Viktor moved down the hallway, his boots echoing softly against the worn stone floor.
He'd already dressed for the day in simple dark pants and a loose shirt.
The familiar sound of "kyu-kyu" squeaking drifted from one of the guest rooms—Rustina's distinctive chirping.
He pushed the door open.
The pink slime was bouncing enthusiastically around the bed like some hyperactive pet, her flower-topped head bobbing with each movement.
Her gelatinous body jiggled with pure, unbridled joy as she hopped around.
On the mattress sat Toby, Mira's six-year-old son, rubbing his eyes groggily.
The kid had clearly just woken up, his thin frame wrapped in an oversized nightshirt Helena had sewn for him.
"So the little champ finally decided to join the world of the living, huh?" Viktor said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
