time there were no detours, no "accidental" brushes that he could later deny. His fingers went directly to her sex, caressing and masturbating her with a torturous slowness that made each second stretch into an eternity. Panic seized Esther like an icy fist around her throat. She wanted to leave, to scream, to push him away, but she didn't want to cause a scene, not in front of Lyra whose eyes still held that desperate hope Esther had failed so many times. She remained still, rigid as a statue carved from fear, her eyes fixed on the mugs lined up on the counter, watching how the dim candlelight reflected off their grimy surfaces. She felt how her body betrayed her and grew wet under Kork's expert touch, his fingers knowing exactly how to coax a response she fought to suppress, her treacherous flesh responding to the stimulation even as her mind recoiled in horror. He seemed to understand that she wanted to hide it, and that excited him even more; she could feel his subtle triumph in the slight curl of his fingers against her sensitive flesh. Lyra, who couldn't see what was happening from her angle, finished her meal, taking her time with each bite of stew, unaware of the violation occurring just feet away, her presence turning Kork's assault into an even more intimate betrayal. "Well, I'll wait for you upstairs so we can we sleep together," she said with a smile. Kork nodded courteously.When Lyra left, he leaned toward Esther and whispered in her ear, his hot, beer-stinking breath washing over her skin like a wave of filth. The sour, stale odor of his lunch mixed with the sharp scent of cheap ale, creating a miasma that made her stomach churn. "Next time I'll have fun with you like I've been waiting to. Without interruptions." His voice was a low hiss, each word carefully chosen to maximize her discomfort, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of her ear in a way that made her flinch involuntarily. He gave her one last, slow, possessive caress, his fingers lingering on her thigh before sliding away, leaving behind a trail of heat that felt like a brand on her skin. Esther remained there, trembling, feeling humiliation and hatred burning within her, stronger than ever. The wood of the counter felt rough against her palms as she gripped it, her knuckles white with the force of her restraint. Her mind raced with images of violence, of grabbing a knife from behind the bar and plunging it into his neck, but the fear of what might follow paralyzed her. The tavern's noise faded to a distant roar as her heartbeat thundered in her ears, each pulse a reminder of her vulnerability. She could feel the ghost of his touch still tingling between her legs, a shameful response from her traitorous body that made her want to claw her own skin off. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as she fought the urge to retch, to scream, to do something—anything—that would wash away the filth of his presence. But she stood frozen, a statue of self-loathing, as the minutes stretched into an eternity of silent suffering.
Climbing the stairs, each step was a weight. Esther knew Lyra would be waiting for her. Before entering the room, she stopped, leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the door. Tears began to fall, silent and hot, tracing paths down her cheeks as she imagined the judgment, the crushing weight of disappointment in Lyra's eyes upon seeing how she let herself be humiliated, how she'd allowed those crude hands to touch her, to tarnish her role as a heroine with the grime of everyday survival. Each drop felt like an admission of failure, a liquid testament to her inability to protect even herself, let alone the world that supposedly needed her. The thought of Lyra's expression—the way her lips might tighten, the shadow that would fall across her gentle features as she witnessed the soiling of the very purity she sought to protect—was a torment worse than any physical pain she'd endured that day. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and entered. Lyra was there, sitting on the bed, dressed as always, waiting for her. Esther couldn't look her in the eyes. She entered with her head bowed, her hands clenched, prepared for the reproach.
"Don't be like that," Lyra's soft voice broke the silence. She rose from the bed, approached, and hugged her. The hug was warm, comforting, and Esther collapsed in her arms, sobbing. "I understand you must make sacrifices to get by," Lyra whispered in her ear. "I don't blame you for what those men do. But if you don't want to do it anymore, we can find some other alternative." She pulled away slightly and showed her a bag of coins on the nightstand. "I earned a lot of money today." Esther looked at her, confused. "How?" "Father Valentín took me to heal a rich man. Ozkar. He has several maids in his house... their job is no better than this one, but he told me he pays 3 gold coins for eight hours. I could do that job, so you don't have to endure this and you can focus on training. Father Valentín doesn't always have such well-paying jobs for me."
Esther shook her head, pulling away from the hug. "It's fine like this. No need to change. This job pays little, but it's no more than two hours and I couldn't let you do that." To change the subject, she told Lyra about her day. "I met a fire mage, Roxy. She taught me a little magic." She closed her eyes, concentrated for an instant, and extended the palm of her hand. A small, flickering orange flame danced on her skin before extinguishing. Lyra smiled, genuinely happy. "That's incredible, Esther!" "And there's more," Esther continued, feeling a bit of her old enthusiasm. "Tomorrow, if I pass Eric's 'test,' he'll likely invite me on a job with his party." Lyra's joy was immense. "That's fantastic!" She brought her hand to Esther's, as if to feel her energy, and was surprised. "My goodness... Your mana... it has grown so much." "In the end, you had nothing to worry about," Lyra said, with a proud smile. "With training, your magical power grew. If you keep this up, very soon you'll surpass me." "Several aspects of my abilities have improved," Esther admitted. "My endurance, my magical power... but my combat technique is still not very good, although it has improved a bit."
Lyra nodded and went to her backpack. "I bought more rats so you can keep healing and some potions in case you need them for emergencies." She took out the jars and showed them to Esther. "But with the level of mana you have now, maybe I should buy some mana potions. They're a bit more expensive, but for a mission they would be a good idea." Grateful, Esther began to undress. She took off her boots and beer-stained shirt.She saw that Lyra, in front of her, took off her bra, the simple cotton garment falling silently to the floor, leaving her torso bare save for the very thin culotte that hugged her hips like a second skin. The moonlight filtering through the grimy window caught on the soft curve of Lyra's breasts, casting them in a pale, ethereal glow that contrasted sharply with the hard lines of their harsh reality. Without thinking, Esther did the same, her own bra joining Lyra's on the wooden floorboards, the slight chill of the room causing an immediate reaction in her flesh. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, showing herself almost naked in front of her friend—curves that had drawn unwanted attention all day now laid bare in what should have been the safety of their shared room. She approached and hugged her, pressing her breasts against Lyra's as they lay down on the narrow cot, the springs groaning softly under their combined weight. The contact was electric, a jolt of sensation that seemed to arc between them, bypassing thought and striking directly at the core of their bodies. Lyra became terribly aroused, a sudden, overwhelming heat that ran from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head, feeling herself moisten instantly, the fabric of her culotte clinging to her suddenly sensitive skin. She stayed perfectly still, her arms around Esther, not knowing what to do, fighting the almost uncontrollable impulse to touch herself or to touch Esther as her body demanded, to explore the unfamiliar territory of another woman's flesh with trembling fingers. Esther was also aroused by everything that had happened—the coarse whispers in her ear, the way Kork had "accidentally" brushed against her leg, and by not being able to relieve herself throughout the long, grueling shift; she felt her nipples harden against Lyra's skin, the friction sending small sparks of pleasure through her chest, each one a reminder of her body's betrayal in this new, confusing world. But the exhaustion was immense, a physical and emotional weight that dragged her down toward unconsciousness. Despite the fire in her body, despite the awakening of desires she didn't understand, tiredness won. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttered closed, and in the middle of the hug, she fell asleep, leaving Lyra awake and trembling beside her, trapped between the comfort of Esther's presence and the turmoil of her own awakening body.