From the Heavens (Final Fantasy XVI)

𖥸 XV 𖥸

"'Ello, sweetheart," the garrison soldier slurred as he trudged toward Lyra.

Refusing to make eye contact, she tried to walk away. She didn't want to go far because Clive would be done talking with the soldiers at the barracks soon. However, the drunken soldier grabbed her arm and shoved her against a wall. The force he used caused her back to ache. She grimaced when all she could smell was alcohol. The sun was only beginning to set and this man was already drunk.

"You must be one of the Veil's newest lasses," the soldier smirked. "I must say, ye are the finest lady they 'ave to offer."

Lyra rolled her eyes. Now she understood just how difficult it was to be a courtesan. There's no way she could deal with drunken men like this every day. When she saw his hand drifting toward the hem of her dress, she immediately grabbed it and pulled it away. "I am no courtesan. If you wish to find a lady to lay with, head directly to the Veil."

The drunken soldier just laughed. "You can't fool me. All the pretty ones in this shite-stain of a place are courtesans."

"I'm fooling no one." Lyra couldn't use her magic to avoid causing a scene. If she did, it would cause an unavoidable mess. She would try her best to push him away without burning him. "Truly, I am no courtesan. Speak to the Dame yourself and she shall confirm this."

"Now, now." The soldier's other hand gravitated toward her face.

Before he could touch her cheek, she shoved him away with a sharp glare. She didn't dare give this man any more of her time. She walked down the street to get away from him in hopes of finding Isabelle at the Iron Flagon. She didn't make it far before the drunkard caught up.

This time, he was more violent and forceful. He shoved her against another wall. This time, it was much harsher. She gasped in pain from the impact, only to choke when the soldier's hand wrapped around her neck. It wasn't enough to hinder her breathing, but it kept her pinned to the wall. She grabbed his armor-cladded arm in a desperate attempt to free herself.

The soldier stepped closer to her, pressing his body against hers. His hand remained around her neck while the other one attempted to reach between her legs. Before it could, a sword was aimed at his throat.

Looking behind the soldier, Lyra saw an infuriated Clive. She didn't hear or see him until his blade was drawn. She stared wide-eyed at him.

"Remove your hands from her immediately," Clive threatened, his tone sharp.

Frightened by the blade, the soldier released Lyra and stepped away from her. When he slowly turned around and saw the brand on Clive's face, his fear vanished and he laughed. "A fuckin' Branded? The hell're you thinkin'?! I'll have your head for—!" He then saw the seal of the Dame and swallowed nervously. "Bloody hell..."

Clive was very tempted to drive his blade through the man's neck, but he restrained himself. "If the Dame were to hear you treated one of her guests in such a vile manner—"

The soldier started to panic. "All right! All right! Take her! She's all yours! Just please don't tell the Dame!"

"Then make yourself scarce before I personally see to punishing you myself," Clive growled. He watched the soldier run away before sheathing his sword. His glare vanished as his expression softened and was replaced with concern. Lyra hadn't said anything, which made him more worried. He closed the distance between them and reached a hand toward her neck. "Are you all right?"

Lyra has been shocked at his silent appearance that she didn't notice how quiet she was until now. "Yes. I'm glad you showed up when you did."

Clive gently touched her neck to check for any soreness or redness. He couldn't find anything but one thing—a scar. His eyes narrowed as his thumb traced over it. "This is..."