Meanwhile, that same day, Lyra woke up alone in the quiet room. The space felt cavernous without Esther's presence, the morning light filtering through the grimy window to highlight dust motes dancing in the air. She went to see Father Valentín, who received her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He explained that there was an urgent job: a slaver needed them to attend to and heal some of his "properties." Father Valentín himself took charge of carrying the rats this time, a detail that did not go unnoticed by Lyra. The idea repulsed her, but duty called.
The place was on the outskirts of town, a large, gloomy mansion surrounded by a high wall. Upon entering, the smell of cheap perfume and sweat hit her. There were female slaves dressed scantily, in minidresses of almost transparent fabric that barely covered their breasts and asses, their necks adorned with metal collars that gleamed in the dim light. They moved with a forced grace, their eyes empty like those of Ozkar's maids. The man was named Ugo. He was short and chubby, with a belly that spilled over his leather belt. His face was round and perpetually sweaty, and his small black eyes shone with an unpleasant greed. He had three young slaves, about 15 years old, whom an infection had ruined their teeth and mouths. The infection had already healed, but their gums were raw and their teeth were black and rotten. "They're worthless like this," Ugo complained, as if talking about sick cattle.
Lyra was disgusted, but Father Valentín put a hand on her shoulder. "We must help the children, daughter," he said with a voice full of false compassion. "Think of the pain they feel." Lyra knew his concern wasn't for the pain, but for the boys' market value. With her stomach churning, Lyra healed them, transferring the infection and damage to the rats until the boys' mouths were healthy, though scared and silent. They paid her an envelope with the equivalent of 4 gold coins in bills. When she finished, they brought in a man of about 40 years, somewhat lame, dressed normally but with chains on his ankles and hands. This was the payment for the Father: a slave. Father Valentín received the keys and papers for the slave with chilling calm, and they left. Lyra was furious, a silent rage burning in her chest. The Father noticed, but said nothing.
Lyra returned to the Sanctuary with Father Valentín, the silence of the journey back weighing more than the slave who now belonged to the Church. There, waiting for them at the door, stood Sister Elara, a woman whose devotion to the Goddess was matched only by her obsession with demons. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, seemed to look right through them. "Father Valentín. Lyra," she said in a voice that allowed no interruptions. "Lyra, could I speak with you a moment in private?" Father Valentín nodded and left, leaving them alone under the stone gaze of the Goddess statue. "There is an older man who has a daughter in a nearby town," she began, without preamble. "The poor girl is cursed. I have sent for Holy Water of the Goddess to help combat it, and I would need you and Esther to deliver it." She paused, her gaze fixed on Lyra. "On the other hand, the man has to give me a journal he wrote detailing day by day his daughter's behavior with the curse. I want to study that journal." Lyra nodded and asked if there was payment for the work. She was willing to do it anyway but wanted to know beforehand.
"I have no money to pay you," Elara admitted. "But in return, I can teach you magic of light against demons." The offer hung in the air, heavy and tempting. Lyra thought of Esther, of her power. "Can you teach it to Esther better?" Elara looked at her for a long moment, as if evaluating her. "I accept," she said finally. "The man's name is Reynolds and the town is called Window Village."
Esther awoke in the Dancing Pony Inn with a massive headache and a hangover from the previous night. Daylight filtered through a grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and hurting her eyes. She didn't remember how she'd gotten there, only flashes of blaring music, laughter, and the warmth of two bodies against hers. Then she did start remembering. In particular, how she'd let the friend of the blonde guy who was with Roxy do anything he wanted to her. She stumbled downstairs, finding the owners, a middle-aged couple she didn't know well, cleaning with long faces. "Ah, the 'maiden' awakens," the man said in a dry tone. "Your friend... the redhead... set two guys on fire." Esther's heart stopped. "What? Are they okay?" "Alive, by some miracle. Tended to already. And your friend, the Guard took her away. She's in prison. We let you stay in because you were asleep and if we threw you out who knows what could happen to you. But next time we will," the woman said, without looking at her. "Your friend almost burned the whole place down." The memory flashes returned, sharper this time. Kalabar, Keith, their hands on her body, the humiliation and excitement mixed into a poisonous cocktail. And then, Roxy's furious voice. A chilling thought ran through her: she couldn't, she couldn't let Roxy tell Eric everything.
Meanwhile, at the inn where Esther had been living, Lyra woke up alone. The other side of Esther's bed was cold, unused. Fear, cold and sharp, took hold of her. Did everything go wrong? Did they maybe die? Extremely worried, she ran to the Adventurers' Guild, her heart beating hard in her chest. There, on the great mission board, she saw the entry for the mine crossed out. An employee confirmed that the group had already collected the reward and all left together. A momentary relief mixed with a new confusion. Where was Esther?
Esther went straight to the City Guard, where she had asked for help to train and had already been publicly humiliated once. She was led to the criminal jail area, down in a basement. As she walked around, she noticed the guards' undisguised looks at her ass and tits. One even commented, "look who's back." She spoke to the warden, a burly man with a mustache who looked at her with disdain. "I want to see Roxy, the fire mage," she pleaded. The man wanted to get rid of the drunk girl problem as soon as possible, and looking at Esther in front of him walking and seeing how her pink underwear occasionally peeked out was not a bad way to spend the day. They led her to a cell. Roxy was sitting on the cot, arms crossed, without a trace of remorse on her face. The man left them alone. "Thanks for protecting me yesterday," Esther said, just in case. "It's nothing," said Roxy. "Those guys were taking advantage of you. I was drunk and the first thing that came out was to set them on fire. I didn't think about it at the moment. Anyway, it wasn't anything serious, just a few burns." Esther saw that Roxy was already sober and didn't comment anything about Eric, she must be the first one to find out. She went back to talk to the guard. He confirmed to them that the men would not report her, probably out of shame, but that she almost burned the whole place down. "The fine is 50 gold coins," he said with a dirty smile. Fifty. Esther didn't have that much money. The guard took a step toward her, his uniform pressing against the narrow hallway as the scent of stale beer and onions washed over Esther in a suffocating wave. "Or... there's another way to pay it," he whispered, his voice a greasy caress that made her skin crawl. His eyes, bloodshot and hungry, slid down from her face to linger on her chest, where the thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide the generous curve of her breasts. "I can erase it and you were never here..." but I want to touch those tits you have "adventurer." The unspoken words hung in the air between them, as real as if he'd shouted them. Humiliation burned through Esther like acid, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The urge to drive her knee into his groin, to make him pay for every leering glance and whispered comment she'd endured since arriving in this wretched city, was nearly overwhelming. But then the image of Roxy flooded her mind—her fiery friend sitting on that hard cot, arms crossed in defiant solitude, her freedom dangling on a thread of Esther's choosing. Anger coiled in her stomach, hot and bitter, that everyone saw her as nothing more than a body to be used, a convenient transaction. Yet Roxy's face remained, and with it the paralyzing fear that if she didn't resolve this now, if her friend remained in that cell because of her foolishness, the whole sordid story would inevitably reach Eric's ears.
The thought of his disappointment, of the judgment in those honest eyes as he learned how she'd endangered his party, how she'd let herself be used—it was a punishment worse than any degradation this man could inflict upon her. So Esther swallowed the bile rising in her throat, forced her trembling hands to unclench, and accepted with her head bowed, the weight of her own hair falling like a curtain between them as she surrendered another piece of herself. The guard's breath was hot and sour against the back of her neck as he guided her into a cramped office that smelled of stale tobacco and desperation. Papers overflowed from a scarred wooden desk, and a single grimy window offered a sliver of gray daylight that did little to illuminate the space. His thick fingers fumbled with a rusty key in the lock, the sound unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence. Once inside, he gestured toward the center of the room, his smirk widening as he watched her realize his intent. "Let's make this official," he rasped, his voice thick with anticipation. With trembling fingers, Esther lifted the white fine-linen shirt over her head, the pale pink lace bodice beneath offering no real protection against his hungry gaze. Her skin prickled with shame as she stood bare-breasted in the cold air of the office, her nipples hardening involuntarily under his leering stare. The guard sank into a creaking chair behind the desk, his eyes devouring her form as she stood motionless, a statue of humiliation. His hands, damp with the sour sweat of his labor, reached out like hungry predators to claim their prize, cupping the full weight of her breasts as if weighing meat at a market. Esther bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, fighting to stifle the gasp that threatened to betray her as he squeezed and kneaded the soft flesh with possessive ownership, his movements growing bolder, more confident with each passing moment of her submission. She felt a traitorous warmth spreading through her body like a poison, a humiliating flush that crept up her neck to paint her cheeks crimson as he rolled her sensitive nipples between his thick thumb and calloused forefinger, her mind screaming in violent protest while her body betrayed her with escalating arousal. The rough texture of his tongue, abrasive and invasive against her sensitive peaks, sent an electric jolt through her system, making her tremble despite the revulsion that curdled in her stomach. Esther realized with dawning horror that her sex was becoming slick and wet, the sensitivity heightened by yesterday's unresolved tension, by the memory of hands on her skin, by the shame of her own desire that now made her body a willing accomplice to her degradation.
Her body, already primed from Kalabar and Keith's attention the night before, now responded with an intensity that left her dizzy with shame and unwanted pleasure. As the guard continued his assault with one hand, his other disappeared beneath his uniform, the rhythmic movements unmistakable as he began to masturbate in front of her. Esther remained silent, her eyes fixed on the water-stained ceiling as she fought to dissociate from the scene, her mind a battlefield of revulsion and involuntary desire.
She just looked away so as not to observe him, and the man came on her skirt. She didn't complain and the man gave her a handkerchief to clean herself a little. When he finished, the two of them left there, with the uncomfortable silence of a shared secret. Esther told Roxy: "Please, don't give Eric the details of what happened to me last night. Can you?" she asked, worried, and she smiled. "No problem, besides, it's not the first time I've ended up in a cell after a night of partying."