Kael awoke with a start, his cheek pressed against damp earth. The sky above him was a slate of pale gray, clouds smeared like careless strokes of ash. Around him, a faint blue light shimmered—a wall of energy stretching endlessly upward, enclosing him in a square. His head throbbed with a dull ache, his thoughts fractured and scattered.

Who am I?

The question hung in the silence, unanswered. He sat up slowly, his limbs sluggish as though they’d forgotten their purpose. His fingers brushed against his skin, smooth yet alien—green as moss, with a faint warmth. A horn jutted from his forehead, small and sharp like a thorn. 

"Ah, at last! You’re awake!"

The voice came from nowhere, or perhaps everywhere. High-pitched and brimming with an irritating cheerfulness, it grated against the quiet like a steel sword on dragon scale. A flicker of movement caught Kael’s eye, and before him appeared a creature no taller than his hand.

The imp was translucent, its form more light than flesh. It had stubby horns and wings too small to carry it, flapping futilely as though for show. Its grin was crooked and wide, sharp teeth gleaming.

"Who—what are you?" Kael croaked, his voice rasping like dry leaves.

"Who am I? Why, I’m Skrindle, of course! Your humble guide and ever-loyal servant!" The imp gave an exaggerated bow, spinning mid-air as if the act required flair. "And you, my illustrious Master, are in charge of this.. fine patch of land! This Square!"

Kael’s gaze swept the square—a stretch of barren ground framed by the glowing barrier. Trees ringed the edges, their trunks gnarled and twisted, their roots clawing at the dirt. 

"I don’t remember…" Kael began, but Skrindle interrupted with a cackle.

"Ah, yes, the memory loss! Tragic, but not unexpected. It happens when you’re… well… dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes, dead!" Skrindle said with the tone of someone explaining the obvious. "Killed. Kaput. But never fear! You’ve been given a second chance, as all Masters are! Though," the imp added, eyeing Kael’s disheveled appearance, "you’re starting from scratch. A square with no defenses, no monsters, no traps… oh dear. This might be trickier than I thought."

Kael’s mind whirled. Dead. Second chance. Master of the Square. The words felt strange, distant, like fragments of a story he’d once read but could no longer recall. He pushed himself to his feet, towering over the imp.

"And what exactly is a Master supposed to do?"

"Ah, excellent question!" Skrindle clapped its tiny hands, its grin growing wider. "You’re the lord and master of this square, responsible for its defenses, its treasures, and most importantly, its survival. Adventurers will come, lured by the promise of gold and glory. Your job is to stop them—by any means necessary."

Kael stared at Skrindle, the words sinking in like water seeping into cracked stone. His gaze drifted to the crystal ball that had materialized beside him, pulsing faintly with an inner light. Without thinking, he reached for it. The orb flared to life, light spilling out in soft waves. Within its depths, symbols and numbers floated—a strange, arcane script he somehow understood instinctively.

Difficulty: Introductory

Treasure: 100 Gold

"This," Skrindle said, fluttering beside him, "is your domain. Here, you’ll monitor your square, set your traps, summon your monsters, and—"

Kael’s fingers tightened on the orb. "Summon monsters?"

"Yes, yes, all in due time!" Skrindle waved him off. "You’re still just a fledgling Master, but we’ll get you there. For now, take a moment to bask in your glorious purpose!"

Kael stood, his eyes narrowing at the imp’s flippant tone. "What if I refuse? What if I leave this… square?"

The imp’s grin faltered for the first time. "Oh, you don’t want to do that. The wall doesn’t just keep others out—it keeps you in. Leave the square, and…" Skrindle made a dramatic slicing motion across its throat.

Kael exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. The blue wall hummed faintly, a barrier and a prison all at once. He stared at the forest beyond, the distant shadows shifting like ghosts.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Simple," Skrindle chirped. "You survive. You fight. And you grow stronger."

Kael frowned, his fingers brushing the horn on his forehead. He was a Master of the Square, the imp had said. A ruler of monsters. A defender of treasure. And yet, he felt none of it.

Kael traced fingers idly through its rough bark as Skrindle hovered beside him, jabbering about mana reserves and tactical options. Kael listened—or pretended to—but his mind was still grappling with the absurdity of it all.

"Kael," Skrindle hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut through Kael’s reverie. The imp was bobbing in the air, his tiny wings flapping with unusual fervor. "Pay attention! Look at the wall. Do you see that?"

Kael’s gaze followed Skrindle’s pointed claw. A section of the blue barrier was flickering, its steady glow replaced by an ominous red.

"That’s... not good, is it?" Kael asked, his grip tightening around the crystal ball.

"Not good?" Skrindle snorted, spinning in the air. "That’s the understatement of the century! It means someone—or something—is about to breach your square. Intruders, Kael. Invaders. Adventurers."

Kael frowned. The word carried weight, a faint echo of disdain stirring within him. Adventurers. A deep sense of hatred filled his heart, though he couldn’t remember why.

"What do I do?" Kael asked, his voice steadier now.

"You summon, of course!" Skrindle exclaimed, darting closer. "Open your crystal ball and choose your defender. It’s the first rule of being a Master: when they come, you fight back."

Kael hesitated, his clawed fingers tracing the smooth surface of the orb. With a deep breath, he focused, and the ball flared to life. Two images stood out amidst the swirling light: a gelatinous green blob and a sleek, black spider with legs like needles.

“Slime or spider,” Skrindle said, its tone mockingly academic. “Slimes are sturdy little blobs. Not much damage, but they’re annoyingly hard to kill. Spiders, on the other hand, can sting and scurry and leave a man screaming. Fragile, though. What’s better: a shield or a dagger? A wall or a blade? Choose wisely, Master, for your decision will—”

“Slime,” Kael interrupted.

The crystal pulsed in his hands, its light flaring brighter. A strange, gelatinous noise followed, and Kael turned to see a mound of green ooze bubbling into existence a few paces away. It quivered slightly, as though adjusting to its form, before settling into a motionless lump.

"There," Skrindle said, clapping his tiny hands. "Your first minion. Now, let’s see how it fares against the intruder."

Kael barely had time to respond before the red section of the wall burst outward, the shimmering barrier giving way to a man clad in simple leathers. He was middle-aged, his face weathered and lined, and he carried a crossbow that gleamed dully in the strange light.

The hunter stepped cautiously into the square, his eyes scanning the forested terrain. He moved with caution, his crossbow held ready.

Kael’s breath hitched. "He’s armed."

"Of course he’s armed," Skrindle said, rolling his eyes. "What did you expect? A basket of flowers?"

The slime quivered, sliding forward with an unsettling squelch. Its amorphous form left a faint trail of sticky residue on the forest floor. The hunter spotted it and raised his crossbow, firing a bolt with precision.

The bolt struck the slime, sinking deep into its translucent form. Kael winced, expecting the creature to falter, but the slime barely slowed. The projectile hung suspended within its body, harmlessly ensnared in the viscous mass.

The hunter’s eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his stoic demeanor. He fumbled for another bolt, but the slime was upon him. It lunged, enveloping his legs in its gelatinous grasp. The hunter staggered, swinging his crossbow wildly, but the slime held firm.

Kael watched, his heart pounding, as the hunter struggled. The slime’s grip tightened, its amorphous body wrapping around the man with unrelenting pressure. The hunter’s movements grew sluggish, his strength waning, until finally, he collapsed.

The slime quivered victoriously, its body rippling as it absorbed the faint shimmer of energy rising from the defeated hunter.

Kael exhaled slowly, his claws digging into the bark of the tree beside him.

"Well done," Skrindle said, his tone smug. "Your slime has passed its first trial. And you, Kael, have taken your first step toward becoming a proper Master of the Square."

Kael nodded, though his mind was racing. The sight of the hunter’s defeat stirred a strange mix of emotions within him: satisfaction, relief, and something darker, something primal.

"Good," he said finally, his voice steady. "Now what?"

"Now," Skrindle said, his grin widening, "we name your champion. After all, even a slime deserves a name."

"A name?" Kael blinked.

"Of course," Skrindle replied, as though the matter were self-evident. "You can’t just call it ‘Green Slime 1’ forever. Even the lowliest of slimes deserves an identity. It’s tradition, Kael. A bond between Master and minion. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "it’s good for morale."

Kael scratched at the small horn protruding from his forehead, considering the imp’s words. The idea of naming the slime seemed absurd—frivolous, even. But the longer he stared at the creature, the more he felt a strange connection to it. The slime had fought for him, defended his square. It deserved… something.

"Fine," Kael said, "but I’m not good at names."

"Leave it to me," Skrindle said with a dramatic flourish. "I’ll suggest a few options. Let’s see… Blobbert? 

"Gods, no.” 

“Squishums.”

“Terrible.”

“Sir Gelatinous the Third?"

“What?”

The imp cackled, clearly enjoying himself. "Alright, alright. How about something simple? Jello."

Kael paused, rolling the name around in his mind. It was short, easy to remember, and—most importantly—didn’t make him cringe. He glanced at the slime, which quivered expectantly, as though awaiting his decision.

"Jello," he said finally. "Yeah. That works."

The slime rippled in response, its amorphous form seeming to vibrate with an almost childlike excitement. Skrindle clapped his tiny hands together, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

"Jello it is."

Kael felt a flicker of satisfaction, though it was quickly overshadowed by a gnawing sense of unease. The crystal ball in his hand was almost dark now, its once vibrant light reduced to a faint, pulsing glow.

"Why’s it doing that?" he asked, holding the orb up to eye level.

Skrindle hovered nearby, his wings buzzing faintly in the stillness of the square. His sharp little face twisted into a smirk, equal parts amusement and condescension.

"Mana," the imp explained, drawing the word out as though savoring its weight. "It’s the lifeblood of your square, Kael. Your lifeblood. You spend it to summon creatures, build traps, or cast spells. The brighter the ball, the more mana you have at your disposal. Summoning slimy little Jello here has drained it, as you can plainly see."

Kael frowned, gripping the orb tightly. "So, what now? Do I have to wait for it to recharge?"

"Exactly," Skrindle said, with an exaggerated bow. "Mana regenerates over time, provided you don’t do anything reckless. But don’t get too comfortable—intruders don’t wait for you to be ready. They’ll keep coming, and if you can’t defend yourself…"

The imp let the sentence hang in the air, punctuating it with a wicked grin.

His square was safe for the moment, as the flickering red on the wall turned back to blue. Kael sat cross-legged on the soft mossy ground, the crystal ball resting in his lap. Its glow was faint, like a dying ember, but when he touched its smooth surface, it flared to life. Within its depths, a mesmerizing array of images swirled—creatures of all shapes, sizes, and hues.

He leaned closer, his green-skinned face illuminated by the flickering light. The creatures displayed before him weren’t just limited to the simple green slime he had already summoned. There were slimes of brilliant blue, shimmering like liquid sapphire; slimes that pulsed with fiery orange hues, their surfaces bubbling as if they contained molten lava; and cuboid slimes that were perfectly translucent, their forms barely visible.

"What... what are these?" Kael asked, his voice hushed with wonder.

"Ah, you’ve stumbled upon the deeper secrets of summoning, I see. These are the advanced slimes, Kael. The elemental variants, the rare breeds, the exotic ones with abilities that could make a hardened warrior weep."

Kael stared at the crystal ball, transfixed. 

"Can I summon them?" he asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Skrindle snorted, crossing his spindly arms. "Oh, if it were that simple, every novice Master would be commanding armies of pyroclastic slimes and void slimes by now."

Kael tore his gaze from the ball to glare at Skrindle. "Then why show them to me if I can’t summon them?"

The imp grinned, his sharp teeth glinting. "Motivation, my dear Kael. You’ve got to work for the good stuff. Knowledge, experience, and time—these are the keys to unlocking such creatures. Each one represents a milestone in your journey as a Master. For now, your understanding is too... basic. Rudimentary, if you will."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Kael’s fingers tightened around the crystal. "I don’t like waiting."

"Few do," Skrindle said with a shrug. "But that’s how it works. As you grow, you’ll gain access to more summoning recipes. Each creature requires mana, of course, and some of the more powerful ones demand additional resources or certain conditions. A water slime, for instance, might need a pond to spawn from. A fire slime? A lava source or intense heat."

"Knowledge and experience," he muttered, more to himself than to Skrindle.

"That’s right," the imp said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "You’ve got the instincts of a true Master, Kael. Now, be patient. Strength isn’t built in a day, and neither are squares worth fearing."

Kael nodded, though the weight of his own inexperience settled heavily on his shoulders. The crystal ball dimmed once more as he released it, and he stood, brushing the moss from his legs.

"I’ll wait," he said finally. "But not forever."

Skrindle’s grin widened. "Good. Waiting is one thing, but ambition—ah, that’s the mark of a Master worth remembering."

******

Newvale is a patchwork of uneven roofs, crumbling chimneys, and crooked streets winding like snakes through a nest. Smoke hung low in the air, carrying the acrid tang of soot and burning wood. At the heart of it all stood a modest stall adorned with a cascade of jangling keys, each one swaying in the faint breeze like pendulums marking the passage of time.

Behind the stall sat an elderly woman, her face a latticework of wrinkles carved by years of laughter and sorrow. Her sharp eyes scanned the meandering villagers, pausing now and again to catch the glint of a prospective customer. Her hands moved with practiced ease, polishing a set of silver keys even as she nodded to a man in front of her—a hunter clad in simple leathers, a deep scowl etched on his face.

"I lost my crossbow," the hunter said, his voice laced with frustration. He tapped the counter impatiently. "It was a good one. Took me months to save for it."

Mrs. Keys, as everyone called her, leaned back on her stool, her fingers never ceasing their work. "The square got the better of you, eh?" Her voice was both amused and kind, though there was a steel edge to it.

"It wasn’t just the square," the hunter snapped. "It was the slime. A damn slime. Can you believe that?"

Mrs. Keys chuckled, a dry rasp like leaves crunching underfoot. "Oh, I’ve seen plenty lose to worse. But fret not, you’ve got your free daily key. Another chance to redeem yourself." She reached into a battered box behind the counter and pulled out a small, brass key, its teeth oddly jagged.

The hunter hesitated before taking it. "I’ll get my crossbow back. And that slime won’t know what hit it this time."

As he turned to leave, a voice cut through the clamor of the street. "Lost to a slime, did you?"

A man leaned against a nearby post, twirling a pair of ornate daggers between his fingers with practiced flair. He was younger, sharper—his grin a blade in itself. "Even when I was green, I didn’t fall to a slime. Maybe you’re not cut out for this, friend."

The hunter glared but said nothing.

The rogue stepped forward, his movements smooth as silk. "You should come to my school. Learn to move, to think, to strike where it hurts. You might even learn how to win."

The hunter shook his head. "I don’t need your lessons."

"Suit yourself," the rogue said with a shrug, slipping the daggers into hidden sheaths. He turned and melted into the crowd, his presence lingering like the scent of iron after a storm.

Mrs. Keys watched the exchange with mild interest before returning to her polishing. As she worked, another figure approached—a young man, broad-shouldered but with a boyish face that hadn’t yet been hardened by the trials of life.

"Ryan," Mrs. Keys said, her voice softening.

"Good evening, Mrs. Keys," the boy said with a polite nod. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and he adjusted the sword strapped to his back as he approached. "Heard you’ve got another square in rotation?"

"That I do," she replied. "Why, you looking to try your luck?"

Ryan nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I think I can handle it. Where is it?”

She gestured vaguely toward the forest on the village’s edge. "Northwest of here. You’ll see the boundary. A square unnamed, far as anyone can tell. Just remember the rules—get in, find the orb, and get out before the monsters kill you."

She reached for another brass key, this one slightly tarnished. "Here’s your free daily introductory key. That square’s new—might not have much treasure, but it’ll give you a fight. Just be careful. New Masters can be… unpredictable."

Ryan took the key and turned it over in his hand. The metal felt cold, heavy with promise. He nodded his thanks and turned to leave, the sword catching the light of the setting sun as he walked away.

The hunter, still loitering nearby, muttered under his breath, "He’ll learn soon enough."

As Ryan made his way through the village, he passed other stalls and shops, each one hawking wares tailored to adventurers: potions that glowed faintly in the dim light, enchanted trinkets promising fortune and protection, armor gleaming like polished obsidian. But he paid them no mind. His focus was on the task ahead, the square that awaited him just beyond the edge of the village.

When he reached the outskirts, the landscape changed abruptly. The cobblestones gave way to dirt paths, and the air grew heavier, quieter. He could see the faint shimmer of other squares in the distance—each one a bubble of challenge and danger, marked by glowing barriers of blue or red.

Ryan approached the blue wall Mrs Keys told him about and inserted the key. There was a faint hum, followed by a flash of red light as the barrier flickered and shifted. The air around him grew warmer, the scents of grass and earth giving way to something sharper, almost metallic.

He stepped inside, his sword drawn. Ryan smiled. He was ready.

The forest closed in around him, shadows shifting in the fading light. Ryan’s grip on his weapon tightened as he moved forward, each step careful and deliberate. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the faint rustle of leaves, the whisper of movement.

The forest was silent save for the occasional rustle of leaves. A soft breeze stirred the branches, whispering secrets that no mortal ear could hear. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, pine, and the fading warmth of the day. The light filtered through the canopy in scattered beams, illuminating patches of the undergrowth as if marking the path of fate itself.

Ryan moved through the woods with the quiet certainty of a seasoned hunter. His boots pressed into the soft ground with the faintest of sounds, his sword at his side gleaming with lethal purpose. His eyes, narrowed and sharp, scanned the surroundings, taking in every detail. He could feel the power of the key still thrumming in his hand, a simple thing, yet imbued with a strange weight, an unspoken promise of something more.

He had come seeking treasures of the square but it wasn’t the gold that intrigued Ryan. Gold was simple. It was an adventure Ryan truly seeks.

A rustle in the distance drew his attention, and his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. He crouched low, his movements deliberate, careful not to disturb the brittle twigs scattered across the ground. The noise grew closer—a shuffle, then a pause, as though something was circling him, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Then, through the gloom, he saw it.

Ryan’s sword snapped up instinctively, pointing toward the threat. But this was no creature. It was a man—or something resembling one.

The figure stood taller than any human Ryan had seen, his skin a mottled green that seemed to absorb the light. A single, small horn jutted from his forehead, and his eyes, though wide with apparent fear, glinted with an intelligence that unsettled Ryan. He wore a crude loincloth fashioned from tattered cloth, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Wait!" the figure called out, his voice high-pitched but clear. "I don’t want to fight!"

Ryan’s brows furrowed. "You can talk?" He had been to a few Squares but never seen a Master before. A Master, one of the architects of the labyrinths that ensnared so many. And yet, here it was, speaking like a man, fearful, uncertain.

The figure blinked, as though the question caught him off guard. "I’m Kael," he said cautiously. "The Master of this square. But I don’t want trouble. Please, let’s... talk?"

Ryan frowned, lowering his sword slightly. "Do you take me for a fool, monster?"

Kael shook his head vehemently. "No, no! It’s just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Especially not me."

The absurdity of it all struck Ryan like a slap. He almost laughed, but the tension in the air kept the sound from escaping. "What kind of Master are you?"

Kael hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the slime still lingering nearby, its movements slowing as though awaiting command. "A new one," he finally admitted. "I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have much to defend myself with. But I do have gold. Ten coins. I can give you a gold coin a day if you leave."

Ryan stared at him, trying to gauge the truth of his words. The Master seemed sincere—if not pathetic. But gold was gold, and it was one of the reasons he came.

"All of it," Ryan said flatly.

Kael winced. "I can’t do that. I need it. What if I give you two coins a day?"

Ryan’s brow furrowed. "You’re trying to negotiate with me? I could kill you now and take it all."

"Maybe," Kael said, his voice steadier now. "I got my slime here to dig up the gold. Think about it—one big haul or a bigger long-term gain? Besides, it’s safer for both of us this way."

Before Ryan could respond, another figure materialized beside Kael—a small, imp-like creature with bat-like wings and a mischievous grin. "Oh, brilliant strategy, Master," it said, its voice dripping with sarcasm. "Negotiating with the enemy. Truly a bold and fearsome tactic."

"Quiet, Skrindle," Kael snapped, though his tone lacked authority.

Ryan glanced between the two, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. "Alright," he said finally. "Two coins a day. But if you try to cheat me, I’ll be back with more than just a sword."

Kael nodded quickly, relief washing over his features. "Deal. Just... don’t tell anyone. I don’t want word getting out. Then, you’ll need to share the gold.”

Ryan sheathed his sword and turned to leave, two gold coins jingling in his hand. As he disappeared into the forest, Skrindle floated closer to Kael, his grin widening.

"You’re full of surprises, Master," Skrindle said. "Letting the intruder walk away with your gold? That’s not exactly in the Master of the Square guide."

******

The twilight descended slowly, as if the land itself were reluctant to give up its brief respite from the scorching sun. Kael stood in the center of his square, the walls of the blue light flickering faintly against the darkening horizon.

Jello, the slime, sat nearby—its green, gelatinous mass pulsing faintly in the dim light. It had no face, but Kael often felt its gaze upon him. Jello was his companion now. He had to feed it, care for it, and build something for the both of them.

The twigs were scattered around the square, seemingly waiting to be gathered. He moved with a quiet urgency, the simple task of gathering materials grounding him. The shelter, when it began to take shape, seemed pitiful—crude, barely more than a few hastily tied branches, a roof made of leaves. It would be enough for now, enough to stave off the chill that had begun to settle into the air. Enough to give Jello a place to rest.

Inside the shelter, Kael sat with Jello, the slime making no noise save for the faint squelching of its gelatinous body. It was then that Skrindle appeared, popping into view with a flutter of his tiny wings. His impish face creased with that mischievous smile, always knowing more than he should.

"Jello’s hungry," Skrindle said, his voice a whisper that seemed to carry more weight than the words alone.

Kael looked down at the slime, who was still as ever. "It doesn’t speak," he murmured, almost to himself. "How can it be hungry?"

"Just because it doesn’t have a mouth doesn’t mean it doesn’t eat," Skrindle retorted. "Slimes are herbivores. They feed on plants, energy from the earth itself. You need to find something to nourish it, or it won’t grow strong."

Kael’s gaze flicked to Jello, who now pulsed with a faint green glow, a slow ebb and flow like the tides of some unseen sea. The slime’s lack of face, of expression, made it all the more alien, more distant, and yet he knew it was depending on him. This strange bond had already begun to form between them.

"Fine," Kael said, standing up. "I’ll find something."

The rain had started in earnest now, the drops thick and heavy, a wash of sound that filled the square. Kael moved through the forest that bordered the square, his eyes searching for something, anything, that could feed the creature under his care.

The air smelled of damp earth and fresh rain, and there, nestled among the roots of an ancient oak, he found a patch of moss, thick and vibrant, growing like a thick carpet across the wet ground.

This, he thought, would suffice.

He gathered the moss carefully, as though handling something precious. It was an odd thought—that something so simple could be a solution. Yet the moss would feed Jello, would sustain the slime for a time, and even strengthen him.

When Kael returned to the shelter, the rain was heavier, its sound a constant hum against the roof. Jello had not moved, but there was something about the way it shimmered in the dim light that made it seem almost expectant. He crouched down beside the slime and placed the moss before it, watching as Jello’s green form seemed to ripple, a soft and silent greeting to the offering.

The slime absorbed the moss, a slow, undulating movement that was both unsettling and mesmerizing. Jello rippled once, then again, its soft, green body quivering as it absorbed the moss. At first, the slime’s size seemed unchanged, mere movements across its gelatinous surface. But Kael watched, intrigued, as the slime began to swell slowly, the moss vanishing into its depths like water being swallowed by the earth.

With each moment, Jello grew. A faint shimmer of green light flickered across its body, and where it had been no larger than a child’s ball, it now stretched a few inches wider, its form becoming more robust, more substantial.

Kael settled down beside the slime and in the growing darkness, Kael closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the rain as it bathed the world around him.

******

The early morning light stretched across the damp ground, illuminating the makeshift shelter that Kael had fashioned from twigs, leaves, and scraps of cloth. Raindrops clung to every surface, gleaming like shards of crystal.

Over the past few days, he and Ryan had exchanged cursory pleasantries. Ryan would collect his daily coin, while Kael probed him with quiet questions about the village—about the keys, the people, the hunters, and adventures who came to squares seeking treasure or glory. Kael found himself listening intently to Ryan’s tales of Mrs. Keys, of the bustling stalls, the training schools, and the return for humans even after death.

Skrindle hovered a few feet above the damp ground, his bat-like wings beating a slow, contemplative rhythm. “Why keep paying that human?” he asked, teeth bared in a half-grin that hinted at disapproval. “Gold is finite, you know, and he’s likely to come back with friends.”

Kael glanced at Jello, who was contentedly quivering by his side. “I don’t want Jello to get hurt,” he said quietly. “The sword that man carries can slash and carve—it would do real damage to a slime. The crossbow that the hunter used was different—piercing attacks don’t affect Jello as much.”

Skrindle’s eyes narrowed, a spark of curiosity lighting them. “Damage types… that’s a lesson for another time.” He tilted his head, scrutinizing Kael. “I’m surprised you already know so much.”

A faint frown crossed Kael’s face. “I didn’t know I did,” he admitted. “It just… makes sense, doesn’t it?”

The imp eyed him for a moment longer, then let out a raspy chuckle. “Yes, yes, I suppose it does.”

Now, on the fifth day, Ryan held out his hand. “The gold, Master,” he said, as though Kael were a merchant behind some city stall.

Kael exhaled. “Two coins again, right?”

His eyes flicked to the orb in Kael’s hand. A small smirk tugged at his lips.

“It’s brighter,” Ryan remarked, nodding at the crystal ball. “You must’ve gathered a lot of gold since we first struck our deal.”

Kael touched his claws onto the orb’s surface. At once, the light flared, bright enough to cast dancing shadows on the forest floor. He did not draw forth coins. Instead, the glow spread outward, forming a ring of green at his feet. Before Ryan could protest, shapes emerged from that shimmering circle—slime after slime oozed out of the ether, their translucent bodies quivering with anticipation. Ten green slimes, like Jello had once been, had emerged. 

Ten slimes slid forward, silent as death, accompanied by the larger Jello leading the charge.

Ryan’s blade slashed down, cutting one slime in two, but the gelatinous halves promptly knitted themselves back together. Another slime seized his boot, pinning him in place, while two more latched onto his arms. Ryan let out a strangled gasp, eyes wide with shock, as the crushing mass of green overwhelmed him. His sword clattered to the ground, swallowed by the rolling tide of slime.

Skrindle watched, an unreadable expression flickering across his face—equal parts relish and calculated interest. Kael’s own features were set in a grim mask. He felt no thrill at Ryan’s fate, only a creeping acceptance that this was how their confrontation had to end. Better to strike decisively than to risk losing.

Ryan let out a final, desperate cry before his voice was muffled by the relentless slimes. Then, silence fell upon the clearing, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the quiet sloshing as the slime colony settled.

“I’ve learned something,” Kael said, turning to Skrindle. “Building strength in secret, waiting for the right moment… it’s far more reliable than risking my creatures every time an intruder steps inside.”

Skrindle nodded, a flicker of admiration dancing in his beady eyes. “Indeed, Kael. You show more cunning than your timid demeanor suggests.”

Kael let out a slow breath, still unsettled by the memory of Ryan’s final moments. He turned his attention to the crystal ball in his hands, its glow now faint. Within the swirling, ethereal depths of the orb, new words shimmered into focus:

Kills: 2

He stared at the simple text, something like guilt coiling in his chest. Skrindle appeared with a soft flutter of wings, hovering at shoulder height, his eyes trained on the orb.

“That’s the hunter,” Skrindle said, his voice unusually solemn, “and Ryan.”

Kael’s brow furrowed, and he swallowed hard. He pressed a claw to the glowing letters, as if he could erase them by sheer will. “So it tracks them,” he murmured, not quite asking a question—more like an unsteady statement of truth.

“Indeed,” the imp confirmed, bobbing in the air. “Every intruder who dies within your square is counted here. Their life force, in a sense, contributes to your power.” He paused, letting Kael absorb the weight of that truth. “Each kill helps bolster your mana regeneration. The more this number rises, the faster you can summon creatures and strengthen your square.”

Kael stared at the glimmering words, a growing mixture of awe and unease settling in his gut. “That’s how it works? Killing invaders grants me… more mana?”

Skrindle offered a half-smile, his sharp teeth flashing. “That’s the cold arithmetic of square mastery. If you plan to survive in this world, you’ll need every ounce of power you can gather.”

Kael didn’t respond. He felt no pride in the violence, only necessity. He turned away, the gentle drip of rain from the canopy echoing in the hush. 

Across the clearing, the crude twig shelter stood, but now it was crowded with a chorus of slimes—ten new companions he would name, one by one. Jello quivered at his side, larger than ever, as if to remind Kael that it too required his care.

******