Moonlight slipped through the cracks of the shed, illuminating the dusty floor strewn with rusted tools. Emilia sat on a broken crate, the empty crystal orb at her side and the slime gliding before her. The creature, a quivering green mass like trapped water, had a core that pulsed with a soft glow, like a star caught in jelly. Emilia watched it, feeling a strange mix of fascination and fondness. It was pathetic, yes, but it was hers. She decided to name it Lumen, for that glimmer that seemed to promise something more.
“Lumen,” she murmured, testing the name. The slime didn’t react, but it stirred slightly, as if recognizing her voice. Emilia smiled, remembering why she’d chosen it: no bulging eyes or jagged fangs, just a simple form that didn’t make her shudder. In a world where dungeons spewed horrors, Lumen was a relief, a companion that didn’t judge her.
She had spent the day dodging Lysa, whose presence in the manor was like a lurking shadow. There was no betrayal yet, but her questions grew sharper, her gazes more piercing. Baron Dietrich, still irked about the slime’s cost, had ordered Emilia to be kept “under control,” while Lady Isolde watched with a calm that was more threat than comfort. But here, in the shed, Emilia was free to plan, to build something that would break her out of the manor’s cage.
She pulled out a vial of tree sap she’d stolen from the orchard, recalling Marcus the Blind’s scroll: “The diet shapes the slime.” She poured a few drops onto the floor, and Lumen slid toward it, enveloping the sap with a slow motion. The jelly grew more opaque, and when Emilia touched its surface, her fingers stuck, caught in a viscous mucus. She let out a surprised laugh. “That’s new,” she said, wiping her hand on a rag. The sticky mucus could be useful: trapping objects, slowing enemies, maybe even sealing cracks. But she needed more tests.
Searching for something else to experiment with, Emilia rummaged through the shed and found a broken knife, its handle stained with dried blood. It was a relic of some hunt or fight, perhaps from a bandit caught by the guards. The scroll mentioned that slimes could absorb the essence of creatures, though the results were unpredictable in basic ones. Emilia wasn’t a killer, and the thought of feeding Lumen a human body—even a criminal’s—turned her stomach. But an object like this, touched by violence, might be a start.
“Let’s see what you do with this,” she said, tossing the knife to the slime. Lumen enveloped it, dissolving the metal with a slow hiss. Its core glowed brighter, and a section of its mass hardened, forming a sharp point that lasted only a few seconds before melting away. Emilia raised an eyebrow. It was a hint of something greater, as if Lumen could mimic the weapon’s aggression. If she ever faced a bandit—someone who attacked her, not an innocent—she might let Lumen consume their remains, perhaps to gain strength or speed. But that would be in self-defense, not for cold experiments. She wasn’t a monster, though Eldoria seemed determined to make her one.
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Training with Gavril at dawn was an exercise in sheer endurance. The courtyard was shrouded in mist, and Gavril had set up an obstacle course: logs to leap, ropes to climb, and a sandbag to strike. “If the dungeons catch you, you won’t have time to breathe,” he growled, timing her movements with an hourglass. Emilia, her arm still tender, pushed to keep up, feeling the aura flow like a river starting to overflow.
At one point, while dodging a mock strike from Gavril, she felt the aura erupt in her chest. Her fist connected with the sandbag, tearing a crunch that made nearby guards turn. Gavril whistled, impressed. “Not bad, princess. Keep that up, and you might survive a week in the caves.”
But the lesson was cut short when a horn blared from the forest. It was a deep, urgent sound that Emilia recognized instantly: a warning from the lookouts. Gavril cursed, grabbing his sword. “Stay here,” he ordered, but Emilia followed, her stolen dagger in hand. She wasn’t staying behind, not when the dungeons were so close.
At the forest’s edge, a group of guards surrounded a rift in the earth, a black gash that reeked of sulfur. Two creatures had emerged: spiders the size of dogs, their bodies covered in spines and their eyes dripping venom. One was dead, its legs crushed by an axe, but the other was alive, lunging at a guard. Its jaws clamped onto the man’s arm, drawing a scream and a spray of blood that splattered the ground. Emilia stepped back, her heart pounding. This was Eldoria, raw and merciless.
Gavril beheaded the spider with a single swing, but the damage was done. The wounded guard moaned, his arm mangled and the venom spreading in black veins across his skin. Emilia felt nauseous, but also a spark of clarity. Lumen, with its ability to absorb, might clean poisons if trained properly. But now wasn’t the time. The guards sealed the rift with gunpowder and stones, but the message was clear: the dungeons didn’t wait.
Back in the shed, Emilia fed Lumen more sap, watching its sticky mucus grow thicker. She also gave it a piece of tough bark, noting that its surface became slightly firmer. Each experiment was a step toward strength, but also a reminder of how far she had to go. The manor, with its walls and intrigues, was a battlefield. Lysa hadn’t acted yet, but her questions at dinner—“What are you doing in that shed, Celeste?”—were a warning. The baron kept grumbling about the slime, and the servants whispered about the rifts.
Emilia looked at Lumen, quivering in its puddle. It was small, weak, but it had potential, like her. The dungeons were waking, and she needed to be ready. Not to betray, not to kill for whims, but to survive. With Lumen at her side and the aura growing within her, she could do it. Step by step, blow by blow, until Eldoria learned she wasn’t just a noble, but a force that wouldn’t yield.
