In the day, The Pavilion was a prison where the body was beaten into submission and the spirit crushed beneath the weight of relentless training.
But in the late hours of the night, in the steamy bathhouse where the courtesans-in-training were allowed a brief respite, it became something else entirely.
The bathhouse was a grand, dimly lit chamber with high ceilings that echoed with the sound of running water.
The large, steaming pool at the center was surrounded by marble benches, the air thick with the scent of lavender and soap.
Despite the grandeur, it was the only place in the Pavilion where the trainees could shed their fears and just be themselves, if only for a little while.
Elian had been reluctant to enter the bathhouse at first. The idea of stripping down in front of others, exposing himself in such a vulnerable state, had been almost too much to bear.
But the days of relentless training had taken their toll on his body, and the promise of warm water to soothe his bruises had been too tempting to resist.
As he stepped into the bathhouse, the heat wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, loosening the tightness in his muscles.
Around him, other trainees were already soaking in the pool, their voices a low murmur as they talked amongst themselves. The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, a stark contrast to the tension that filled the Pavilion during the day.
Elian hesitated at the edge of the pool, his eyes flickering over the other trainees.
There were boys and girls of all ages, some barely teenagers, others older, but all with the same haunted look in their eyes. For a moment, he felt like an outsider, unsure if he belonged in this strange, temporary sanctuary.
"Hey," a voice called out, snapping Elian out of his thoughts. He turned to see a young man with shaggy brown hair and a faint smile gesturing for him to join them in the water. "Come on in, the water's fine."
Elian took a deep breath and nodded, slipping out of his clothes and stepping into the warm pool.
The water was soothing against his battered skin, and he let out a small sigh of relief as he waded over to where the young man was sitting. The other trainees barely glanced at him, too lost in their own conversations to pay him much mind.
"I'm Niko," the young man introduced himself, his smile widening as Elian sat down beside him. "And you're Elian, right?"
Elian blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected anyone to know his name. "How did you...?"
"Niko's got a good ear," another trainee interjected, a girl with dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She floated nearby, her arms resting on the edge of the pool. "He hears everything."
Niko grinned. "It's true. One of the few perks of this place. What about you, Elian? Where are you from?"
Elian hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. The past he had before the transmigration was a blur, and the life of the original Elian was something he still struggled to comprehend. But he had learned enough to know that sharing too much could be dangerous.
"I… I don't really remember," he admitted finally. "It's all kind of a blur."
Niko's smile faltered slightly, but he nodded in understanding. "That's okay. Most of us don't like to talk about our pasts anyway. It's easier that way."
The girl with the dark hair scoffed. "Easier? Maybe for some. But pretending the past doesn't exist doesn't make it go away."
Elian looked at her, noticing the hardened expression on her face. "What's your name?"
"Aria," she replied curtly, her gaze flickering away from him. "I was sold to the Pavilion by my family. They needed money, and I was apparently the most expendable."
Elian's heart ached at the bitterness in her voice. He knew that kind of pain all too well, the pain of being unwanted, discarded like trash. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Aria shrugged, though her expression softened slightly. "It is what it is. We've all got our own stories. It doesn't really matter here, though, does it? All that matters is surviving."
Elian nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. Survival was the name of the game here. It was something he had learned the hard way, and it seemed everyone else had, too.
As the conversation continued, more trainees joined in, each sharing fragments of their pasts, their stories forming a tapestry of pain and loss. Some had been captured and forced into this life, others had been sold by their own families, and a few, like Elian, claimed they couldn't remember much of anything before they arrived.
Despite the grim nature of their stories, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that began to form.
They were all trapped in the same nightmare, all struggling to survive in a world that sought to break them. But in the bathhouse, they were equals. There were no instructors to beat them, no harsh lessons to endure, just each other.
One of the younger trainees, a boy named Lior, was struggling with the lessons on how to pour wine elegantly.
His small hands trembled every time he tried to hold the delicate goblet, and the instructor's cruel words had only made it worse. As they soaked in the warm water, Lior timidly brought up his troubles, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I just… I can't seem to do it right," Lior murmured, his eyes downcast. "Every time I try, I spill it, and then they…"
He didn't need to finish the sentence. The bruises on his arms spoke for themselves.
Aria, who had been lounging nearby, sat up and moved closer to Lior. "Here, let me show you something," she said, her tone gentler than Elian had heard before. She took a small cup from the edge of the pool and filled it with water, holding it with the same grace she had been taught in training.
"See how I hold it? With a steady grip, but not too tight. You have to find the balance," Aria explained, demonstrating the technique. "And when you pour, just let the liquid flow naturally. Don't rush it."
Lior watched intently, his eyes wide with concentration. When Aria handed him the cup, he hesitated for a moment before mimicking her movements. His hands were still shaky, but with Aria's guidance, he managed to pour the water without spilling a drop.
A small smile broke across Lior's face, the first Elian had seen since they entered the Pavilion. "I did it," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and relief.
Aria smiled back, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "See? You've got it. Just keep practicing, and don't let them get to you."
As Lior beamed with newfound confidence, Elian couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, a sense of connection, of belonging. Despite the horrors they faced each day, they had each other, and that was something no one could take away.
Elian found himself opening up more, offering advice and encouragement to the others when he could. He had been alone for so long, relying only on himself and the memories of a lost past. But here, in the bathhouse, he found something he never thought he would ever had: friendship.
These friendships became a source of strength, a lifeline in the darkness of their existence.
They shared tips on how to avoid the instructors' wrath, how to endure the brutal training, and how to keep their spirits alive. In return, Elian found himself learning from them as well, small tricks to make life in the Pavilion a little more bearable, ways to protect himself from the worst of the punishments.