My body was heavy as lead. A gentle breeze brushed past my slime. I was falling, but not in the frantic, terrifying way that I’d fallen from the trees, but slowly and gently, like a rock sinking slowly through water until it came to rest peacefully on the bottom. Only there was no bottom. I fell and fell, sinking into a darkness that wrapped its arms around me, embraced every part of me, and whispered warm hopes that everything would be okay.

  It was both an instant and an eternity before anything changed. Mana sparks began to flit around me, filling my sight with colorful droplets. They didn’t last long, each one vanishing scarcely a second after appearing, only to be replaced a moment later by another of a different color. They flitted and danced around me in a beautiful display.

  Some began to linger. Here, a long thin line built a column to a ceiling; there, a curving silver shadow outlined a slab of some kind of rock. Piece by piece, a picture formed: a wide room supported by enormous columns with ten enormous thrones seated in a circle.

  I studied them. One was surrounded by threads of royal purple, with rats carved around the base such that anyone sitting in the chair would appear to be worshipped by them. The arm held some kind of cup, with a wide tray on the other side. The throne next to it shimmered with colored light. Vines made of glass, infused with midnight blue magic, twisted up its base before circling around a glass carving that resembled a pouch filled with coins.

  In fact, all but one of the ten thrones glimmered with magic with flavors so profound I could barely comprehend them. Did the glass vines taste like plants or glass? Or like…the sky itself? And the rats…were they clean? At times, I could have sworn their magic tasted of rotting fruit and sewage, only to switch back to being clean as winter snows as soon as I’d even registered the filth.

  It made my core ache in confusion. It was too much. I hopped through the strange space until I stood before the dark throne. The reprieve from my arcane senses was welcome, as no strong threads illuminated this one. This throne had been carved from metal rather than stone, with a comfortable cushion arranged so that the owner of the seat could comfortably lounge with his back against the armrests rather than the back itself.

  I reached out. I didn’t know why, but it felt…familiar. My pseudopod gently caressed the side, tasting dungeon bronze against my membrane. It was like Dragon’s Gate, only without the gleaming ropes of copper magic winding through it.

  But…why was it so much darker than the rest? Why didn’t it have the overwhelming and conflicting flavors like the other thrones in the room?

  No answer came. The throne was silent, impassive as a gravestone and with an equally melancholic feel.

  A flash of light drew my attention back to the head of the room. There, a throne wreathed in silver and green stood at the head of the room. Carved into the back, a pearlescent moon gleamed amidst a sea of twinkling stars.

  Yearning filled my core, even more strongly than when I’d touched the bronze one. Strands of mana reached out, caressing me as I approached. Unlike the rest of the magic in the room, these had no flavor…or maybe they had every flavor all at once. Sky and stone, feather and fur, blood and bone, each flavor flitted by so fast that they blurred together into a mix that I could only describe as pure light.

  “Brilliant is the flame of life; Quiet is the shadow of death. Yet the spark that dances between knows more joy than all the rest.” The whisper was so soft that I didn’t so much hear it as feel it in my core.

  I reached out, brushing a pseudopod against the stone. Like the bronze throne, this, too, was familiar…only I couldn’t remember where I’d encountered it before. Was it a rock I’d eaten? Or something else?

  Before I could fish the answer from the depths of my memory, I was jerked forward. I collided with the throne. My slime writhed as tendrils of light wrapped around me like a spider’s deadly cocoon. Desperately, I hopped away, trying to free myself of the throne’s suffocating grasp, all while fending off the threads with a pseudopod.

  But one pseudopod was not enough. A streak of silver latched onto my core, causing me to gasp with pain as it yanked me back to the throne.

  Before I even hit the stone, the scene changed. I found myself standing at the center of a grassy, moonlit clearing. Three glowing obelisks and the broken remains of a fourth surrounded the clearing.

  A woman stood before me, facing away. Her lime-colored hair cascaded down her shoulders and back in gentle waves that contrasted well with a pink and silver dress that rustled in a wind I could not feel.

  “The moon wanes. Darkness rises,” she said smoothly. “Are you prepared, little spark?”

  “Wait, I recognize your voice,” I called, but my voice sounded strange to my own senses. It was…fuller. Not deeper, nor louder just…more real.

  The woman did not answer. Instead, she began walking into the forest. I called after her, but she didn’t turn. I tried to run after her, only to find my feet were stuck in place.

  What in the-

  I stared down at myself, only briefly registering a simple, silver tunic and bare feet before the grass beneath me turned black as pitch. I began to sink, but I still couldn’t move. My voice cried out in that same, full tone and I flailed wildly, but that only made me sink further.

  “Wait!” I shouted. “Help me!” I could only barely see the woman now. Her brilliant green hair contrasted against the darkness of the trees. “Creator! Help!”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But there was no response. The last light of the moonlit clearing—a world made distinctly of color, not magic—vanished as darkness washed over me. It filled my mouth, covered my eyes, and choked every inch of me until nothing remained at all, and I was gone.

  I jerked awake suddenly, my slime prickling with a sense of danger. It took me several moments to register that I was not drowning in decay. There was no clearing, and I was still very much a slime. The taste of the antique wooden bowl from Dragon’s Gate was soothing, so I explored the taste of it as the frantic pulsing in my core returned to its normal rhythm.

  It was just a dream. That, in itself was odd, but it was far better than being human, then drowning in a pit of darkness while my Creator left me to die. As a slime, I didn’t need as much sleep as flesh beings. So long as I had mana and food, I would only need enough sleep to recover from mental weariness—something which most lesser slimes didn’t need at all thanks to their lack of mental faculties developing weariness. But, in the few times I’d needed to sleep since my birth as a sentient slime, I hadn’t felt anything during the period of unconsciousness. It was always blank, and I would wake without experiencing much time at all.

  That dream was unnatural. I felt it straight to the depths of my core. I wasn’t supposed to dream at all, and yet, I dreamed of the Creator. She’d said “are you prepared?” as if I was supposed to be doing something…but what? It was no coincidence that the dream came immediately after gaining the Friend of Monsters tag and Arcane Ascendent, but the connection was still lost on me.

  “Vi’yera?” a soft voice with usual harpy diction called through the room.

  I poked a pseudopod out of my bowl to see the azure mana of L’aera, the Harpy Wing Mother. She stood near the tent flap, holding up the leathers with a single wing. Based on the nearby basin and the string of dead animals on the wall, I was back in K’esil’s tent, only this time, my bowl sat on the workbench.

  Seeing my movement in what must surely have been dark to her eyes, she crossed the room and hopped onto the bench. She crouched, bringing her knees close to her chest so she could be closer to my level. When she was settled, she bowed her head.

  “I’m glad you are awake, Vi’yera. We were worried when Dorin told us of your injury. K’esil has worked tirelessly to restore you to health,” she explained in a gentle tone that was a strong contrast to her previous warrior’s demeanor.

  I asked the Creator for my status.

  [Name: Suri Slimeheart; Lesser Guardian Slime, Tier 2

  Status:

  Health: 22/22

  Mana: 46/46

  Injury Index: 1 - Recently Healed

  Health and Mana regeneration operating at optimal parameters]

  “I’m feeling much better, thanks.”

  L’aera seemed to release a load of tension from her shoulders. “I’m very glad to hear that, Vi’yera.”

  “My name is Suri,” I corrected.

  The harpy bowed her head. “Of course, so Dorin has said. The harpy council agreed that you should have the title of Vi’yera, should you wish it. It was mostly unanimous.”

  I stared at her blankly. “I don’t know the word.”

  “Vi’yera is the old word for kinship and family. It is our hope that you would become at home in the colony, and bless us with your protection,” she looked down. “Even though we have proven ourselves unworthy of it.”

  The words of the Creator rang through my thoughts. “Darkness rises. Are you prepared, little spark?”

  Was I prepared? Given the similarity of the decay to the pool of darkness in my dream, I could only assume that the shamblers were the darkness which the Creator wanted to warn me of. Perhaps she meant for me to protect the people of the forest. I was a guardian slime, after all.

  Without a word, I triggered Cleansing Aura. Mana welled up within me in a reaction very similar to the explosion of Wild Magic Wave, only the arcane stance of Healer’s Blessing softened the magic until it was a font of healing instead of harm. On the edges of my arcane sight, wisps and sparks of green mana danced.

  L’aera felt the change immediately, being a monster who was compatible with my abilities. “You…this is…” She bowed her head, raising her wings over her head. “I am honored, Vi’yera. Thank you. We shall do our utmost to become worthy of your blessing.”

  “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.” It was the understatement of the century. I had no way of knowing how long I’d been asleep.

  “Of course, there is meat in the main colony chambers.”

  L’aera offered her shoulder, and I hopped on, careful not to burn her as I entwined a pseudopod in her hair for stability. For a mercy, the wing mother chose to walk through the narrow passages to the upper chamber instead of throwing herself out the cave entrance and flying to the surface. It was slower, but I was grateful for it. Even the thought of flying again made my core turn over in discomfort.

  “So, you said the decision to name me Vi’yera was ‘mostly unanimous’?” I asked.

  “Yes, the Matron’s Council is made of the wing mother, myself, as well as Scout Sister E’rina and Blood Sister K’esil,” she explained. “I, of course, have final say, but in matters of policy, I prefer their input.” We rounded the corner into the main colony chambers where harpies were busy socializing with one another. “K’esil, of course, sings your praises. You made quite the impression on her.”

  Harpies began to notice the wing mother and, more specifically, me. Gasps and whispers of “Vi’yera” and “The Great Mother’s chosen” followed us deeper into the cave. I retreated further under L’aera’s messy hair, feeling the burning attention on my membrane all too intensely.

  Soon, we reached a small outcropping of boulders where Dorin sat, leaning back against the stones. He fiddled with a rope, trying to unravel a massive knot. He looked up and nodded at our approach.

  “Suri. You look a lot better than before.”

  “I feel better. Just hungry, now.”

  “I seem to recall that you’re always hungry.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  He snorted before reaching beside him and tossing a large slab of meat in the air. It was so beautiful that I could have cried if I’d had tear ducts with which to do so. I launched myself at it, colliding with it mid-air. By the time we landed, it was completely engulfed.

  “Wing Mother, I am here for the Las’hik,” a new voice, accompanied by a single, lilting talon-step and a soft clicking joined us. I paid them little mind, too preoccupied with absorbing my meal.

  Dorin rolled his eyes. “I have a name. You may as well use it, E’rina.”

  “I will refer to you only as appropriate.” The harpy sneered. “I simply wished to inform you that the…implement…is not good enough. It is merely a stick with some leather straps, not a replacement for a proper talon.”

  She waved her left leg before him, and I recognized the stump of a talon burned by my acid. Dorin had wrapped a make-shift prosthetic to the limb, likely so she would be able to walk somewhat.

  I doubt even my healing could regrow a lost limb, I mused, quietly finishing my meat.

  “Without tools, it’s the best I can do, E’rina. I’m a blacksmith, not a woodworker.”

  E’rina seethed, but held her tongue since L’aera had pinned her with a disapproving scowl.

  “Scout Sister,” the wing mother began gently. “Dorin is our guest. He deserves your respect, as does Vi’yera, who has just woken up from his injuries.”

  “Yes. I noticed,” she hissed. “Everyone fawns over his injuries, but he goes unpunished for the ones he afflicts.”

  “E’rina, we discussed this.”

  “Yes. Wing Mother, we did.” E’rina began limping away before turning over her shoulder. “The rest of the colony may be fooled, but this…thing…is no Vi’yera of mine.”