What is your secret little egg? I tap my fingers against the surface of the shell, pressing my ear to the side as I listen to the noise coming from inside. A wet hand swipes at my own, pushing it away to stop my tap, tap tapping. Sticking my tongue out, I flick it at her, taking the time to smell the air, as a hiss leaves my throat. Ssss~

Egg.

Carrying the egg in my free arm, I walk casually up the staircase. There’s no need to rush after all. The dungeon seems oddly calm today. I wonder where the hero-party is? Shouldn’t they be clearing the dungeon or something? Or did they take the day off? Are they… are they allowed to do that?

Is this… -

I narrow my eyes, looking around the empty staircase that I walk up, as I listen for the sound of any disturbances in the air. There are none.

- Is this a vacation?

Am I on a vacation?

Blinking, I scan the area. There’s nothing here. Nothing going on. It’s just me. Just me, the slime and the egg. That’s nice. Are we on a walk? I don’t like walks, honestly. But I guess I’ll survive one. Calmly, collected, I continue walking up the staircase, carrying the two of them. They aren’t heavy at all really. Or maybe I’m just really strong? That would be nice. I think I worked really hard to be strong, I guess if I can carry someone who needs to be carried, it was worth it. The effort that is.

The slime coos in my grasp as she wraps herself around the egg, pressing her face against the side of it. You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t get attached. It’s going to die. It’s going to hurt. We should just leave it here. If you want, I can turn around and we can go back down and we can put it back.

I suppose her glare up my way is the only answer I’ll receive to that suggestion. I sigh. That’s the problem, you know? With getting close to things.

They’re going to be taken away from you. Any eyes that look your way, any hands that hold yours, any warmth that radiates from a presence near yours. It’s all going to be taken away and you’re going to float and it will hurt all the more.

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So maybe it’s best to keep a distance. To keep a coolness, an arm’s length of space. If you are free of weight when you float, at least you won’t sink deeper. You’ll just float wherever you end up. Is that better? I dunno. Maybe.

Breaching the end of the staircase, I look around floor forty. Wait. I rub my head. Floor forty? Wow! I haven’t been here in a long time. Did we push back the hero-party this far? The dungeon-master must have really gotten it together and figured out a decisive plan to fight their encroaching into our home. What a cool guy. I love the dungeon-master. Dark-lord forgive me, but perhaps I love the dungeon-master most of all. Imagine what kind of great cosmic power you have to have, what kind of passion, what kind of desire you have to have burning in your heart to create something like this. To dig a home so deeply and intricately into the heart of the world with nothing but your own two hands.

Are you watching me, dungeon-master? Are you looking at me? With your true eyes? I hope so. I want you to see me. I want you to see me do it all for you. Because you’re the best!

I feel a hum in my heart. A buzzing that runs through my body, an excited, clean energy that courses through me.

Floor forty.

Stepping out into the world. I look. I look.

A warm, soft breeze flows over my body, welcoming us to the golden sea that I see rippling before me. A… a field? I step forward, entering into the waist-high field of loosely growing golden stalks. Opening my lance hand a little and running my fingers through them, I stroke one, trying to figure out what it is. A grain? A grass? The thousands of tall, thin stalks that grow out of the dirt, shining with a golden brown color which shimmers as the summer wind moves over it, billow towards me, as if all of them lowered their heads to greet my presence.

The warm, sleepy summer winds touch my body and I recognize the draft as the one and the same that I feel, that I always felt in this place. It pushes through my body, pushes through my bones to remove all the dankness and moisture and grime that has begun to cling to my bones like old grease. What a nice floor. It’s very calm and peaceful. I wonder what kind of trash-mobs live here? I don’t remember this floor.

A soft heat pushes through the air, the tall wheat grasses tickling my body as I walk through them. How do I describe this sensation? This feeling?

Surreal. It feels surreal. Dreamlike.

What a nice place. Did you make this, dungeon-master? I wonder, for what purpose? But perhaps it simply isn’t for me to understand. I’m just a trash-mob. I just work here. The big questions are too big for me to understand. It’s just my job to walk. To walk to the top of the dungeon.

I wonder why?

Am I a patrolling trash-mob? I never knew that patrols could leave their own floor. Oooh, how exciting! Maybe… maybe… do you think that… nah, it’s silly. Or?

Curiously, I look down at the slime who looks back up to me as she nurses the egg.

Do you think I’m some kind of rare spawn? Is that why I’m walking up stairs? Do I patrol the dungeon from bottom to top? She shrugs, not knowing either. But that’s okay. That must be the case, right? Why else would I be here? Why else would I get to see such nice things? Wow! What a cool job. I’m so lucky. I must be the luckiest trash-mob in the entire dungeon.

Ah!

I feel the soft grasses touch my leg as the warm wind spins around myself, imbuing their golden bodies with a dancing life as they sway in the breeze.

I’m so happy. This is my life? The dark-lord must have truly blessed me.