“Are you open?” a man’s voice called from the other side.

Dismissing all Politas except two to start inventory and sanitation, Dia went to smooth her dress and stopped. She was still wearing the spiky black armor. “Shit,” she whispered under her breath, hastily removing the pieces and handing them over to her first assistant. The diminutive maiden wobbled under the weight, hurriedly hobbling off to drop it elsewhere as Dia went to answer the door.

“Good mor-”

Her greeting came to a halt when she saw the duo standing before her. An older male with a scruffy, angry look that was mixed with disappointment and worry lines. His clothes were clean but well-worn, his black hair carefully combed. Next to him was a young girl with the same coal-dust hair that stared firmly at the ground while holding back tears. Dia knew neither of them by either name or face, but their expressions were impossible to mistake for anything else.

“Threshold.”

The man nodded solemnly, and the girl sobbed.

Dia’s shoulders sagged, glancing at the man. “Do you…?”

“Her mother is a Centaur,” he stated. “Sir Rollo refuses to treat her. He said the Lord will handle such matters.”

“And he will,” Dia answered definitely. “Please give your details to my assistant so she can write them down; your family will be properly compensated.” She turned to the girl, reaching out a comforting hand as the human marched past them. “You don’t need to worry. Thresholding into a Centaur takes longer than most others, but you’ll be taken care of.”

The girl's defenses crumbled, surrendering to a suppressed sob. She grasped Dia’s hand as the healer led her into the building. The girl gave her father a long look, but he did not return it.

Despite experience dictating against it, Dia couldn’t help but scour the man's features, finding the subtle indications of his silent struggle. His sigh of relief, barely audible, at her closing remarks, his eyes darting, evading his daughter's tear-streaked face, showed the unshed grief. For a human daughter, the greatest gift a family could wish for, to go through the threshold and become a maiden…

The process was a harsh one. A human female would be expected to grow as a part of the family, typically to be wedded to someone of higher status and thus elevating the family as a whole. The purity of human blood was nothing to scoff at. Both minor and major nobles would even come to blows over insinuations of there being a maiden in their family tree. Thus, a human woman was expected to know matters of business, or at the very least of management, so that they could stand proud at the helm of their own enterprises or those of their husbands.

By contrast, a maiden of that age would have been working in one thing or another for several years by now. Even a pre-pubescent Centaur could outrun and outlast any human, their strength enough to shatter bones if ill-used. At the age of sixteen, they would be seeking a partner for her, likely a trusted friend of the family who could at least provide a token price.

In this context, the threshold was a tragedy, the size of it being proportional to how well-off the family happened to be. But in this rural small city, Dia could only really think of one reason why they would consider selling their daughter to Rollo or the Lord. The answer was plain to see in the man’s shoes. They were worn, cracked and scuffed, riddled with holes, poorly kept.

It all played out as she’d witnessed it a dozen times. The man gave his information, was given a promissory note to be paid upon the ending of the threshold, and with a quiet goodbye, he left.

There were many things going through Dia’s mind, but her focus remained on the girl, ushering her into one of the private rooms, specifically the one that had the largest reinforced bed. She prompted the girl to sit and raise her shirt. There, on her abdomen, were the first signs of the transformation: two dark protrusions barely as thick as her thumb, shaped like hoofs, and dark in coloration.

“The process isn’t painful,” Dia explained, lowering the shirt and pooling her energy around the girl. The human slowly relaxed, nodding as she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. “Most thresholds take about a week, but since you’re going to become a Centaur, it will take a month to finish.”

The girl nodded again, gripping her knees tightly. "My father wanted me to stay," she whispered. "But I know he can't..."

"A thresholding Centaur eats a lot," Dia squeezed her hand, feeling a swell of pride at the girl's courage.

Thresholding could sometimes come with risks, depending on the breed they were becoming. Centaurs were one of the few possible cases where they needed to consume great amounts of nourishment lest their bodies end up crippled for life. By any estimate, the following weeks would see the girl eating as much as ten adults.

"Do not worry, you will meet him again, and your mother as well."

The girl's throat tightened. "But-"

"The Lord wishes for maidens to not be property anymore," she explained. "Once you begin to work for the Lord, you will be given a wage. What you do with this wage will be your choice, even if it means giving some or all of it to your family."

The daughter and father would meet in the near future, perhaps by chance, or maybe to check up on how things were going. Either way, it would be once his daughter had become a maiden in full, and hopefully by then she would have learned to be strong in ways no human was meant to be.

Now, if Dia could only hammer that lesson into Rick's head…

The girl blinked in rapid succession, tears running down her cheeks, blue eyes dazzling with emotion. "Then-"

"However," Dia squeezed the hand, meeting the gaze intently. "You will still be a maiden. It is not an easy life. Are you the first threshold in your family?"

"My cousin," came the mumbled response. “She became a Doggirl.”

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Her answer confirmed Dia's suspicion. Thresholding was a rare event, but when it occurred within a family, there were often several cases in quick order.

The girl's hands clung to her skirt, her knuckles white. "I-I know what comes next. I know they'll hold a wake for me, and that I... my name..."

It was a crucial step in accepting maidenhood. The old had died, and in its place, something new. Where a human was meant to stand, a maiden was meant to follow. Rick insisted this was not how it was meant to be. Kiara, Monica, and even Urtha were of a mind that maidens were not meant to follow. But Dia disagreed. The feral curse was proof of the importance of this hierarchy, for without their human partners, a maiden would be nothing more than a mindless beast.

“The Lord will name you once you've fully adjusted,” she promised, giving a reassuring smile. “The bond with him is very special; it doesn’t require a collar.”

“Oh.” The girl’s eyes flickered to Dia’s neck.

“I wear mine out of habit.” She reached up to her neck and undid the clasp. “It's one you should not forget. You might catch someone’s eye and find them agreeable; in which case, the habit will save you from potential accidents.”

She nodded again. “Is the curse…” The words lingered in the air for a moment. “My mother told me that the curse, for a Centaur, meant wanting to run away…”

The signs were there; no doubt, her mother had ‘the talk’ with the young girl by now.

“You will experience a bit of the curse as you approach the final changes,” Dia smiled gently. “It won’t be allowed to progress past two or three days, enough so you can get a feel for it.” And, hopefully, if the girl found herself going feral, then she would be able to spot the signs and quickly look for help. “You’ll also learn how to prepare yourself to bond with someone.” But that was a concern for later; there were other things she needed the girl to be focused on. “Do you know how to read and write?”

With a hesitant nod, the girl affirmed.

Dia knew well the significance of offering a glimmer of hope, a touch of the familiar in a world about to be unceremoniously upturned. "In that case, you'll likely be assigned to be a teacher to others, at least for a while. The Lord values education among his servants, and he wishes to keep those who are educated well paid." Her words, though filled with uncertainty, held a promise of purpose and belonging, something to hold onto amidst the storm of change.

The process was painless, but it was not easy. Having something to strive for could make quite a difference.

“Is the Lord… should I be ready?”

A tender knowing smile crept onto Dia's face. "Our Lord," she began, "carries the weight of many duties. His few indulgences, infrequent as they are, don’t reach further than his own abode.”

The girl's apprehension peaked as she broached the delicate topic. "The Fledgling..." Her face flushed, hands clenched in her lap. "I've heard tales... He binds her... Uses her as he pleases..."

Dia laughed lightly, a warm, reassuring sound. "I bet she wishes that were the case,” her amusement painting her voice as she waved off the girl’s concerns. “Don’t fret, the rumors are wildly exaggerated. I doubt you would manage to grab his attention even if you tried.”

The words would’ve been cruel if aimed at a fully grown maiden, but they were comforting to the girl. There was no shortage of tall tales about cruel nobles who did nothing but lust after maidens who had once been human. A few of the more outlandish stories involved nobles partnering with Vampires to satisfy their dark desires. Yet, having met an actual Vampire and an actual victim of said Vampire, Dia found it likelier to believe that such a human would have their days numbered.

The girl nodded and relaxed a little as she appeared to look for something else to ask, but couldn’t find anything specific.

"Now," Dia urged the girl gently, "rest. It is important that you ask for food and water every time you feel the need for either. Do not hesitate in this, do you understand?” She left the question hanging in the air, the girl responding with a meek nod. “You will be given a bell; use it anytime you need anything.”

“Thank you,” the girl muttered.

And that was just the start of Dia's day.

Leaving the girl to her thoughts, Dia immediately instructed the Politas to maintain a constant rotation at the girl’s door. Following this, she found some Mousegirls from the militia and recruited them to be a constant presence with the Politas to ensure they wouldn’t forget. This was one job they were not allowed to mess up.

Thus, her day began.

As the city fully woke up, reconstruction returned to full swing. Injuries, both small and large, began streaming through the door, sometimes even requiring her to head out and treat the victim on site. Most were manageable, although the Politas took longer to treat the wounded, laboring for hours where a trained healer would have taken mere minutes. The more serious cases - those that demanded Dia's personal attention - merited a call-out. It served as a gathering call for all Politas, offering them an opportunity to learn by watching.

Some patients squirmed under the exposure, a few even dared to complain about it. But their options were insubstantial. Even the humans looking for some leverage would find none. The only authority over Dia was the Lord, and it was widely known she might as well be his left arm. Anyone wanting to impose themselves on her could go suck on a boot for all she cared. The inconvenience of being under the scrutiny of a dozen Politas was a better alternative to a potential future where they’d be dead because her nurses weren’t prepared.

Normally during lunch, there would be a lull in the accidents, but an accident near the logging district caused a collapse. There were plenty of serious injuries, but fortunately, nothing that couldn’t be handled. By the time she’d worked through the last broken bone, Dia realized what time it was and rushed her way back home.

The welcoming scent of warm food greeted her.

Rick was conspicuously absent. The pair of shoes haphazardly tossed next to the stairs leading to the basement were a strong enough clue as to his current whereabouts. She chuckled lightly, leaving a mug of Polita mead on the counter. She filled her plate and sat down to eat.

“He’s with Urtha.”

Dia’s knees banged the table, the fork in her hand flinging out in the direction of the voice. By the time she caught up to who’d spoken, she’d been just about ready to grab the knife. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Eva emerged from the shadow, prying the fork out of her shoulder and handing it over. “You said I sucked at hiding,” her voice held a petulant edge.

“If I’m looking for you. I thought you’d have run off since Rick’s here.” Dia cast a cleaning spell and sat back down to eat.

“I need to know that… thing isn’t a joke.” Eva hissed, her pale face instantly gaining a hint of redness.

Dia quirked a brow. So it had come to this? “When we left from Astunes, we traveled to Balet alongside several companions, all humans from Rick’s world.” She twirled the fork against the plate. “I struck up a conversation with one of his students, Miss Catherine. She insisted on being called Kat. She was quite candid about how stuffy, restrictive, and ‘prudish’ she found the clothes to be.” Dia shrugged. “I asked her what she would’ve preferred to wear, and at the time, I thought it a mistake.”

“It’s not!?”

Another nonchalant shrug. “The way I see it, there is a literal Succubus floating around him. So far, we’ve been lucky that Kiara still thinks that being naked and twirling a finger is enough.”

“She’s a charmer. Of course it’s enough,” Eva replied with a deadpan. “She needs to make an effort not to get people to turn into drooling messes around her.”

“And yet it doesn't work on Rick,” Dia made a shooing motion with her fork. “Now leave me be. If you’re too afraid to try, then that will be that.”

“Don’t you think I will forget you-”

“Oh hey, Rick.” Dia bluffed.

Eva cut her words short and plunged into the shadows. Only after a heartbeat of silence did she emerge again, glaring at Dia as the healer chuckled. But before she could complain about the little trick, the door to the basement swung open.

A shirtless Rick made his way directly to the counter, glancing at the mug. “This mine?” he asked, not waiting an instant after Dia’s affirmative grunt. He downed it in a single long gulp. Wiping his mouth clean, he slumped on the chair opposite the healer, entirely ignorant of the shadow in the far corner that vanished out of sight.