Elara held out both hands to accept the vial. But the moment she tried to close her fingers around it, she realized her right hand was still too stiff, and her left was nothing but bare bones - hardly capable of a steady grip on a small object.
For a moment, she fumbled, trying to angle her hands so she wouldn't drop the flask. The stranger clearly lost patience with this awkward preparation. She pulled the vial back, popped the cork, and lifted it straight to the girl's lips.
“Tilt your head back,” she ordered. Elara obeyed, deciding that after plunging both hands into a bubbling cauldron, refusing a healing potion would be a rather bizarre time to start playing it safe.
The rim of the crystal tapped her lower lip. The cool liquid flowed into her mouth, forcing her to swallow quickly.
From this distance, she could clearly see the stranger’s smooth skin, her perfectly defined lips, and the glass dome where the milky substance sloshed with every tiny movement. Ultimately, she chose to fix her gaze on a button on the black nightgown instead.
If I only look at her from the nose down, I could almost believe a normal person is just giving me medicine…
Too bad the rest of it keeps splashing around.
The potion took effect almost immediately, sending a cool stream down her throat to her stomach - one that didn't feel anything like the piercing, unnatural chill of the cauldron.
The shivering began to subside. Her shoulders gradually relaxed. A tingling sensation spread through her right hand, and soon after, she was able to flex her fingers far more freely than before.
She also felt an itch on her forehead. Reflexively, she reached up and touched the spot where her old wound used to be. Instead of the familiar, uneven scab, her fingertips met smooth flesh. When she rubbed the spot a little harder, a few dried flakes flaked away, revealing perfectly healed skin underneath.
For a moment, she stared at the flakes on her hand in disbelief, then shifted her attention to her left hand, hoping to see a similar miracle. But the bare bones remained completely exposed. There was no sign that the flesh had any intention of growing back, though she found it much easier to move her skeletal fingers now.
“Given your body's current condition, your left hand is unlikely to regenerate,” the stranger noted, setting the empty vial on the table. “Unless, of course, you become an apprentice of magic.”
Elara looked up at her, then back down at her bones, trying to process this information with the same calm detachment with which it had been delivered.
Her lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile. Just moments ago, she had been worrying about making it back to mop the floors. Now, she was being offered a condition that seemed to belong to an entirely different life.
“I’m just a maid,” she replied, carefully lowering her arm.
“So what?” the tall futa asked, smiling again. “I can arrange for you to take the qualification trial, if you're interested. The only question is whether you have the courage to face it.”
Elara snapped her head up so fast she momentarily forgot about her host’s unsettling appearance.
Until now, magic apprentices were entities to step aside for and avoid angering at all costs. The possibility of standing on the same side as them seemed so remote she hadn't even bothered dreaming up a plan around it.
“Yes, Madam,” she answered, before she even had a chance to wonder what the trial entailed. “I want to be an apprentice of magic.”
The stranger laughed, as if she had just heard exactly what she expected, though she didn't look particularly surprised.
During the experiment, she had witnessed the girl's fear, her trembling hands, and the sheer willpower it took to follow orders. But she had also seen that despite it all, Elara never ran, nor did she ever stop answering questions.
The girl waited for the laughter to die down. She gripped the edge of her sleeve with her right hand, remembering exactly why she was in this room to begin with.
She had paid for the removal of the blood by participating in two trials, one of which had left her with a skeletal hand. She shouldn't assume a much larger favor would come free of charge.
“If you help me become an apprentice, what will I have to do in return?” she asked carefully.
“In return?” the host repeated, her tone abruptly losing its lightheartedness. “What on earth do you think you possess that could equal the value of a place among the apprentices?”
Elara froze. The flush of excitement gave way to an unpleasant, hot flush of embarrassment spreading across her face.
It had only taken a few days of scrubbing corridors for her to desperately crave any way out. And the second she saw one, she had immediately started talking as if she actually held a seat at the negotiating table.
She had no money, no knowledge, and no influence. The only thing she had managed to offer tonight was her own body, willingly shoved into a boiling pot.
Right, I get it… I have nothing to pay with.
But since you brought it up yourself, you must want something from me.
She lowered her gaze and waited. She had no intention of withdrawing her request, nor was she going to try and convince the woman of a value she couldn't prove. She didn't know if the stranger was just playing with her hopes, but as long as the offer was still on the table, she wanted to hear the rest.
“Do you really want to become an apprentice?” the futa asked at last, leaning abruptly over the table. “Even if you end up like me?”
The milky fluid splashed against the front of the dome, creating tiny bubbles, and the single eyeball floated up to the glass with a dull thud. Up close, Elara could see the pale, uneven tissue around the rim of the glass casing. She could no longer pretend that looking just a little lower was enough to forget what had been done to the upper half of her host's head.
None of the apprentices she had passed in the Spire so far looked anywhere near this terrifying. But the memory of the blood puddle and the two horrific entries in the book was strong enough to keep her from stepping back.
“Yes,” she answered more quietly, but this time without hesitation, staring straight at the glass dome.
If I can end up dead while mopping floors anyway, I’d rather try to get something that will let me fight back.
The stranger straightened up and nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer.
“A new group of candidates will be brought in a few days from now. Usually, seven or eight don't survive the journey, so the missing slots are filled with the servants. I’ll make sure you're among them.”
For a moment, Elara tried to reconcile the promise of a future with the casually delivered news of girls dying before they even reached the Spire. But she wasn't about to reject her only chance just because this path was dangerous, too.
“Thank you, Madam,” she said, bowing her head.
“Vespara Syth,” the host replied. When Elara gave her a questioning look, she added, “Second-rank apprentice. If you pass the trial, remember to choose Caldra Mourne as your mentor.”
“I understand, Lady Vespara. My name is… ”
“There’s no need,” she interrupted before the girl could finish. “You can tell me if you actually become an apprentice.”
Elara snapped her mouth shut and nodded. The last traces of her joy sank beneath the weight of that simple sentence.
Vespara was willing to get her into the trial, but she still saw no reason to remember the name of a maid who might very well not survive the recruitment process.
When Elara stepped back out into the corridor, the door slid shut behind her almost soundlessly. The spot where the blood had pooled was spotless. Not a single red streak or drop of moisture remained between the cracks in the stone. For a moment, she just stared at the floor, wondering what exactly Vespara had done during those brief seconds by the entrance.
The candlelight had already taken on an almost golden hue, instantly reminding her of the time. She scanned the nearest stretch of the hall and grabbed the cart's handle.
She wouldn't have time to mop the entire corridor again, but she didn't see any obvious trash or fresh stains. The head maids rarely inspected every single stone if the floor looked clean at first glance.
She pushed off as fast as the cart would allow, gripping the handle mostly with her right hand as she navigated the turns, until her lungs burned and her legs started screaming from the toll of the long morning.
She reached the fourth floor just before the flames shifted to stark white. Only after pulling the cart into the utility room did she allow herself a moment to rest.
She stowed the equipment, emptied the bin, and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her left hand. She winced instantly as hard bone scraped against her skin.
She jerked her hand away, glaring at it in irritation. A simple, familiar reflex had nearly been enough to scratch open the exact spot that had just been healed.
Damn it, I have to remember I have built-in skin-scrapers now…
This hand didn't even feel that it touched anything.
She wiggled her fingers, first one by one, then all together, watching the bones bend and straighten without any visible muscles to pull them. The lack of sensation was still unsettling. But after Vespara's potion, the actual movement was effortless - which felt just as impossible as the freshly healed wound on her forehead.
She shifted her gaze to her right hand. The pale, smooth skin looked more delicate than before, yet while steering the cart, she had felt a raw strength in it she had never possessed.
Scanning the room, she spotted a small rock among the dumped trash. She picked it up, intending only to test if the new sensation was just the lingering effects of the numbness fading.
She squeezed, and the rock shattered into several pieces.
Elara immediately released her grip. The fragments crumbled between her fingers, leaving a fine, pale dust on her skin.
She hadn't felt any pain, nor did she feel like she had exerted much effort. She stood there for a moment with her palm open, trying to reconcile the ordinary appearance of her hand with what she had just done.
A few more ingredients, and instead of a second skeletal hand, I got this…
What else can be done to a body, if someone actually knows what they’re doing?
She didn't know how strong the warriors or female knights of this world were, but she knew for a fact that crushing solid rock wasn't part of a maid's usual repertoire.
Just a short while ago, she had viewed the experiment solely through the lens of her lost flesh. Now, it was getting harder to ignore what she had gained alongside the damage to her left hand.
The fear of Vespara remained, but her desire to become an apprentice had taken on a much sharper, more concrete shape.
She brushed the dust off her fingers, swept up the scattered fragments, and left the utility room, heading for the shared dorm.
She was still examining her right hand as she pushed the door open, but the voices coming from inside made her freeze, leaving only a narrow crack open.
“Elara still isn't back. Guess she really croaked this time,” one of the girls said, followed by the rustle of a shifting blanket.
“She lasted longer than expected after pissing off an apprentice.”
“Except now we’re gonna have to take turns scrubbing those damn corridors before dawn again.”
Silence fell over the room. Elara slowly narrowed her eyes, glaring at the dark wood of the door. For the past few days, she had been the only one woken up every single morning. Not one of her roommates had ever mentioned that this dangerous assignment was supposed to be rotated among everyone.
Take turns… So they realized I didn't remember the rules, and just quietly sent me out there to die every morning.
She held the door in place with her right hand, fighting the urge to storm right in, because after a brief pause, someone else spoke up.
“Honestly, it would’ve been better if she lived a little longer. She remembered almost nothing, so she did whatever we told her. Now one of us is gonna have to go up there and wonder if she’ll make it back.”
“Who says we have to take turns?” chimed in another girl, her voice dripping with confidence. “Elara went every day, and the head maids didn't even ask about it. Starting tomorrow, we’ll just send Gwenna.”
“She didn’t lose her memory. She won't just agree to go.”
“Then we’ll beat the shit out of her until she does.”
Several voices erupted at once, clearly agreeing that their previous victim was already dead and all that was left was picking the next one. Elara listened for a moment longer. The exhaustion faded, entirely replaced by cold fury. She stepped back, brought her foot up, and kicked the door open so hard it slammed violently against the wall.
The chatter cut off instantly. The girls on the bed snapped their heads toward her - some looking terrified, others in sheer disbelief.
“Starting tomorrow, we take turns scrubbing the corridors,” Elara declared, sweeping her gaze across their faces. “Everyone takes their shift.”
Sitting at the far end of the bed, closest to the light, was Brynn Calder. She was one of the few who didn't look particularly bothered by the girl's sudden return. The initial surprise quickly morphed into a crooked smirk. She tossed her blanket aside and slowly stood up, cracking her knuckles.
She was the strongest maid in the dorm. She claimed the most comfortable spot, always pushed to the front of the food line, and anyone who tried to challenge those privileges usually ended up covered in bruises.
Elara had already gathered enough of these little details to understand why the other girls immediately scrambled out of the way, making room before Brynn even took a step toward her.
An hour ago, you could have just knocked me down and forced me to go back up there tomorrow…
Except a lot can change in an hour.
Brynn closed the distance without a word and swung, clearly convinced that a single hit would end the entire discussion. Elara brought up her right hand and caught the fist. The dull smack of skin hitting skin echoed far quieter in the room than the door slamming against the wall.
“You little bitch…” Brynn snarled, yanking her arm back for another strike. Her fist didn't budge.
She yanked harder and planted her feet. Only then did she look down, as if she couldn't comprehend how the scrawny girl was holding her in place. Elara felt the pressure against her fingers, but instead of the expected pain, she simply realized she could squeeze much, much harder.
For a brief second, they stared at each other in dead silence. Then Elara tightened her grip.
A dry crack shattered the quiet. Brynn screamed and immediately dropped to her knees, clutching her forearm with her free hand.
Her smug smirk vanished, replaced by sheer agony and disbelief. When Elara finally uncurled her fingers, the girl collapsed onto the floor, pulling her ruined hand close to her chest and shaking so violently she couldn't even lift her head.