Crispin woke before the sun had transitioned to its morning gold. The indigo gloom of the room felt less like a weight and more like a quiet sanctuary. He rose with a newfound lightness; the residual hum of the bond guided his movements. Regulus was already awake, sitting on the bedside table as a still, reflective sphere that caught the first hints of dawn light.
Crispin reached for the mannequin in the corner. The Shae'Vaelryn gear sat like a phantom of liquid midnight. He spent several minutes running his hands over the metal cloth, admiring how the indigo weave seemed to vibrate in response to his touch.
As he adjusted the high-collared Shemagh and pulled on the leggings, a subtle shift occurred in his awareness. The forge below felt closer. The damp stone of the walls felt more detailed. He was becoming part of the Smithy's architecture.
A soft knock at the door broke his concentration.
"Come in," Crispin said, adjusting the final strap of his dark bracers.
The door creaked open to reveal Elara. She wore a modest, sturdy dress rather than one of her fine festival gowns. A simple bone comb pinned back her hair, suggesting she had spent a sleepless night reflecting. She carried a heavy, dark bundle over her arm; the fabric appeared to drink the light of the room.
"Come here, son," Elara said. Her voice was soft.
Crispin stepped forward. The exquisite metal cloth moved, possessing a mercurial grace that regular leather lacked. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she touched his face, then drifted down to the shimmering indigo surface of his chest piece.
"You look so much like your father when he was your age," she whispered. Her eyes welled with sudden tears, but she brushed them away with a sharp, practiced motion of her hand. "I brought you something."
She stepped behind him and unfurled the bundle. Crispin gasped as the weight settled on his shoulders. It was the void-silk cloak from the elf scout—the same one Regulus had spared from assimilation in the Thicket.
"I had it cleaned for you," Elara explained, walking back around to fix the silver star-clasp at his collar. "I thought it would set your armor off. Indigo and shadow… it suits you."
Crispin touched the fabric, finding it cool and smooth. It lacked the necrotic chill it had possessed in the woods. "Mom, I did not think you would touch this."
"I owe you an apology, Crispin," she said. Her voice cracked as she smoothed the shoulders of the cloak. "Yesterday and many days before that, it has been hard for me. Growing up, I imagined a different life for myself. I love your father, and you, but I am realizing something."
She looked him in the eye. The performative mask of the high-terrace social climber fell away to reveal the tired, honest woman beneath.
"I am realizing it is not your place, or your father's, to carry the burden of my status," she said. "Your role is to live your life, just as we have lived ours. You are a man now. I need to stop trying to tie you to my apron strings and let you be the king that Regulus says you are."
She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and looked at the silver sphere on his shoulder. "May I?"
Regulus rippled. His surface turned a warm, inviting azure. He bobbed once in a distinct gesture of consent. Elara reached out and gently rubbed the slime's jelly; her expression shifted to one of genuine surprise.
"You are a cute little guy," she admitted with a small, watery smile.
Crispin felt a surge of relief through the bond—a cooling silver frequency that settled the last of his domestic anxieties. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
"Thank you, Mom," he whispered. "I am a man now. My only concern is Regy, myself, and the success of this forge."
"Go," she said, nodding toward the door. "The Elder is waiting."
Crispin gathered the blackwood spear and his pouch of new potions, stepping out into the morning air. The atmosphere of the village was unrecognizable from the week before. Sneers and hushed mockery had vanished, replaced by a dense, respectful resonance.
Guards on patrol waved as he passed. Their iron gauntlets clinked against their breastplates in a soldier's greeting. Villagers paused in the streets to watch the smith's son march by; his indigo armor gleamed, Void Lash coiled at his hip. and his void-silk cloak billowed behind him like a piece of the night sky.
The Elder's dwelling was quiet. The air inside smelled of mountain herbs and honey. Xereniti was sitting by the hearth, but he stood when Crispin entered. His sharp, pale eyes widened at the sight of the gear.
"A Shae'Vaelryn indeed," the Elder murmured, gesturing for Crispin to set his satchel on the stone table. "Your grandfather would be proud."
Crispin sat at the sturdy table as the Elder prepared tea. Water simmered on the hearth near plates of biscuits and small jars of jam.
"What do I owe such a wonderful visit this early to?" the Elder asked.
"I wanted to ask about Emperor slimes and Lucien," Crispin said.
Regulus did not wait for an introduction. He slid down Crispin's arm and flopped onto the table; his liquid-metal surface rippled as his glow pulsed in the firelight.
"My word," the Elder breathed.
"He has been working on his alchemy."
The Elder held out his hand, and Regulus slid into his palm.
"Protect!" Regulus said. The metallic voice was clearer now, vibrating through the Elder's skin.
The Elder's eyes widened. "Oh, my little king. I never imagined you would become such a little treasure. You can speak too?"
"Can speak," Regulus confirmed. "Protect Tamers. Made potions. You use. Protect. My decision. Stand by it."
The Elder considered the words with a slow nod. "You have a right to stand by your decisions. It is the same for you as it is for Crispin or me."
He handed Regulus back to Crispin.
Crispin's expression turned serious. He took a sip of tea before leaning forward. "Why did you not tell me you also owned an emperor slime?"
The Elder's lips pursed in thought. "That is such an ugly word, 'own.' An emperor slime, as you are learning, is a sovereign of themselves, not a possession. It is a bond, as you said."
He nodded, accepting the correction. The Elder poured more tea and pushed the biscuits toward him.
"I acquired my empress when I was a young man going through the ceremony in the Elvish Empire," Xereniti said.
"Are our slimes related?"
"They sort of are, but they are not."
"I am very interested," Crispin said.
"You have seen Regulus' buds?" the Elder asked.
He nodded.
"When an emperor slime ages and reaches an elder stage, it buds," the Elder explained. "It is not like a standard bud, but a recreation of itself. It preserves its autonomy, sentience, and intellect, but erases all blueprints acquired. This allows a new generation to form. The new bud and its founder are no longer a hivemind; they are separate entities."
"May I ask your slime's name?" Crispin asked.
"Anunnaki. I call her Ki for short, much like you and Regy."
"May we meet her?"
The Elder smiled. "Perhaps one day. For now, your training is more important, as is the growth of Regulus. He has to be his own sovereign. He cannot be learning lessons from his mother before being grounded in who he wants to be."
Crispin ate a biscuit and leaned back, looking satisfied. "This is fantastic. Thank you."
Regulus watched the Elder. "Crispin. Elder smells safe. Tell him. Elf."
Crispin's posture sharpened. He set his tea down. "Regulus and I uncovered something, Elder, if we may discuss it."
"About the elf that attacked you?"
"While looting the camp, we found vials of necrotoxin and a map," Crispin said. "It is a map of our village; it could only have come from one of us. That day at the gathering, Regulus smelled the toxin on someone's armor. We want to start scouting the Thicket. We mean to find out who in this city is betraying us."
The Elder went quiet. The only sound was the crackle of the hearth. "I felt something more was going on, but I did not know you had uncovered something this dire. You have my permission."
Crispin reached inside his pouch and withdrew several bottles of blue and red potions. The Elder picked one up, holding it against the light of a sun-crystal.
"Elvish make," Xereniti said; his voice was thick with awe. "And not just common draughts. These are high-quality healing potions, Crispin. The suspension is perfect. Regulus, are you sure? You could sell these."
"No. For you, Elder. Protect others."
The Elder looked at the bottles, then at the empty reinforced silica containers Regulus had provided. "These containers are remarkable as well. They will not break in a fall. I would like to buy three of these empty ones from you for the village store. They are worth more than the gold I can offer, but it is a start."
He reached into a heavy wooden chest and produced a purse of coins, sliding it across the table toward Crispin.
"Thank you, Elder," Crispin said.
"Don't thank me," the Elder said, looking at Regy. "Thank the Alchemist. Now, get to the apothecary. If you have the blueprints for these potions, the village is going to need every drop you can produce."
"I also wanted to talk about Lucien…"
"Go on." Xereniti sipped his tea.
"Was I chosen because you knew I would let him stay?"
Heat flashed through the old man's face. "I know you do not mean to insult my integrity, so I will forgive it," the elder said hotly, "but, since you asked… No. You were chosen because you are the example I would show the others for what the true bond means. And—I thought you would expel him, and Alric or I would have done nothing to prevent it."
"Why? You're family…"
"Exactly." The elder sat down his tea. "There has to be a line between family, and the guild. Lucien crossed it. He deserved to be expelled. He was lucky you found kindness if your heart to allow him to stay."
"Did I choose wrong?"
Xereniti sighed. "Only Lucien, and his future choices can answer that question. However, do I think you chose wrong? No. You extended kindness, which never ceases to amaze me." His wrinkled fingers stroked Regulus' quicksilver. "Perhaps that is what makes your bond so strong with the little king."
Crispin nodded. He stepped back out into the twilight glow of the village, the coins heavy in his pouch and the Sovereign's satisfaction humming in his mind.