The world didn't wake up with a song. It woke up with the smell of wet rot and the bone-chilling bite of a grey dawn.
When I first opened my eyes, I didn't know where I was. For a moment, I thought I was still back in the Great Square, the King's shadow looming over me. But the ceiling wasn't stone; it was a canopy of ancient, suffocating pines. My body felt like it had been carved out of lead. Cold, stiff, and utterly broken.
Then, I felt it. A heavy, gel-like pressure on my chest.
I looked down, my breath hitching in my throat. My tunic was soaked in dried blood, but right over the jagged gash my father had left, something was moving. It was a Green Slime. A translucent, vibrating blob of emerald jelly.
In Aethelgard, these things were pests. Or at best, ingredients. Alchemists hunted them to boil down into fever-reducers, and peasants crushed them under their boots because they "stole the vitality of the land."
My first instinct was to flinch, to throw it into the mud. But I couldn't even lift my arm.
I watched, frozen. The slime wasn't eating my flesh. Its core—a faint, flickering light deep inside its jelly—was pulsing rhythmically. It was focused on the wound. I could see the dark, purplish tint of the infection—what the healers called "The Black Rot"—being pulled into the slime's transparent body.
In this age, people died from a scratch because they believed "evil spirits" entered the blood. They didn't know about the invisible filth that bred in open wounds. They didn't know about infection.
But this creature... it was drinking the death out of me. It was feeding on the very thing that was supposed to kill me.
"You..." I whispered, my throat feeling like it was filled with broken glass. "You're not a parasite, are you?"
The slime didn't answer, of course. It just shivered, its emerald hue turning a murky, darker green as it processed the toxins from my blood. It had saved my life. While my father's mercy was a blade, this creature's mercy was a choice.
"Thank you," I croaked.
I forced myself to roll over. The pain was a screaming white light behind my eyes, but I managed to get to my knees. The slime slid off my chest, landing softly on the moss. It stayed there, wobbling slightly as if it were dizzy.
I had to move. The Royal Guards were gone, but the forest didn't keep secrets for long. If I stayed in this clearing, the wolves or the cold would finish what Silas started.
I began to crawl, then eventually, I staggered to my feet. Every step was a battle. I pushed deeper into the woods, heading toward the places where the sun never touched the ground. After a few hundred yards, I stopped to catch my breath and looked back.
The slime was there.
It was trailing behind me, leaving a faint, shimmering streak on the dead leaves. It moved slowly, dragging its heavy body across the roots. It was following the only thing that hadn't tried to kill it today.
"Fine," I muttered, a ghost of a smile touching my cracked lips. "Follow me then. We're both outcasts now."
By midday, the wind began to howl. My teeth were chattering so hard I thought they would shatter. I had no axe. No flint. No steel. I had nothing but my bare hands and the desperate instinct to not let the fire in my chest go out.
I found a small embankment beneath a fallen cedar. I dropped to my knees and began to dig.
I didn't have tools, so I used my fingernails. I clawed at the frozen earth, tearing back layers of needles and dirt until my fingertips bled, mixing my blood with the soil of Aethelgard. I dug a shallow trench, just deep enough to fit my frame. It looked like a grave.
Maybe it was. The grave of the boy I used to be.
I filled the trench with dry leaves. As I climbed in, the cold but wind-shielding embrace of the earth surrounded me. I covered myself with more leaves, creating a makeshift blanket. This wasn't a bed; it was a life-trench dug to prevent me from freezing to death.
I felt the slime slide through the leaves and curl up against the hollow of my arm. As I closed my eyes, I sank into the silence of the forest.
"Tomorrow..." I whispered into the darkness. "Tomorrow, we build something."