Esther awoke not to an alarm, but to a soft, pleasant sensation in her scalp and the faint sound of humming. She opened her eyes to find Lyra perched on the edge of the bed, a wooden comb in hand, meticulously working through the tangles in Esther's long brown hair. The nun's touch was so gentle it hadn't woken her. For a fleeting, disorienting moment, the gesture reminded her of her mother, but the memory was quickly shoved aside by the reality of the situation. "Good morning, Chosen One," Lyra said softly, noticing Esther was awake. "The merchant is waiting for us whenever you are ready. We will be riding in the back of a supply cart passing through." She handed Esther a cup of warm, spiced tea she had ordered from the inn. Esther sipped it gratefully; it had been far too long since anyone had taken such care of her.
Eager to be on their way, Esther took the small purse of gold the priests had given her and followed Lyra downstairs. The day was already heating up, and as they stepped out onto the street, she felt the familiar, uncomfortable weight of stares. The merchant, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties, openly sized her up. His eyes lingered on the pronounced neckline of her shirt before he let out a loud, incredulous laugh. "This little slip of a girl is the new Heroine?" he scoffed. "Well, get in then. We've got a long way to go." Commerce within the Kingdom of Valerion was generally safe, with no need for an escort—a stark contrast to the lawless lands outside the Kingdom's or the League of Khor's influence. As soon as they were settled in the back of the jouncing cart, Lyra closed her eyes and began to pray, her lips moving silently in a plea for a peaceful journey. Seizing the moment, Esther decided to test her newfound mental link. Elfried? Are you there?
Right here, little sister, came her brother's familiar, wry response in her mind. What is it?
Do you know if I can wear other clothes... over these? she asked, plucking at the ridiculously short skirt. Better keep the Goddess's garb visible, he answered. It may not offer much protection, but she has her reasons for you wearing her insignia. But it's attracting so much attention! Esther complained internally. Grow up, her brother retorted with a mental scoff. Your mission is to defeat the Demon King. That's where your thoughts should be. Esther sighed, knowing he was right. Still, he added, you should buy the best gear you can. Especially a shield. That outfit won't stop a stiff breeze. Find one that helps you dodge. It clicked then. Maybe the Goddess didn't want her to tank hits in heavy armor, but to learn to avoid them entirely.
The journey was nearly non-stop, a blur of constant travel in an attempt to reach Three Mills by nightfall. As the cart rolled through the rolling green hills and fertile plains of the Kingdom of Valerion, her kingdom, Esther turned to Lyra. "Does anyone else know about me?" The nun opened her eyes. "Letters were sent out yesterday, Chosen One. Announcing your arrival. In a few days, everyone in the Kingdom, and likely the League too, will know you exist." The weight of that knowledge settled heavily on her as the day wore on. Eventually, the rhythmic motion of the cart and Lyra's soft breathing lulled the nun into sleep, her head coming to rest on Esther's shoulder. Esther let her be, watching the familiar countryside pass by until, as dusk began to fall, the cart finally rattled to a stop at the entrance to Three Mills.
The merchant barely grunted a farewell before urging his horse onward, the cart rumbling away into the growing darkness. Three Mills had some lanterns lit along its main street, but Esther's small cottage was on the outskirts, nestled in the quiet dark. Fumbling with flint and steel, she managed to light a few candles, their warm glow pushing back the shadows just enough to navigate. Lyra stepped inside behind her, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she took in the small, isolated dwelling. They entered directly into the main room, which served as kitchen, dining area, and living space all at once. The air was cold and carried the scent of damp earth, old wood, and a lingering absence. A heavy wooden table dominated the center, with one chair set slightly apart, untouched. A fireplace, cold and empty, stood against one wall, with a small, almost-empty pantry beside it.
In the living area, there was no sofa, only a single, wicker chair that looked well-used, sitting near the fireplace. A coarse wool blanket was folded over its arm, and on the packed dirt floor beside it lay two leather-bound books, the only hint of luxury in the entire place. At the far end of the room, a heavy, dark curtain was drawn across a small space. Esther pulled it aside, revealing a simple straw mattress on a wooden frame, the bed made with a neatness that spoke of discipline. On a small wooden box next to it sat a framed daguerreotype—the only picture in the house. It showed a smiling family: her parents, her brother, her younger sister, and a much younger version of herself, her shyness not yet hardened into the cautious woman she was today.
Lyra watched as Esther knelt by the bed. Her fingers found a specific spot on a floorboard, and with a quiet press, it lifted free. Esther reached into the small, fabric-lined cavity beneath,retrieving a small leather pouch containing a few Letters of Exchange from the King of Valerion's bank, a lighter yet more valuable way to carry her savings. She also pulled out a small dagger, its leather-wrapped hilt snug in a piece of cloth. This was her emergency fund, her escape plan, the only tangible thing in the world she had ever been able to truly rely on. She stood up, the meager possessions in her hands, and met Lyra's curious gaze with a look of quiet defiance.
Esther motioned towards the simple bed. "If you want, you can sleep here with me. The floor is cold, and I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable. We can talk more in the morning." She hesitated, then added, "I was thinking of heading to Dry Port, but... I've never even killed a slime as an adventurer. I think I should try to progress a little here, get some experience, before I go. You can stay with me, or you can go back to the temple. The choice is yours." Lyra's eyes widened, the offer catching her completely off guard. "Stay with you?" she repeated, her voice filled with a reverent awe. "I... I would be deeply honored, Chosen One." Internally, a wave of something close to euphoria washed over her; this felt like a miracle, a chance she had never dared to hope for.
While Lyra processed this, Esther found a pitcher and poured two cups of water, handing one to the nun. She then gathered the gold from the priests and her own Letters of Exchange, placing the combined wealth back into the hiding spot beneath the floorboard. With the day's practicalities handled, Esther began to undress, slipping out of the sacred garments and letting them fall to the floor until she stood in only her pink lace underwear. Her full breasts strained against the confines of her bra. A sense of ease, a fragile trust in the nun's presence, allowed her to be so vulnerable in her own home. After pouring another cup of water for Lyra, she said, "I'm going to sleep now. We can figure everything out tomorrow, but right now... I'm exhausted."
Lyra was stunned, her gaze fixed on Esther's body. To her, accustomed to the severe, modest forms within the convent, the Heroine was a vision of soft, powerful femininity, so different from her own lean, almost boyish frame. The official, puritanical doctrine of the Goddess had taught her that such a form was a temptation, a weakness. Yet, all she could think about was how much she wanted to accept the invitation to share the bed, to feel that warmth, to even curl up beside her. But the thought felt like a violation, an abuse of the profound trust Esther was showing her. Swallowing hard, Lyra politely declined the bed with a soft shake of her head. Instead, she found a spot on the packed-dirt floor beside the mattress, pulling her woolen habit around her as she settled in for the night, her heart a confusing mix of piety and desire.
Esther awoke to the smell of fresh air and something else... cleanliness. She opened her eyes, and the entire cottage was spotless. The dusty floor was swept, the small pantry was organized, and the table was wiped clean. Lyra must have woken at some point and tidied the entire place in near-silence. Esther felt a pang of something she couldn't quite name. "You didn't have to do all this," she said to the nun, who was quietly folding a blanket. "We'll only be here for a week or two, at most." In that moment, she remembered her brother. Are you awake? she thought. Always, when you are, came the immediate reply. And before you ask, I don't know how fast you'll improve. But if you want to get strong quickly, you need to face real enemies in real danger. Training in a safe place will give you a fraction of the progress.
Lyra was looking at her with a curious expression. Esther had been staring into space, lost in thought. "Sorry," Esther said, shaking her head slightly. "We have a lot to do. You'll need to go to one of the mills to buy some bread, and you can stop by the market if you want. I need to go buy some equipment." Lyra nodded, then asked, "What is your plan?" Esther considered. "If you know any healing magic, I thought I'd go hunt some monsters to train. Also, could you... could you teach me some magic?" Lyra looked surprised. "I do know a little, but the magic of the Goddess is usually..." She trailed off, realizing she was talking to the literal Chosen One. "Can you manipulate mana? That's the most basic part." Esther nodded. "I can, but not much. I never had a lot of mana to work with." Lyra studied her for a moment, then shifted gears. "Wouldn't it be better to eat at the tavern? We wouldn't lose time cooking or shopping." Esther flushed slightly. "I'd prefer not to be so... seen in the village right now." Lyra didn't seem to notice her blush, simply nodding in agreement. In the end, they both set out for the village. Esther gave Lyra directions and a King's Letter of Exchange, explaining that gold coins weren't commonly used in Three Mills.
Esther walked the main street of Three Mills, the familiar path to the blacksmith's forge now feeling strangely different. The glances from villagers she knew were still there, but they seemed less intrusive, more... knowing than lecherous. Pushing open the heavy wooden door of the forge, she was hit by a wall of heat and the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel. Inside, the only person was Kael, the young blacksmith. He was tall and powerfully built, his arms and face smudged with a constant layer of soot and sweat. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening slightly as they caught on her chest, but he quickly dropped his gaze to the anvil, his face flushing a deep red. "Hi, Kael," Esther said, her voice firm. "Try not to tell everyone, but... you should know. I'm the Heroine. Chosen yesterday by the Goddess's ritual."
Kael stared at her, his jaw slack. For a moment he looked like he thought it was a joke, but then the reality of her words, the oddness of her garments, and the strange aura that now clung to her seemed to click into place. He simply nodded, speechless. "I'm... I'm probably leaving the village for good in a few days," Esther continued, wanting to move past the awkward topic. "Do you have a light shield? I need one." He nodded again, silently walking over to a rack and pulling out a round wooden shield reinforced with a band of iron. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. "I'll take it," she said. "And I need you to make me something else, as fast as you can. Another shield, a short sword, and some head protection that's open and comfortable for fighting." She placed a King's Letter of Exchange and a small pouch of coins on the workbench, an advance for the order. Then, with a nod, she left him standing there, staring after her.
Back at the cottage, the delicious smell of a hearty stew filled the small space. Lyra was tending a pot over the fire, and her entire face seemed to light up when Esther walked in. "Something smells amazing," Esther said with a small smile. After eating, she began to prepare. She spent some time sharpening her old short sword, strapping on her new wooden shield, and making sure her gear was secure. "Don't eat too much before you go," Lyra advised gently. "But when you get back, eat well. Being properly fed helps with mana exhaustion, or prevents it from happening as quickly." Esther nodded, buckling the last strap. She was ready to head into the woods.
The forest was dense and unnaturally silent. Esther moved with practiced caution, her feet finding the soft ground between fallen leaves, but Lyra was a bundle of nerves beside her. A sharp crack echoed through the trees as Lyra's boot came down on a dry branch. The sound was a gunshot in the stillness. From a thicket of ferns, a creature burst forth. A goblin, its skin a foul, mottled green, stood hunched over. One huge, bulging eye swiveled wildly, while its other was a sealed, milky scar. It clutched a heavy, rust-spiked mace. It wasn't fast on its feet, but it launched itself from the undergrowth with a guttural snarl, charging directly at the terrified Lyra.
Esther threw herself in front of Lyra, her short sword clearing its sheath with a rasp. But Lyra was frozen, a statue of fear. Her lips moved in a prayer, but only a terrified whisper escaped, swallowed by the goblin's shriek. Her only instinct was to stay behind Esther, and so she trembled, a helpless weight rather than an ally. The goblin was a blur of motion when it attacked. Esther met the rust-spiked mace with her wooden shield. The impact was a solid thud that vibrated up her arm, the wood beginning to splinter with each brutal blow. The creature's raw strength was far greater than hers. Desperate for an opening, Esther feinted, but the goblin was quicker than she anticipated. Its mace slammed into her side, not a killing blow but one that sent her stumbling back, her feet tangling in a root. She crashed against a rough-barked tree, the air driven from her lungs. Scrambling, she lunged with her sword, but the goblin's mace was a flash of rusted iron. It connected with her sword arm, and an audible crack filled the air as bone gave way. Pain, white-hot and blinding, exploded through her. Her sword fell from useless fingers into the dirt.
She managed to raise her shield again, deflecting two more clumsy but devastating blows. Behind her, Lyra was weeping, her prayers dissolving into desperate, choked sobs as she begged the Goddess for a miracle. Desperation, cold and suffocating, washed over Esther. She was going to die here, killed by a common goblin. A pathetic, useless end. Tears blurred her vision, mixing with the dirt on her face as she stared at the creature's single, murderous eye. Her shield arm felt like lead, too heavy to lift for another block. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that the next blow would be her last. Seeing this, Lyra's desperation boiled over into a single, frantic act. She snatched up a stone and hurled it with all her might. It struck the goblin squarely on its head. The creature paused, turning its bulging eye toward the new threat. With a cry that was part terror, part fury, Lyra grabbed another stone and launched herself forward in a suicidal charge. In that split second, Esther found a reserve of strength she didn't know she possessed. She lunged, grabbing Lyra with her good arm and shoving her toward the path. "Run!" she screamed. They fled, a panicked, stumbling mess. Both were faster than the goblin, but the escape was a nightmare of tripping roots and clinging brambles. When Esther fell, Lyra had to pull her up, Esther's broken arm making her helpless. They finally collapsed at the edge of the woods, gasping for breath, their bodies caked in mud. The full weight of her failure crashed down on Esther. With her face a mask of mud and tears, the throbbing agony in her arm a dull counterpoint to the crushing despair in her heart, she began to sob. Lyra, her own face streaked with tears, crawled over and held her, murmuring comforting words as they limped back to the cottage.