The next morning, Esther woke with a familiar knot in her stomach. The dormitory was already stirring with the sounds of men grumbling and starting their day. She nudged Lyra, who stirred beside her. "We can't stay here," Esther whispered, her voice tight. "It's too... exposed. We should use some of our money to find a private inn." After a quick, shared meal of coarse bread and water, they sought out Father Valentín. He was in the main sanctuary, meticulously organizing a stack of blankets. They approached, and Esther explained their need to sell Shadow and find a more permanent, private lodging. The priest listened, his hands pausing their work. "Of course, my children," he said, his smooth voice unwavering. "Give me a few hours. I have contacts who appreciate a fine animal, and I know of a few discreet boarding houses. Consider it done." They expressed their gratitude, but Esther had another question. "Father, you know this city. I need a master to train me. Do you know of anyone who could teach me to fight properly?"
Father Valentín stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Combat is not my area of expertise, my child," he admitted. "But I can tell you where the true skill lies. There are the high-ranking Adventurers in their Guild, the fighters in the Arena who battle for entertainment, the City Guard, and... the Duelists." Esther tilted her head. "Duelists?" "Ah," the priest's eyes lit up. "Specialists in the art of one-on-one combat. Masters of timing and precision. They sometimes put on public displays, and every year, the Arena hosts a grand Duelist Tournament. A formidable test of skill." Just then, a woman strode into the sanctuary. She was tall, her frame lean and angular, with severe features that seemed carved from pale stone. High cheekbones sliced across a face that held no softness, and her thin lips were perpetually pressed into a disapproving line. Her most striking feature, however, was her hair—a cascade of unnaturally pale blonde that fell almost to her waist. It was not loose and flowing, but pulled back from her high forehead and gathered into a severe, tight braid that hung down her spine like a rope of silver. The braid was so precise, so devoid of a single stray hair, that it appeared almost unnatural, a testament to a rigid, unyielding discipline that mirrored the woman herself.. This was Elara. "You're wasting your time with fighters and showmen," she said, her voice sharp and dismissive, her eyes fixing on Esther. "If you wish to destroy evil, you must learn from the Inquisitors. They are the only ones who truly understand how to purge demonic taint."
Father Valentín sighed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Sister Elara, as I've told you, the Church does not send Inquisitors on a whim. Not without proof of demonic activity within the city." Elara ignored him completely, her gaze sweeping over Esther and then Lyra with an unnerving intensity. The priest quickly intervened, turning back to them with a practiced smile. "Please, ignore her... zealotry. After such a long journey, you must be weary. I insist you relax and bathe." He produced two small, wooden tokens from a pocket in his robes. "These will grant you access to the city baths, where the merchants go. Go in the morning, while it is less crowded." Esther, taking the token, felt a sliver of hope. "One last thing, Father. You mentioned the City Guard. Where could I find their Captain?" "Of course," Valentín said, giving her clear directions to the Guard barracks near the docks. "Just tell him you are a friend of mine. He is a... practical man." He smiled again, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Esther and Lyra decided to take Father Valentín's advice and go to the baths. On their way, the harassment continued, a relentless tide of catcalls and lewd comments that washed over them as they navigated the crowded streets. "Fresh fish for sale!" a man shouted, and another added, "I'd love to get my hands on that catch!" Esther ignored them, her jaw set, but each comment was another small stone in the growing wall of her resentment. Upon arrival, they presented the wooden tokens. The attendant, a bored-looking woman with her hair in a tight bun, explained the layout. "Men's and women's sections are separate," she said, her voice flat. "It's quiet now, you'll have the place mostly to yourselves." They paid and were shown to the women's changing area. Here, they had to undress. Esther did so with a practical lack of self-consciousness, but Lyra found her gaze straying, her cheeks flushing as she tried to appear casual. They helped wash each other's backs, the rough soap and warm water a simple, grounding comfort.
Afterward, they entered the main bathing chamber, naked. A large, steaming pool dominated the room, its heat maintained by a faint, shimmering magical ward. They sank into the hot water with twin sighs of relief, the tension of the journey beginning to melt away. They talked quietly about Esther's need to find a master soon, and the practical matter of needing to work to pay for both training and lodging. "I can help with that," Lyra offered. "I can take on tasks for Father Valentín." As they spoke, Lyra's eyes kept finding their way back to Esther's breasts, floating gently in the water. This time, Esther noticed. She said nothing, simply letting the look pass between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that had been building for days. They saw another door at the far end of the chamber, leading to a smaller room. Curious, they entered. The air was much hotter, dry and intense. It was a sauna. A woman was sitting on the top bench, her eyes closed, her legs slightly parted. She looked to be around forty-five, with large, slightly drooping breasts and a full head of curly brown hair. Her sex was completely bare, smooth as polished stone. When she heard them enter, she opened her eyes and smiled, a warm, genuine welcome. "Xenara," she said, her voice a low, pleasant hum. Esther and Lyra sat on the opposite bench, side-by-side. The heat was making Lyra drowsy. Xenara noticed. "You can lie down and rest here, if you like," she suggested kindly. Lyra did so, her head resting near Esther's thigh.
Xenara turned her full attention to Esther. "You are very beautiful," she said, her gaze appreciative, not predatory. "You have lovely breasts. I had ones like that when I was younger." Esther blushed, muttering a quiet "thank you." Xenara's next question was direct. "Would you mind if I touched myself?" Esther, caught off guard, simply shook her head. The somnolent Lyra shifted, her eyes opening slightly, and she watched in amazement as Xenara slowly opened her legs wider, openly displaying her smooth sex. She began to touch herself, her fingers circling her clit with a practiced, unhurried motion. A soft moan escaped her lips, but her eyes never left Esther's. Esther couldn't look away, her own body reacting in ways she didn't fully understand. She felt a familiar warmth spreading between her legs, her nipples hardening beneath the surface of the water. Lyra, watching the scene, felt a mix of curiosity, arousal, and a sharp pang of envy. She wished she had the courage to be so free, to touch herself while watching Esther. With her other hand, Xenara began to toy with one of her own nipples, and between gasps, she pointed. "See? Your nipples are hard, too," she noted, her smile widening. For a second, Esther instinctively covered herself, but Xenara let out a soft protest. "Please, don't," she asked, her gaze unwavering. Fascinated, Esther lowered her hands, her eyes locked on Xenara's sex, trying to understand the movements, the rhythm of her pleasure. With their breathing now ragged in the hot, steamy air, Xenara cried out, her body arching as she climaxed in front of them. Afterward, she lay panting, her legs still open, a picture of satisfied bliss. Sitting up, she looked at them both. "If you ever need anything," she said, her voice husky, "come and see me. I own a clothing shop in the Merchants' Quarter. One of the best in the city." Then, she stood, wrapped herself in a simple robe, and left.
The heat and steam of the public baths faded, replaced by the cold, noisy air of the street once more. They felt renewed, but the determination in Esther's heart was stronger than ever. The scene with Xenara had ignited something in her, a mix of curiosity and a desperate need to no longer feel so vulnerable, so powerless. "I should go talk to the Guard Captain right now," Esther said, her voice firm. "Father Valentín gave me directions." Lyra nodded. "Meanwhile, I'll go to the apothecary we saw near the barracks. We need more bandages and some herbs for bruises. If you're going to train, you'll need them." They parted at the corner. Lyra entered the dark, pungent shop of the apothecary, while Esther faced the imposing facade of the City Guard barracks. It was a functional, unadorned gray stone building, with two armed guards at the door. She approached, her heart beating hard in her chest. "I need to speak with the Captain," she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "I'm a friend of Father Valentín." The guards looked her up and down, their eyes roaming her body with the same hungry familiarity she was starting to know. But at the mention of Father Valentín's name, their attitude shifted slightly, from predatory to respectful. One of them nodded and let her pass.
Inside, the building was a whirlwind of activity. Guards cleaned their weapons, scribes filled out reports on wooden tables, and the smell of leather, sweat, and metal filled the air. Eyes fixed on her the moment she entered. She was the only woman, and every man, from the most veteran to the newest recruit, devoured her with their gaze. She felt like a piece of raw meat thrown into a wolf's den. Ignoring them, she approached a man in an officer's uniform who was studying some maps. "Captain?" she asked. The man turned. He was tall, with a weathered face and a serious but not cruel expression. "I am. How can I help you?" Esther straightened, gathering all her courage. "I'm Esther. Father Valentín sent me. I'm the... the Chosen One. I was chosen by a ritual, but I'm very bad at combat. I want to train, to get stronger to fulfill my destiny." The Captain listened patiently, nodding slowly. "I understand your situation, girl. Humility is the first step toward true power. But the Guard has a minimum standard. With your lack of experience, you wouldn't be functional. You couldn't defend yourself, let alone a citizen." He paused, assessing her. "But there's someone you should talk to. Marshal Keith. He's in charge of all training. He's a hard man, but a fair one. Go see if he has time for you. Tell him I sent you."
He gave her directions to the training yard, an open space on the other side of the complex. There, the air was fresher, but the sound of blows was louder. Marshal Keith was a huge man, with arms like tree trunks and a tangled black beard. He was supervising three recruits practicing their strikes against wooden posts. Esther approached and explained her situation again, with the Captain as her reference. Keith looked her up and down, his eyes full of dismissive judgment. A cruel smile spread across his lips. "The Chosen One," he said, the word dripping with sarcasm. "More like the 'Chosen One to scrub the floors'." The recruits laughed. "Alright, 'heroine'. You want to train. I'll give you a chance. I see you have spirit, even if it's the spirit of a drowned rat. Land one touch in a one-on-one fight with any of these three recruits. If you manage to touch him even once, I'll accept you. If not, come back when you have more skill. Or better yet, go back home and find a husband." The humiliation was like a lash. Esther felt her cheeks burn, but rage kept her steady. "I accept," she said, her voice colder than she expected. "Go on," said Keith, gesturing to the three recruits. "Choose your executioner." The three approached, smiling. The first was a tall, lanky boy with an arrogance that didn't match his build. The second was short and stocky, with a neck as wide as his head. The third, and clearly the weakest, was a young, nervous boy who could barely hold the weight of his wooden sword. Esther, in an attempt at strategy, chose the youth. "Mistake, 'heroine'," Keith mocked. "Coward and stupid." They gave her a heavy wooden sword and a dented round shield. The nervous boy smiled, and for a moment, Esther thought she had a chance. The signal to start was a shout.
Esther charged, with more courage than technique. She raised her sword for a powerful blow, but the boy, with a swiftness she didn't expect, ducked. He didn't dodge her attack; he used it. He passed under her guard, shoved her with his shoulder, and Esther, carried by the momentum of her own miscalculated movement, stumbled and fell to her knees. Before she could get up, a kick to the chest sent her sprawling onto her back. The air rushed from her lungs in a gasp. As she lay on the ground, she felt the weight of someone on top of her. It wasn't the nervous boy. It was the short, stocky one, who had joined in on the "fun." He held her by the shoulders, while the tall, lanky one knelt beside her. "See? You're nothing," the lanky one whispered in her ear, his foul breath washing over her. He snatched the shield from her hands and tossed it aside. "This is for the strong." Then, with a smile, he began to deliver soft but humiliating slaps to her face, again and again, while the stocky one held her down. Each slap was a reminder of her weakness. The yard filled with the laughter of all the guards watching. The nervous boy stood apart, his head down, too frightened to intervene.
Finally, Keith clapped his hands. "Alright, that's enough. Don't break her completely." The two men got up, leaving her lying on the ground, trembling with rage and shame. Keith approached and stood over her, blocking the sun. "Told you, 'Chosen One'. Come back when you learn to stand up on your own." He turned and walked away, as if she no longer existed. Esther remained there, on the ground, her face burning and her heart broken. She hadn't just lost. She had been destroyed. Her ego, her hope, her determination, all of it crushed under the boot of humiliation. In the end, she got up, gathered her things, and left. She did so with her head bowed, hiding the tears on her face from yet another humiliation. The guards laughed at her, saying things like, "She should be a whore instead of fighting, with a body like that," or, "Did you see her tits? It looked like they were about to escape."
Esther left the Guard barracks, her face burning, not from the sun, but from the humiliation. The laughter of the guards echoed in her ears like a sentence. She leaned against the cold stone wall, out of sight of the entrance, and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, her movements rough and furious. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to give them the pleasure of seeing her defeated. Lyra was already waiting for her, leaning on the opposite corner, a small canvas bag in her hand. As soon as she saw Esther, her smile vanished. She didn't need to see her red eyes or the tremble in her lip. She knew Esther too well. She knew the way her shoulders slumped when the world was too heavy. She approached in silence, without a word. She simply took Esther's hand, which was cold and trembling, and caressed it with her thumb, a quiet, steady gesture that said more than any words of comfort. They stood there for a moment, two lone figures in the bustle of the street, a small oasis of mutual support.
"What do you want to do?" Lyra finally asked, her voice soft. Esther took a deep breath, swallowing the bitterness. "The Guard is a nest of arrogant pigs," she said, her voice raspy but firm. "If no one there wants to train someone eager to learn, I'll find someone who will do it for money. We're going to the Adventurers' Guild." A spark of her old determination rekindled. "Besides, I have the money from the sale of Shadow. And if that's not enough, I'll get a job. Whatever it takes." The walk to the Guild was silent, but the silence wasn't empty. It was filled with Esther's contained fury, a bellows that pushed her steps with a new strength. Lyra walked beside her, a silent, constant presence, her hand ready to take Esther's again if she stumbled.
They arrived at "The League of Gold and Glory." The smell of sweat, beer, and desperation greeted them at the door. Esther didn't hesitate. She pushed her way through the crowd of mercenaries, dwarves, and thugs, her gaze fixed on the registration office behind the iron grate. Eyes fixed on her, assessing and hungry, but this time she didn't feel them as a weight. She felt them as a challenge. She stood before the bald man with the eye patch. "I'm looking for someone to train me," she said, her voice clear and unflinching, cutting through the murmur of the place. "I'm Rank F. I'm bad with a sword, but I'm willing to pay and work hard. I need a combat master." The man looked up from his book, his eyes slowly roamed over her and stopped on the brass medallion Esther proudly pulled out, showing the engraved "F." A joyless smile spread across his lips. He didn't answer her directly. He opened the gate with a creak and stepped out into the center of the tavern.
"Silence, you dogs!" he shouted, and the din died down to an expectant murmur. He pointed at Esther with his finger, as if she were a defective piece of livestock. "Attention! This girl, this... is Rank F and wants to pay someone to train her." He paused dramatically. "Anyone?" The silence erupted in a general laugh. Comments rained down, crude and merciless. "I'll train her! In my bed, for two coins!" a fat mercenary shouted. "With that ass, I'll give her free riding lessons!" another added. The laughter grew, smelling of beer and scorn. Esther stood still, feeling her cheeks burn, her knuckles white from the force with which she clenched her fists. Until someone stood up. He was a young man, barely older than her, but noticeably taller. His brown hair was a bit messy, and his blue eyes shone with an intensity that didn't fit the place. "Stop mocking," he said, his voice clear and firm. "I'll do it." The jeers turned to him. "Look, Erik, the wandering knight is going to save the damsel in distress!" a dwarf mocked. "Be careful she doesn't split you in two with her bad luck, boy!" Erik completely ignored the comments. His gaze fixed on Esther and he nodded for her to follow. Lyra, without hesitation, walked behind Esther, like a second shield. The three of them left the place, into the daylight and the relatively cleaner air of the street.
Erik led them to a secluded alley, away from the ears and eyes of the Guild. "Sorry about that in there," he said, looking at Esther with sincerity. "Most of them are brainless beasts." He introduced himself. "I'm Erik. Rank D." "Esther. Rank F," she replied, her voice still tense. "Lyra," added the other, with a simple nod of her head. "I understand you want to train," Erik continued. "And I respect you for that. But my time isn't free. I need to eat and maintain my gear." His tone was professional, not exploitative. "I'll make you a deal. One gold coin a day. For that price, I'll train you personally." Esther nodded. "Deal." "But there's a condition," Erik added, his gaze turning more serious. "There's no time limit for the lesson. The lesson ends when you can no longer stand on your own two feet. I will push your body to its limit every single day. I will force your muscles, your stamina, and your will until they collapse. That's how you get better. There are no shortcuts. Do you accept?"
Esther looked him in the eye. She saw no mockery or pity. She saw a professional offering her exactly what she asked for: a chance to become strong, no matter the cost. "I accept," she said, her voice firm and unwavering. Erik nodded, satisfied. "Good. We start tomorrow at dawn. At the clearing in the forest east of the city, where the loggers cut. Don't be late." With that, he gave them one last look and left, leaving them alone in the alley with the first real deal they had made in Dry Port.
The agreement with Erik echoed in Esther's mind like a note of defiance. For the first time since her arrival in Dry Port, she felt she had a path, however painful it might be. With Lyra by her side, they returned to the Sanctuary, not as refugees, but as two women with a plan. Upon reaching the alley of the Sanctuary, Esther noticed the absence of Shadow. The spot where they had tied him was empty, only a damp patch of earth proving he had been there. A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach. Had he escaped? Had he been stolen? Had Father Valentín deceived her completely? They entered the Sanctuary. Father Valentín was talking to a family of fishermen, his smile as warm and persuasive as ever. Seeing them, he gestured for them to wait. When he finished, he approached them with outstretched hands. "Sisters! I see you were successful. The Goddess smiles upon those who strive."
"Father," Esther said, without beating around the bush, "the horse... it's gone." "Of course it's gone!" exclaimed Valentín, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I have already completed the transaction. I am a man of my word." He reached into the inner folds of his silk robes and pulled out a parchment sealed with red wax, where the symbol of a scale and a coin was visible. "Here you are. A letter of credit from the Merchant Bank of the League. It is the most secure bank in the entire Kingdom. You can cash it for its full value at any branch." Esther took the parchment, her fingers trembling slightly. Lyra leaned over to look over her shoulder. The amount written was considerable, and Esther remembered perfectly the amount the slave ship captain had offered them in the market. This wasn't all. It was approximately twenty-five percent less than what they had been promised.
"Father..." Esther began, her voice cold. "This... isn't all the money." Father Valentín sighed, putting on a feigned expression of understanding. "Ah, yes. About that. The buyer, a very devout businessman, agreed to pay the full price. But I considered that a portion of that amount was, in essence, a direct donation to the Church. For the hospitality we have offered you, for the roof over your heads... The Goddess provides through the generosity of the faithful, doesn't she? I took the liberty of managing your gratitude in advance." As he spoke, Esther's gaze fixed on the seal of the parchment. The symbol of the scale and the coin was terribly familiar to her. It was the emblem of the Merchant Bank of the League, one of the banks her father had gotten into debt up to his eyeballs before everything came crashing down. The letter of credit wasn't a bad form of payment; in fact, it was the safest and most common in large transactions. It was convertible to coin at any time. But seeing that seal was like a punch to the stomach. It didn't bring back memories of scams, but of ruin, of overdue letters, and the despair that had consumed her family. She clenched the parchment, feeling the weight of a ghost she could not exorcise. Between the bank and the fact that the father had taken her money without consulting her, it was several blows in a row for her.
"That's right," Esther murmured, tucking the parchment into her pocket as if it were a piece of hot coal. She wanted to scream and insult the father, but he was one of the few allies they had, so she preferred to keep quiet. Father Valentín seemed not to notice her coldness, or if he did, he ignored it with masterful skill. "Perfect! I'm glad you understand." He rubbed his hands together, his good humor returning in an instant. "Now, as I know you need a private, safe place, I've spoken to a friend of mine. He's the owner of a very respectable inn. 'The Safe Sailor Inn'. I've explained your situation, and he's willing to have you. He'll even give you a generous discount." Lyra frowned slightly. "How generous?" "So generous it could be free!" Valentín said, a glint in his eye. "The owner, Marco, needs help. Dinner is the busiest time, and he finds it impossible to attend to all the customers. If Esther is willing to work a few hours each night, serving tables and drinks, you can have a private room and breakfast every day. At no cost." He paused, adding with solemnity: "And don't worry. It's not a place like 'The Mud Boar'. It's a decent establishment. No dangerous criminals or people of ill repute. It's a safe place for two sisters in the faith." The offer sounded too good to be true, and Valentín's guarantee was worth less than the memory the bank's seal had just awakened.
The path from the Sanctuary to the inn was a trial by fire for Esther's new armor. With every step, eyes landed on her, heavy and wet as the port air itself. The comments, which once made her tremble, now bounced off her, absorbed by a layer of resignation and fury. "Hey boys, fresh meat's going to the same inn as us!" a sailor yelled from a window, his voice raspy and beer-soaked. Another whistled, a sharp, offensive sound lost in the clamor. Esther didn't even look up. She kept walking, her back straight and jaw clenched. Lyra walked beside her, a silent and protective presence, her hand ready to take Esther's at any moment.
They arrived at "The Safe Navigator's Inn." The sign creaked softly in the river breeze. They pushed the heavy oak door and entered. The place was exactly as Father Valentín had described: rough, noisy, and full of men, but clean. A man with a wooden leg was leaning against the bar, wiping a mug with a gray rag. It was Marco. He turned as they entered, his small, shrewd eyes assessing them. "Father Valentín gave me a heads-up," he said, his voice as raspy as the sailor's. "I'm Marco. Welcome." He gestured to a skinny boy stacking mugs in a corner. "This is my son, Kork." Kork looked at them, a ratty smile on his face, saying nothing. "I'm very grateful for everything with Father Valentín," Marco continued, his tone sincere. "His help... is a lifesaver." He dried his hands on his apron. "Since it's your first day and you've traveled a lot, you don't need to work or pay me. Rest. We'll start with the normal arrangement tomorrow." Esther nodded, surprised by the gesture of generosity. "We thank you, Marco."
The man led them to the spiral staircase. "I'll show you your room." As they climbed, with Marco in front and Lyra behind, Esther felt a gaze fixed on her back. It was Kork, following them a couple of steps below. She didn't need to look to know he was looking up her skirt, devouring her with his eyes. She straightened up, feeling a shiver of disgust, but said nothing. Marco showed them the room. It was simple, with a narrow bed, a small window, and a dresser, but it wasn't too small and it was clean. "Here you are. Rest." With that, he left, leaving them alone. Tired from the journey and the stress of the day, they decided not to have dinner. They undressed in silence, the dim light of the room covering their bodies. The bed, as they feared, was for one person. They lay down together, the contact of their bodies inevitable and warm in the cold of the night.
Lyra lay on her back, and Esther, in an impulse of gratitude for her unwavering support, hugged her from behind. She curled up against her, seeking comfort, and whispered an almost inaudible "thank you." Her large, soft breasts pressed against Lyra's back, and her pelvis fit perfectly against her ass. Lyra remained still. The warmth of Esther's body was comforting, but also... overwhelming. She felt the weight of her breasts, the softness of her skin, the rhythm of her breathing against her neck. She tried to relax, but her body had other ideas. She felt a heat begin to grow between her legs, a wetness that shamed and excited her at the same time. She stayed still, breathing deeply, trying to think of something else. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, exhaustion overcame her and she managed to fall asleep, with Esther's body hugging her like a warm reminder.
The first day in Dry Port had been a whirlwind of humiliations and uncomfortable deals, but that night, for the first time in a long while, Esther slept deeply. In gratitude for Lyra's unwavering support, Esther had hugged her from behind, seeking comfort in her presence. The hug had been an anchor against the storm, a comforting warmth that kept the city's ghosts at bay. She woke before dawn, not from pain, but from a renewed determination. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon when she slipped out of bed, dressing in silence so as not to wake Lyra. She put on the only clothes she had: the short skirt and the low-cut top the Goddess had given her. The fabric was soft, but the design was a curse. The top clung to her chest, revealing the edge of her bra, and the skirt, barely long enough to cover what was necessary, rode up with the slightest movement, exposing the pink underwear she wore underneath. It was the attire of a "Chosen One," though it felt like part of a slow torture.