"Alivia Fehér," my name was spat out with venom, making me flinch as if struck. I shook looking at Jorge as his eyes glinted with a menacing light, reflecting the flickering candle's flame. "We're finally moving on, without you.” For a moment I let out a relieved breath. Then their meaning sunk in.

  Jorge's words came from a ruthless indifference that it took her a moment to understand, and when I realized it my chest tightened painfully. His eyes used to radiate warmth and reassurance, now pierced me with an icy detachment that sent shivers down my spine. It wasn't just his demeanor; the entire party seemed to freeze in time, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. Each of them smiling in satisfaction.

  As if this was a long time coming.

  "You contribute absolutely nothing to this group. You're not just dead weight; you're a pathetic, sniveling parasite sucking the life out of us and dragging us into the depths. We have real ambitions, real potential, but you? You're nothing more than a monumental waste of space, a black hole of uselessness."

  His words pierced me, sinking deep into the core of my being.

  I reflected on the relentless struggle I had endured, pouring my heart and soul into every healing touch, every whispered incantation of support magic that I cast for the group's benefit.

  I tried so hard. Each day was a struggle to keep up, but I fought with everything I had to prove my worth to them. To him. They might not have gotten in trouble, no big wound besides the odd bump or scrape but even when there was nothing I healed them every morning, every night.

  I did my best to keep everyone invigorated with a variety of support spells—boosts for stamina, strength, and even remedies for fatigue. But they were like monsters, unfazed and growing by leaps and bounds, above what any other human could have possibly done.

  It truly was a party that was destined to be the best. S Class, no SS Class even and while I knew I was being looked down on I never in a million years could have expected this. after all I'm just a healer, what could I do if they don’t get hurt.

  "Jorge," Sasha interrupted, her voice dripping with sweetness and malice, "we could keep it around a little longer as our personal healer." Her mocking laugh rang out like a bell tolling for the condemned. "Better yet," she purred, her dark robes clinging to every curve as she sauntered over with an alluring swing in her hips, "if it’s willing to service us as our little plaything." Her eyes glinted wickedly, daring me. She stood so close that her scent enveloped me, a bewitching mix of jasmine and danger. Her long fingers traced the air near my cheek, stopping just short of touching me.

  I couldn’t help but push back from her act, but this seemed to only further amuse her. Sasha laughed again, turning her back on me with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Jorge's eyes followed her with an eagerness that he no longer directed towards me.

  It stung more than I wanted to admit.

  "I never thought of it like that," Jorge pondered, but his smile gave him away. It was clear they had already discussed something similar, and from the way his eyes lingered only on my chest, I grasped exactly what they meant by plaything.

  "You hear that?" he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as my eyes widened in disbelief. "Maybe you do have some use after all."

  Was that truly all I meant to them? To him? My breathing faltered, and my vision tunneled as the world felt distant and surreal. The warmth and the spark of hope within me were snuffed out. Had it always been this way? Had they always gazed at me with such disdain? I found it difficult to remember a time when they genuinely smiled at me.

  The taunting laughter weighed on me, causing me to feel insignificant. The tavern was dimly lit, with flickering candlelight casting shadows across the rough wooden walls. The scent of cheap ale mixed with the musty aroma of damp wood lingered heavily in the air. my mind racing, grasping for answers—where had it all gone wrong?

  Jorge sat at the center of the table, his presence undeniable. Even in the dim tavern light, the warm glow of the lanterns caught in his rich brown hair, adding depth to the tousled waves that framed his sharp, handsome features. His striking green eyes gleamed with confidence, a flicker of amusement dancing behind them as if he already knew the outcome of this conversation. His posture was relaxed but commanding—he was always the center of attention, not just because of his skill as a leader, but because he drew people in effortlessly, like gravity itself bowed to him.

  Sasha leaned into him, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup, her ruby-red lips curling into a secretive smile. Everything about her was designed to captivate, from the way her midnight-black robes clung to her curves, accentuating the swell of her chest and the elegant lines of her body, to the way her deep violet eyes—almost unnatural in their beauty—swept over the room, daring anyone to challenge her claim over Jorge. She was the kind of woman that left men breathless, the kind that even other women admired in spite of themselves. And she knew it.

  Brooklyn and Kyan lounged nearby, both exuding the kind of confidence that came with being seasoned warriors. Brooklyn, ever the brute, had the sturdy, muscular build of a seasoned fighter, his skin marked by faint scars that spoke of battles won and foes bested. His heavy boots were propped against the chair in front of him, his grin lazy and unbothered. Kyan, in contrast, was sleek and wiry, his lean frame built for speed rather than brute strength. His dark, piercing eyes flitted between Alivia and Jorge, always watching, always calculating. When he smirked, there was something predatory about it, something that made Alivia's stomach twist.

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  At the far end of the table, Marissa and Keanu sat close, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Marissa had always been soft-spoken, her dark hair pulled into an intricate braid, her manner delicate, but her silence now felt like a quiet agreement rather than an act of kindness. Beside her, Keanu’s sharp jaw and cold expression made it clear he had already dismissed Alivia from his thoughts. Their hushed whispers weren’t meant for her. They were never meant for her.

  Alivia stood frozen in place, her hands trembling at her sides. Their laughter felt distant, muffled by the growing, hollow numbness in her chest. It wasn't just the cruel words, the cold dismissal—it was the ease with which they said it. Like she had never mattered to them at all.

  They had moved on from her before she even knew she was being left behind.

  “But I can heal—” I started, desperate to defend myself but it was Kyan cut me off with a lazy wave of his hand.

  “We don’t need a healer. Besides, you’re slow, you hesitate too much, and honestly…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You're just too damn pathetic.”

  As the others murmured their agreement, a tightness coiled around my chest, and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I forced myself to hold back, knowing this wasn’t the time or place to break down. “I’ve been with you since the beginning,” I managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  Jorge exhaled heavily, the sound filled with frustration. “And look where it’s gotten us. We’re aiming for something greater. We can’t afford to carry dead weight anymore.”

  Dead weight.

  The words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me wavering on my feet. I struggled to control my breathing, to keep the tremors at bay, but the chorus of laughter surrounding me made it almost impossible.

  Sasha’s voice cut through the noise, her tone dripping with insincere sweetness. “We thought we’d be nice about it,” she said, each word a dagger coated in honey. “But honestly, we’ve been holding onto you out of pity. However, I have another idea, something you’d be far more suited for.” Her giggle followed, a light, mocking sound that sent a chill down my spine.

  My stomach twisted into knots as Jorge nodded his agreement, his eyes glinting with a sharp, chilling malice. It wasn't kindness or camaraderie that I saw reflected there; it was pure cruelty. “Everyone agreed, the entire party,” he chuckled, his voice dripping with derision, “well, the ones that matter anyway.” He continued, “You can stay,” his tone light and dismissive, as if he were offering a casual suggestion. “but only if you do something about that obscene body of yours.”

  I could only blink at his words. “What…?” I started to ask what he meant. obscene? My body was obscene?

  Jorge's grin stretched wide across his face, a mocking sneer. "The only thing you're destined to be is a stay-at-home whore.” I could blink at the words, spoken with such disinterest. “Let's face it, Alivia. You were never cut out for the life of an adventurer. Just a plaything, for others to exploit at their whim. It's practically what you were born for, after all."

  It was in that moment I realized their eyes were fixed, not on my face, but on my figure. A wave of vulnerability washed over me, as if an invisible layer had been stripped away, leaving me exposed. Despite the thick, white robes that draped my frame in the chilly winter morning, I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shield my body from their intrusive gaze.

  Sasha, draped over his shoulder, giggled into his sleeve, while Brooklyn burst into outright laughter. “Come on, Liv,” Brooklyn taunted, her eyes dancing with mockery. “You had to know this was coming. What else are you good for?”

  Their smiles told me everything I needed to know: to them, I was nothing more than a pathetic stray, unwanted and useless. There was no convincing them otherwise, no redemption in their eyes. This was how they saw me. All along...

  “Don’t cry,” Sasha teased, her voice a sickly sweet mockery of empathy. “It’d be so much easier if you just accepted it.”

  The tavern seemed to whirl around her, making her feel nauseous. Her hands shook as she stood up and distanced herself from the group at the table. They continued to laugh and discuss various ways she could be used to satisfy the party's sexual desires, including the men, women, and even Jorge himself.

  Jorge frowned. “Don’t be stupid, Alivia. No one else is gonna take you in. You think any other party will want someone as pathetic as you?” The others snickered, nodding in agreement. “You don’t belong in a party like ours. But don’t worry—we’ve found the perfect role for you.”

  "Red Street's always a possibility," Kyan suggested with a grin. "It would be safer and we can give her a letter of recommendation." They laughed in agreement, even offering to write her a letter of introduction if I was interested.

  Conflicting memories swirled in my mind—Jorge, who once promised to always protect me before I had to leave the only home I'd ever known, and now, years later, that same boy had become a fine young man, laughing as I was insulted and labeled a whore by those I believed were my closest friends.

  My breathing was fast and uneven, tears spilling as my vision blurred. I couldn't remain here. I needed to leave. Without another word, I turned on my heel and ran.

  Laughter followed me, echoing in my ears as I burst out into the cold night air, tears streaming down my face.

  My head felt heavy, consumed by thoughts of him—the first man I ever loved and still loved, even though he was with Sasha. I had always dreamed of going on adventures with him, of standing beside Jorge as his equal. The love I cherished seemed distant now, yet a part of me still held on.

  A joke, a dream—anything to explain what happened. If only everything would be better tomorrow.

  Even when my legs became too heavy to keep running and I wandered aimlessly around the town, feeling hollow and miserably sad, I realized it wasn't a dream. I meant nothing to any of them, including Jorge.

  I was his only friend, which is why he kept me close to his heart for so many years. But as our world expanded, he met others who were more reliable, people who made him see how useless I was—a burden that would only hold him back.

  My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the cold stone. There was no pain. I was far too numb, my soul too shattered to feel anything or worry about the blood and pooled onto the stone.

  I was alone, nothing to them.

  Chapter One – ""This chapter marks one of the most important moments in Alivia’s story.

  The moment everything she believed in, fought for, and trusted is stripped away.

  If her party is so strong they don't need a healer, what good is she?

  In this world, adventuring parties aren’t one big monolith. They're part of guild structures, and those guilds operate more like organized factions or associations.

  When Alivia was removed, it wasn’t just personal—it was structural. Making room for someone else was a decision rooted in hierarchy and power.