The sun 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. Erik was waiting for her, his wooden sword in hand. "We start and end when you fall," he said, without preamble. The training was a renewed hell. Erik pushed her harder, faster. His blows were precise and painful, and each one taught her a new lesson in how useless her technique was. Yet, something had changed. When a branch scratched her arm, the pain was sharp but bearable. When she fell to her knees, the air left her lungs, but not with the desperation of before. The drug was working, strengthening her body from within.
During a brief rest, while Erik drank water from his canteen, Esther stepped away, breathing with difficulty. She took the two rats from the cage and, with the concentration Lyra had taught her, began to transfer her wounds. First, the cut on her arm. Then, a bruise on her leg. She limited herself to what the small rodents could handle, stopping before their tiny hearts beat too fast. When she stood up, she found Erik's blue eyes fixed on her. There was no surprise, but a piercing intensity. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, his voice low. "Damage transfer isn't a carnival trick. Usually, they only teach it to people tied to the Church." Cold panic ran through Esther. She needed a lie, a plausible one. "My mother taught me a little," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "She... was a nun, but she abandoned her vow when she met my father." The lie flowed smoothly, an invented story to protect a much darker secret.
Erik looked at her for a long moment, processing the information. He nodded slowly, his expression of interest softening. As she spoke, his gaze dropped. He no longer saw her as a student, but as a woman. His eyes settled on her chest, on the shape of her breasts under her camisole, and the weight of his gaze was as tangible as a hand. Esther straightened up, feeling suddenly exposed. "A nun... interesting," Erik said, finally looking away. "Well, whatever it is, it's a useful skill. When you feel confident with it, that you can use it in combat without hesitation, I'll invite you to a job with my party. We always need someone who can keep us on their feet." The training continued, and Esther endured more hours than she had ever imagined. Finally, she collapsed to the ground, not from a blow from Erik, but because her muscles simply refused to obey. This time, Erik was also tired, sweating and breathing heavily. He approached her and, for the first time, offered her his hand to help her up. "Well done," he said, and the compliment sounded genuine. "If you keep enduring like this, in a few days you'll have a noticeable improvement. You'll be strong."
After training, a deep exhaustion took hold of her, but beneath it, an insatiable hunger grew. It wasn't hunger for food, but for power, for progress. She knew what she had to do. Instead of returning to the inn and facing Lyra, she headed to a cheap and anonymous inn on the other side of town, a place where no one would ask questions. She rented a room for a few copper coins. The smell of cheap disinfectant and old sweat filled the small space, but Esther didn't care. She was alone. She locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed, taking out the small red vial and the glass syringe. With trembling hands, she injected the drug into her thigh. The effect was immediate and overwhelming, a liquid fire spreading from the injection point to every corner of her being, a heat that consumed her from within. She lay back on the meager bed, closing her eyes, and fantasies invaded her like a black tide. They were not of pleasure, but of humiliation, a familiar and terrible landscape. She thought of all the abuse she had suffered and what was to come. That night she had to work, and she imagined the moment: the tavern full, all the men's eyes fixed on her. She saw herself leaning over a table, showing them her ass, how they would look at her tits with animal lust, how they would touch her legs "by accident" as she passed.
The dream became more vivid, more feverish. She daydreamed that they were groping her, that dozens of anonymous hands covered her, that they twisted and used her without mercy, that they filled her from all sides. She touched herself with those images, with the memory of Kork's hands and the men from the market, her fingers moving with a desperate fury, until a wave of chaotic pleasure hit her. The orgasm was intense but empty, a spasm that left her trembling and feeling more alone than ever. But it wasn't enough. That wasn't power, it was just a temporary relief. She needed more. She wanted to experiment, to feel the power the dealer had promised her. So, still breathing with difficulty, she decided to try the combination. She took out the small sky-blue vial and drank its contents. She felt a wave of relaxation, as if her mind were floating on a cloud of cotton. She felt a bit dazed and very good, the sharp edge of humiliation fading. Then, more calmly, she injected the red one again. The desire to touch herself returned, but this time it was manageable, like a distant whisper instead of a scream consuming her.
Determined to experiment, she finally took one of the blue drugs. As her fingers began to move again, she told herself she had to think of more normal things, of something that wouldn't make her feel dirty. The only man who truly attracted her, the only one who didn't look at her with contempt or simple lust, was Erik. She imagined him, not as a brutal instructor, but as a lover. She imagined him kissing her, his strong but soft lips, playing with her tongue, an intimate and possessive caress. She imagined his hands running over her body, not with violence, but with desire, caressing her as if she were a treasure, valuing her. As she touched herself with that image, she felt a surge of magical energy run through her. It was a strange and powerful sensation: her body burned with contained desire while her mind felt sharper, more connected to magic, as if she could see the energy currents in the air. The orgasm was strong but controlled, an explosion of pleasure and power that left her trembling and exhausted, but with a triumphant smile on her lips.
Back at the inn, the warm, familiar air greeted her like a damp blanket. Lyra was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, knitting with scraps of old fabric, but her eyes lifted as soon as the door opened. A smile of relief crossed her face upon seeing her. "You were out for a long time," Lyra said, her voice mixing concern with relief. "How was training?" Esther dropped her satchel on a chair, moving with a false naturalness. "It was... better," she said, avoiding meeting her eyes. "I feel like I'm progressing. Really. I feel more mana in me, as if... as if my spells flow more easily." She added the final piece of her story, trying to sound casual. "In fact, Erik told me that if I keep improving with my healing power, he'll invite me to jobs with his party. He says they always need someone who can keep them on their feet." The lie hung in the air, heavy and bright. Lyra looked at her, and for a moment, Esther feared she would see right through her. But Lyra's excitement drowned out any suspicion. Her eyes lit up. "Esther! That's incredible!" she exclaimed, dropping her sewing and hugging her tightly. The hug was warm and genuine, and Esther felt like the worst person in the world. "I'm so proud of you. You're doing it." Esther returned the hug, feeling guilty for the lie, but the vivid memory of the power she'd felt in the anonymous inn made her stay silent. She clung to that feeling, justifying her deception.
But something had changed in Lyra's expression when they pulled apart. The excitement was still there, but tinged with a shadow of sadness. The mention of Erik, of his "party," had ignited a warning light in her mind. Lyra suspected something was happening between them, or that Esther wanted it to. She felt a pang of jealousy and a deep melancholy. She was losing her, and she didn't know how to stop it. As if wanting to be useful, as if needing to prove she could contribute too, Lyra made a decision. "Esther..." she began, with a more determined tone. "If your healing power is improving and you no longer need my lessons, maybe I could go talk to Father Valentín. He's always looking for people to help at the soup kitchen. I could heal some of the people who go there... maybe he would pay me something for my work. That way, you could keep all the money you earn at the tavern and we could save faster for... for what you need." The offer took Esther by surprise. It wasn't a bad idea; in fact, it would give her more money to buy more drugs. But the thought of Lyra using her sacred gift to earn money, while she spent it on magical drugs in the Labyrinth Market, filled her with a deep guilt. She imagined Lyra healing the sick and destitute for a few coins, while she injected poisons to feel powerful. The lie was becoming heavier, almost unbearable.
"No, Lyra, you can't," said Esther, a little too quickly. "Selling something that should be free... it's not right. I don't want you to have to do that." "I can handle it," Lyra insisted, her voice soft but firm. "I want to help you. We're in this together, aren't we? If my power can give us an advantage, why not use it?" Esther didn't know what to say. She nodded slowly, feeling trapped between gratitude for her friend's sacrifice and disgust with herself. Shortly after, she prepared to go to work, leaving Lyra alone with her thoughts and her sewing, feeling the distance between them grow with every lie and every omission.
The tavern was more crowded than ever, a sea of noisy, sweaty men. The harassment was constant and physical, an unrelenting assault. They shouted things at her like: "Those tits are screaming to be freed from that shirt!", "I bet you like being looked at, you whore!", "With that cleavage, I even know the color of your nipples by heart!", "That ass is a treasure map and I want to find the gold!", "If you bend over more, I'll give you a tip with my tongue!", "Come here and let me rub myself on that ass!". While serving, a customer would put his hand on her thigh, stroking it slowly. Another would caress her back. A third would "touch for luck" by taking her hand and not letting go. One dared to put his hand inside his own pants, touching himself, not showing anything but making his intention clear. In the midst of this siege, Kork called her behind the counter. There, he squeezed her ass possessively and whispered in her ear: "The rumor is going around that you're a whore who goes around showing her ass and tits for a few coins. They say you like it." He gives her a triumphant smile. Esther doesn't respond, just looks down without complaining, accepting his hand.
"And thanks to that rumor, more people are coming to the inn. My father is happy." With one hand, he adjusts her underwear, making it go deeper between her buttocks, and orders her not to fix it. He gives her a pat on the butt and sends her back to work. She does, and the men immediately comment. "Look, now she works in a thong so we can enjoy more!", "I'm sure she's wet, the whore!", "How much do you charge to let me touch you with that thong on?", "You're asking to be fucked right here!". Esther can't look them in the eyes, feeling the heat of humiliation, and this time she gets extremely wet, a torrent that completely soaks her. She takes the opportunity that Marco calls her from the kitchen to get away, escaping from the hands and words that are destroying her and, at the same time, defining her.
When her shift ends, she is really soaked between her legs and, on top of that, she receives more tips than ever thanks to Kork. Marco counts the coins for her and says: "Keep it up, your beauty and charm are attracting more people." He says it with heavy irony, and she obviously catches the mockery. Even Marco, who used to respect her, now treats her like a whore. When she goes up to sleep she is still very wet and wishes she were alone to relieve herself. However, when she goes to her bed she sees Lyra lying there, she is almost uncovered and only sleeps in a culotte, her breasts are naked and in sight. They are small, but still look attractive. She lies down next to her and hugs her, trying not to think about how excited she was and how guilty the reason for her excitement made her.