The road back to Varnholt Manor was a slog of mud and exhaustion, with heavy clouds threatening to unleash another storm. Emilia rode in silence, the crystal orb containing the slime hidden in a pouch tied to her waist. The weight of the remaining three hundred gold coins, sewn into her tunic, was a constant reminder of the lie she had to uphold. In Port Shadow, she had spent some of the leftover money on a cart of supplies—ropes, torches, oil flasks, and a pair of quality daggers—to bolster her excuse of “buying equipment.” But the slime, that faintly glowing gelatinous blob in its crystal cage, was the real prize—and the greatest risk.

  Torren, his leg bandaged but able to ride, hadn’t said a word about the creature in the gorge or her visit to the black market. Emilia was grateful for his silence, but she didn’t fully trust him. A loyal guard could turn into a gossip under pressure, and the manor was a nest of prying ears. As the stone walls of the estate loomed in the distance, Emilia rehearsed her story: she had gone to Port Shadow for supplies to strengthen the defenses, and the slime was a whim, an “experiment” to study dungeon creatures. It wasn’t a perfect lie, but with a dash of Celeste’s arrogance, she might sell it.

  The reception at the manor was as warm as a winter gale. Baron Dietrich waited in the main courtyard, arms crossed, his face carved from stone. Lady Isolde stood beside him, fanning herself with deliberate slowness using a feathered fan. Lysa, of course, lurked nearby, her smile promising trouble. Servants unloaded the cart of supplies, but all eyes were on Emilia.

  “Well?” the baron growled, wasting no time. “Where’s my thousand coins, Celeste? Or did you spend them all on rags and trinkets?”

  Emilia tilted her head, adopting Celeste’s haughty posture. “I brought what you asked for, Father. Ropes, oil, weapons. It’s all in the cart. Port Shadow’s a mess, but I got a good deal.” She paused, pulling the crystal orb from her pouch. The slime, a green mass with a glowing core, stirred inside, catching the sunlight. “And this… is an extra. A creature to study. The dungeons are restless, and I thought understanding their beasts might help us.”

  The silence was so thick it weighed on Emilia’s lungs. The baron narrowed his eyes, glaring at the slime as if it were a personal insult. Lady Isolde stopped fanning herself, and Lysa let out a laugh that was more a hiss. “A slime?” she said, stepping forward. “You spent Father’s gold on that disgusting thing? By the gods, Celeste, did you get hit on the head during that trip?”

  Emilia kept her composure, though her pulse quickened. “It’s not disgusting,” she shot back, channeling Celeste’s arrogance. “It’s useful. Slimes are adaptable,.Concurrent and if we’re going to face more creatures, we need to know how they work. Or would you rather we get caught off guard again?”

  The baron took a step forward, his voice low and sharp. “Seven hundred coins for ropes and a couple of knives is a swindle, and now this. Do you think my gold is for your whims, girl? I ought to whip you for such insolence.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Emilia’s stomach knotted, but she didn’t back down. “It wasn’t a whim, Father. It was an investment. If you don’t like it, tell me, and I’ll train this thing myself to make it worth every coin.” It was a bluff, but the defiant tone was pure Celeste, and the baron, though furious, wasn’t used to his daughters standing up to him.

  Lady Isolde intervened, her voice soft but cutting. “Enough, Dietrich. If Celeste wants to play with her slimy toy, let her. But there will be no more excursions. Understood?”

  Emilia nodded, hiding her relief. “Understood, Mother.” But Lysa wasn’t satisfied. She stepped closer, her eyes glinting with malice. “This isn’t over, Celeste. Something stinks, and it’s not just your slime.” She sauntered off, leaving a threat hanging in the air.

  That afternoon, Emilia took the crystal orb to an abandoned shed on the edge of the manor grounds, a place where servants stored rusty tools. It was the perfect spot to experiment without being seen. She released the slime, following Marcus’s scroll of instructions. The creature slid out of the orb, forming a quivering green puddle that wobbled like jelly. It had no eyes or mouth, just that glowing core pulsing like a heart. Emilia watched, fascinated. It was the opposite of the grotesque beasts she’d read about in books—no fangs, no bulging eyes—and that made her feel strangely protective.

  “Let’s see what you can do,” she murmured, tossing a piece of wood to the slime. The creature enveloped it slowly, dissolving it in minutes until only damp splinters remained. Emilia tried a stone, then a piece of rancid meat she found in the shed. The slime absorbed everything, its color shifting slightly with each material. The scroll said it could be trained to follow simple commands, but it would take time and patience. Emilia smiled. Time and patience were all she’d ever had.

  Training with Gavril that evening was a different kind of challenge. The courtyard was lit by torches, and Gavril had brought a bow and blunt-tipped arrows. “If you’re going to face the dungeons, you need more than sticks,” he said, handing her the bow. “Aim for the target, and don’t waste my time.”

  Emilia missed her first ten shots, but on the eleventh, the arrow grazed the edge of the target. The aura, now more familiar, helped steady her pulse. Gavril grunted in approval, but the session was cut short when a guard came running, his face pale. “Captain, there’s news. Another rift in the forest, half a league out. It spat out three beasts before adventurers sealed it. One reached the village.”

  Gavril cursed, and Emilia felt a chill. The dungeons were waking, and each day seemed to bring a new threat. “Keep practicing,” Gavril said before leaving with the guard. “And don’t die before I teach you something useful.”

  Alone in the shed, Emilia fed the slime a handful of herbs, watching it absorb them. The creature was small, weak, but it had potential. Like her. The manor, with its intrigues and walls, was a trap. Lysa wouldn’t stop snooping, and the baron could cut off her access to gold if he grew fed up. But the slime was hers, a step toward the strength she needed to face a world where rifts spewed horrors and families devoured their own.

  She wiped the sweat from her brow, gazing at the starry sky through a broken window. Eldoria was no place for rest, not yet. But with every day, every wound, every piece of wood dissolved by her slime, Emilia was getting closer to something greater. She wasn’t Celeste, not a noble. She was a survivor, and this world, with all its venom, wouldn’t stop her.