The mirror in the Ferrymark Inn was a jagged thing, a silvered surface spider-webbed with cracks that split Linda’s reflection into a dozen shimmering shards. She leaned in, her breath fogging the glass, and stared at the woman looking back. A month of Izze’s "instruction" had been a systematic dismantling of her dignity, characterized by bruised ribs, purpled welts on her thighs, and the constant, metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
But as Linda traced the line of her shoulder, she noticed the change.
The soft, lanky frame of a shut-in coder had hardened. Her deltoids were capped and firm, and the lean muscle in her core now felt like a coiled spring rather than a loose string. She wasn't just surviving the beatings anymore, but slipping...
...some of the punches.
That was something!, Linda thought.
The training hadn't been about flashy moves, but about the brutal physics of leverage and weight distribution. Izze had spent weeks forcing her to fight from her back, teaching her how to use her hips to bridge and create space, and how to drive a palm into a chin using the momentum of her entire body rather than just her arm. The Aelvyn had started treating combat like a firewall - identifying the gap in the enemy's perimeter and exploiting it with a single, precise injection of force.
The soreness was constant, a deep ache that lived in her marrow, but for the first time in two lifetimes, Linda didn't feel like a passenger in her own skin.
The physical transformation was mirrored by a strange, budding warmth in her chest whenever she saw her teammates. Izze was still a foul-mouthed whirlwind of aggression, but the Krithak had stopped calling her "useless," replacing the insult with a begrudging, guttural nod of approval after a successful parry. Theodore had become a quiet pillar of support, his clinical nature softening into a dry, understated wit that only she seemed to catch. Even Lyra, who still looked at her with the intensity of a hawk, had begun to offer small, professional tips on poise and presence, treating Linda less like a liability and more like a promising investment.
That was exciting for the same reason as Izze...
Linda had a huge, fat lesbian crush on them both...
She felt like one of those loser harem protags, but she promised to not act like those weirdos.
These were real people, people the Aelvyn was starting to care about, and she was going to not be a creep towards them.
Satisfied with her own maturity, she let her gaze drift lower. She slid her hands down the curve of her waist, feeling the new, hard ridges of her obliques, before her palms moved inward to explore the weight between her thighs. She usually treated her crotch like a background process - something she only acknowledged when she had to pee or when a sudden, inconvenient boner made her leathers chafe during her talks with Lyra.
But today, the curiosity won.
She shifted her stance, wrapping her fingers around the eight-inch length of her cock. It felt heavy and alien yet fundamentally right, a piece of hardware she was still learning to integrate into her operating system. She traced the prominent veins that branched like circuit boards along the shaft, noting how the skin felt thin and sensitive against her calloused palms. Her hand drifted lower, cupping her balls with a tentative squeeze. In her old life, Linda had been a ghost in her own body, hiding behind oversized hoodies and a screen; here, the raw, physical reality of her anatomy was impossible to ignore. It was a strange, grounding contrast—the softness of her curves paired with this sudden, potent masculinity.
"Still so weird..." Linda whispered, her voice barely a breath in the quiet room.
She tightened her grip, her fingers curling around the thick, pulsing shaft. The skin was hot, sliding easily over the head as she experimented with the tension, watching the way the veins stood out in sharp relief, throbbing in time with her accelerating heart. It felt like a piece of high-end hardware she hadn't read the manual for - heavy, sensitive, and demanding attention. She let her hand slide further down, her palm cupping the weight of her balls, feeling the tight, wrinkled skin and the way they shifted instinctively against her touch. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, a raw, biological feedback loop that made her toes curl against the cold wooden floor.
This could really bad, Linda thought.
Addictive, one could say...
But Linda wasn't going to be rule by this new beast!
She wasn't!
With a sharp exhale, the Aelvyn yanked her hand away as if she’d touched a live wire. She stepped back from the cracked mirror, her face flushing a deep crimson that clashed violently with her silver hair.
She forced herself to focus on the task at hand...
Getting dressed for the day...
Because today was the day Izze would finally start weapon training.
Linda scrambled to pull on her undergarments, the linen fabric scratching against her skin as she fought to suppress the lingering heat in her core. She layered on her training gear - sturdy leather pants and a reinforced tunic that hugged her curves while leaving her shoulders free for movement. As she tightened the laces of her boots and slipped on her gloves, she felt giddy about today. She checked her reflection one last time, ignoring the flush in her cheeks, and headed downstairs.
The common room of the Ferrymark Inn was just as Linda knew it for the last month - not much clientele, and it always had this funky smell, but it was her new home. Linda navigated the space with a new, tentative grace, nodding to the widow who ran the place. The old woman, usually as sharp as a rusted razor, paused while wiping a table and offered Linda a genuine, toothy smile that reached her clouded eyes.
It was a small victory, but it felt like a high-score to Linda.
She spotted Izze and Theodore at their table.
The Krithak was aggressively chewing on a piece of salted pork while Theodore sat perfectly still, his robe draped around him like a funeral shroud, staring into the depths of a tea cup while listening to Izze rant about something or other.
"Morning!" Linda chirped, sliding into the worn wooden seat with a frantic energy. She leaned in, her green eyes wide and searching. "Are we really doing the weapons training today? L- Like, actually starting?"
Izze didn't look up from her pork, but a jagged, toothy grin split her weathered face.
"About damn time. You've spent a month learning how to fall over and get back up without crying. Now we see if you can actually hit something without cutting your own toes off." Izze answered, chewing on some type of dried meat.
Theodore shifted, the fabric of his robe whispering against the chair.
"Weaponry is only half the battle, Linda. Understanding why we fight is the other," Theodore added, his voice cold. "Garviss mentioned an uptick in Hollowed sightings near the eastern ridge this morning. We will begin your history lessons soon. It is vital you understand the nature of the corruption before you are forced to truly face it..." As he spoke, Theodore’s hazel eyes went momentarily vacant, glazing over as if he were staring at something miles away...
Linda felt a flicker of apprehension, sensing a hidden weight behind his words, but she kept her gaze fixed on the table, trusting the silence.
Izze’s expression tightened, her yellow eyes narrowing as if she were scenting a storm on the wind. The tension was broken by the abrupt thwack of a ceramic bowl hitting the wood; the widow had arrived, plopping down a heap of thick, greyish porridge topped with a dollop of salted butter.
The Krithak didn’t offer a thank you, instead diving into the meal with primal intensity.
"For Drevan's sake, I'm fucking starving," Izze grunted between mouthfuls, the porridge barely touching her lips before it was swallowed whole. "Can't teach a brat to kill if the teacher's stomach is eating itself. Eat up, princess. You'll need the calories if you're going to survive today.
The Ardel man followed suit, though he ate with a surgical precision that made the act look more like a ritual than a meal. He used a small silver spoon to nudge the porridge around, consuming it in measured, silent bites. Linda dug in, the salted butter melting into the thick oats and providing a warm, heavy fuel that settled in her gut. Once the bowls were scraped clean and the last of the salt licked from their fingers, Theodore stood and smoothed the front of his robe.
"I shall take my leave," Theodore announced, nodding to them. "I have an appointment with an acquaintance in the town. Good day, Linda and... Izze."
Izze let out a sharp, barking laugh, her eyes dancing with mischief.
"An 'appointment,' he says! Who's the lucky bitch, Teddy? Or is it a 'friend' who just happens to have a very soft bed and a penchant for gloomy men in dresses?" Izze teased, a large bring on her face.
Theodore’s expression remained a mask of indifference, though a faint, telltale flush crept up his neck. He didn't offer a rebuttal, simply turning on his heel and gliding toward the door, leaving the two women to their own devices.
Izze snickered and had to wonder if that comment was true...
"Does he actually have someone?" Linda asked, her voice soft and curious, leaning in toward the Krithak.
Izze let out a huff and shook her head.
"Pah! I was just fucking with him. Most of the time that brooding bastard is married to his books and his own misery." Izze answered and then paused as she stood up and stretched, her joints popping. "Though, truth be told, he did vanish into the Reed for a night a few weeks back. Came out looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Probably the only time I've ever seen him look truly exhausted. Lady must've wrung him dry!"
The Aelvyn felt a sudden, searing heat crawl up her neck.
The mere mention of the Velvet Reed sent her mind spiraling toward images of the women she'd seen lingering near the establishment - the scent of heavy perfume and the way their silk dresses clung to every curve. She felt a traitorous stir in her pants, a heavy throb that threatened to make her presence known through the linen of her trousers. Panicking, she shifted her weight abruptly in the chair, pressing her thighs together to stifle the reaction.
"Good for Theodore!" Lind blurted out, her voice an octave too high. Without giving herself time to overthink or get any harder, she leaped up and practically tackled Izze toward the exit. "Let's just go! To the hall! Now!"
Izze blinked, nearly stumbling as Linda zoomed past her with a sudden, frantic burst of energy.
"Whoa there, sunshine! Calm your tits. The dummies aren't going anywhere," Izze barked, though a smirk played on her lips.
The Krithak trotted after Linda, watching the way the younger woman’s curves swayed with a renewed, almost desperate purpose. It was clear the brat was trying to outrun her own thoughts, using the morning chill to freeze out whatever was stirring in her trousers.
Linda didn't notice though and wanted her blood pumping for other reasons.
She practically sprinted through the muddy lanes of Brennale, her boots splashing through puddles of grey runoff as she kept a frantic pace. Behind her, Izze’s raspy laughter followed like a rhythmic bark, the Krithak barely breaking a sweat as she kept up with the long-legged Aelvyn. Linda’s heart hammered against her ribs - partly from the exertion and partly from the sheer, buzzing adrenaline of trying to purge her mind of the Velvet Reed.
By the time they reached the training area, Linda was breathless, her chest heaving under her tunic, her focus narrowed down to a single, desperate need to hit something.
Izze didn't offer a warm-up.
The Krithak strolled over to the weapons rack, her yellow eyes scanning the steel with a professional's detachment before her hand clamped around the hilt of a standard-issue shortsword. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the weapon toward Linda. The sword spun end-over-end, a blur of grey steel that forced Linda to scramble, her long limbs tangling for a second before she managed to snag the grip. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather, smelling of old sweat and linseed oil, and the weight of it pulled Linda’s shoulder down, reminding her that while her body had changed, her muscle memory was still that of a woman who had spent her twenties being an introvert.
It had only been a month of rewiring her brain to fit in this new world after all...
"Quit gawking at it and get in stance," Izze said, gesturing toward a straw-stuffed dummy held upright by a heavy wooden frame. "Don't try to be fancy. Just give me a base swing. Right shoulder back, weight centered, and drive through the target. I want to see if you've actually learned how to stand, or if you're still a newborn fawn on ice."
Linda swallowed hard, her throat dry. She stepped forward, trying to recall every correction Izze had screamed at her over the last month. She planted her feet, shifted her weight to her back leg, and swung. The blade whistled through the air, but as she committed to the strike, her center of gravity shifted too far forward. She didn't cut through the straw; instead, the edge glanced off the dummy’s side with a dull thud, the vibration rattling up her arm and jarring her elbow. The momentum carried her halfway across the dirt, leaving her stumbling and off-balance, the sword dipping dangerously toward the mud.
"By Drevan’s name, that was shit!" Izze roared, her voice like gravel in a blender. The Krithak didn't move to help, just standing there with her arms crossed, yellow eyes narrowed in genuine disgust. "Your hips are locked, your shoulder is hiking up to your ear, and you're swinging that thing like a fucking broom! Get back to your mark, you clumsy thing! Back! Now!"
"Aye, Aye drill sergeant..."Linda mumbled the words under her breath, her face flushing as she scrambled back to the mark.
She reset her feet, consciously trying to unlock her hips and keep her shoulders level.
Izze didn't stay back this tim, but stepped in close, the smell of stale tobacco and old leather invading Linda's space. The Krithak reached out with a calloused hand, shoving Linda’s elbow down with a sharp jab.
"Stop trying to lift the world with your arm, you idiot. The power comes from the ground, through the legs, into the core. The sword is just the delivery system. You aren't throwing a punch. You're driving a wedge." Izze corrected.
Linda took a slow breath, trying to treat the movement like a line of code...
A sequence of logical steps. Foot plant. Hip rotation. Core engagement. Extend.
The Aelvyn swung again, focusing entirely on the kinetic chain Izze had described. The blade sliced into the straw with a satisfying, meaty thwack, burying itself halfway into the dummy's torso. It wasn't a perfect strike, but the vibration that traveled up her arm was a clean hum instead of a jarring shock. For a fleeting second, the shy woman who used to hide behind a monitor felt a spark of genuine agency, a visceral connection to the physical world that no keyboard could ever provide.
"Better. Still looks like a drunken peasant, but it's better," Izze grunted, though her eyes betrayed a hint of approval. She stepped behind Linda, adjusting the angle of her wrist with a rough tug. "Now, don't just stand there admiring your work. Recover. Snap the blade back to center and prepare for the second strike. If you leave your chest open for even a heartbeat in a real fight, some hollow is going to rip your throat out before you can say 'sorry'."
Linda exhaled, trying to maintain the mental checklist.
As she attempted to snap the sword back, she overcompensated, twisting her wrist too sharply. The blade wobbled, the tip dipping toward the dirt, and the sudden loss of balance sent her stumbling back a step. It was a frustrating loop of progress and failure. Her mind could visualize the geometry of the perfect arc, but her muscles often lagged behind the logic. She felt that familiar prickle of self-doubt creeping in, the internal voice that told her she was just playing dress-up in a world where everyone else was a natural.
"This is so much harder than it looks," Linda whined, her voice trailing off into a soft, frustrated plea. She let her shoulders slump, the weight of the shortsword suddenly feeling like a lead pipe.
Izze offered a sympathetic pat on the back, but her words were serious when they flowed from her lips, no barking or yelling this time.
"Of course it's hard! You're treating the steel like it's some foreign object you're trying to convince to behave. You don't use the weapon. You become it. Your body is the base, and the blade is just the extension of your reach. The sword is your arm, a shield is your back, a dagger is your fingertips, and a bow is your goddamned spine. If you keep thinking of it as a tool you're holding, you'll always be a second too slow, Linda. Be. The fucking. Weapon."
Linda frowned, trying to visualize the sword not as a piece of metal, but as an extra limb. She reset her stance, feeling the grit of the dirt beneath her boots. She focused on the grip, loosening her white-knuckled hold so the hilt sat naturally in her palm. This time, when she stepped forward, she didn't think about the 'swing.' She thought about extending her reach. She drove the blade forward in a basic thrust, aiming for the center of the straw dummy's chest. It was a clumsy, linear motion - too much leaning, not enough hip drive - but the point connected with a solid crunch, the tip sinking deep into the packed straw.
"That wasn't half bad," Izze grunted. Linda started to let out a small, hopeful sigh, her chest swelling with a rare moment of pride. Then Izze's expression flattened. "But your half-bad is still absolute shit."
UGH!
The afternoon dissolved into a repetitive, grueling cycle of failure and marginal improvement. Linda spent hours fighting her own instincts, battling the tendency to pull her punches or hesitate at the point of impact. She practiced the same three cuts - a diagonal slash from shoulder to hip, a horizontal sweep, and a vertical cleave - thousands of times until her palms blistered beneath the leather wrap of the hilt. Each time she drifted into a "safe" posture, Izze would bark a correction or shove her center of gravity off-balance, forcing Linda to rediscover her footing in the muck. The geometry of the blade began to make sense, shifting from a conceptual map in her head to a physical sensation of weight and momentum, though her movements remained jerky and lacked the fluid grace of a seasoned warrior.
As the twin moons began to ghost into the darkening sky, Linda’s muscles screamed in a way that felt entirely foreign. Her shoulders burned, and a deep, pulsing ache had settled into her thighs from holding the low, wide stance Izze demanded. She found herself focusing on the minutiae: the way the wind caught the silver strands of her hair, the smell of crushed grass and old straw, and the rhythmic shick-thud of the blade. The mental fatigue was almost worse than the physical; trying to override twenty-seven years of introverted hesitation required a level of concentration that left her lightheaded. By the time the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the clouds in bruised purples and oranges, Linda could barely keep the sword tip from trembling.
The Aelvyn’s tan skin was really sweaty...
She was tired beyond belief...
...but it was a good tired.
Like when she helped Cloudflare stop the biggest DDoS attack ever recorded...
31.4 Terabits per second...
Only lasting for 34 seconds, but she held the line and beat that botnet back into the phantom zone from where it came.
Izze tilted her head back, scanning the deepening indigo of the horizon.
The first few stars were piercing through the haze, sharp and cold.
The Krithak let out a long, rattling sigh that sounded like a handful of pebbles being shaken in a tin can.
"Alright, enough, silver-tits. Your form is starting to loop, and when you start looping, you start getting sloppy. Time to call it for the day before you accidentally cut yourself." Izze advised, cracking her neck and looking no worse for wear.
Not fair..., Linda thought.
"Alright," Linda replied aloud, her voice raspy from the day's exertion. She wiped a smudge of grime from her cheek, her muscles twitching with a lingering, rhythmic ache. "I'm actually really excited to try the bow."
Internally, a small, guarded spark of confidence flickered. She remembered the smell of cedar and old leather from the weekends her grandmother used to take her to a local range back in North Dakota. She hadn't been a natural athlete, but the stillness of the bow - the way the world narrowed down to a single point of focus - had always felt intuitive. While the sword felt like trying to learn a language where the grammar changed every time she moved, the bow was a calculation.
It was a problem of windage, elevation, and tension.
It was a system, and Linda knew how to work with systems.
And maybe her being Aelvyn could help?
She could be like Green Arrow or the White Death (bow version).
"Hmph. We'll see if that brain of yours can actually calculate a wind-drift, or if you'll just shoot your own toe off," Izze grunted, gesturing for Linda to help her clear the training dummies.
They worked in a rhythmic silence for a few minutes, hauling the straw-stuffed targets back toward the equipment shed. The air was cooling rapidly, the damp scent of river-mist creeping in from the valley, but Linda’s skin still felt tacky with sweat. As she leaned over to hoist the last dummy, she felt a sudden, sharp shift in the air...
A blur of green and grey movement.
As Linda shifted her weight to hoist the last dummy, Izze’s foot shot out with practiced precision, aiming to sweep Linda’s center of gravity and send her sprawling into the dirt. It was the same humbling tactic the Krithak had used before, a reminder to expect the unexpected.
But Linda didn’t drop this time.
Instead of freezing or overbalancing, she instinctively shifted her weight to her heels and stepped into the force, her new, leaner muscle memory absorbing the blow.
The momentum didn't stop, but it changed direction.
The Krithak, caught off-guard by the resistance, overextended her own balance. With a sharp, surprised yelp, Izze tumbled forward, her small frame colliding with Linda’s chest with a muffled thud. They hit the dirt in a chaotic tangle of limbs, rolling once before coming to a halt. When the dust settled, Izze found herself straddling Linda’s stomach, her yellow eyes wide and blinking, her grey braids frayed and wild.
"Lucky bitch," Izze rasped, a jagged grin splitting her face. She leaned down, her voice dropping to a rough, sandpaper whisper that vibrated against the sensitive point of Linda’s long, pointed Aelvyn ear. "That little dance worked out in your favor, but you just put yourself right where I want you."
As Izze shifted her weight to regain her footing, she slid backward, her backside gliding lower and pressing firmly against the bulge between Linda's thighs. The contact was sudden and heavy, pinning Linda's anatomy beneath the Krithak's sturdy frame. Linda’s breath hitched, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping her as a jolt of heat shot upward from her crotch to her chest. Her face flushed a deep, vivid crimson, and she began to stutter, her words tripping over each other in a frantic rush.
"I- I didn't- you just- oh goodness!" Linda stumbled, her body frozen where it lay.
Izze didn't move as she felt the distinct, rigid pressure pushing back against her, and just smirked back at Linda.
"Twelve Hells, would you look at that," Izze said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Is that a sword in your trousers, sunshine, or are you just happy to see me?"
Linda’s brain short-circuited.
Again.
Because when doesn't it?
The confidence she’d felt when bantering with Vael in the white room was gone, replaced by the old, stuttering ghost of the woman who couldn't order a pizza without rehearsing the script.
"It's- it's just a biological reaction to unexpected proximity!" Linda blurted out, her voice hitting a pitch that only dogs could hear.
"Drevan's balls, you're just too easy to rattle. It's almost a crime." Izze said with a sigh.
Without warning, the Krithak leaned in and nipped sharply at the sensitive ridge of Linda’s pointed ear. A bolt of pure electricity surged straight down Linda's spine, arching her back off the ground as a strangled moan escaped her throat. Before Linda could process the sensation, Izze’s rough, calloused palm slid down and gave her crotch a firm, lingering rub, molding the rigid length of her against the fabric of her pants. Just as Linda’s mind began to melt into a haze of heat and confusion, Izze sprang backward with an agile hop, leaving Linda panting and wide-eyed in the dirt. The Krithak leaned down one last time, planting a quick, teasing kiss on Linda's burning cheek before turning on her heel and leaving the hall.
Leaving Linda alone.
Confused.
Horny.
Huh?????