After a stretch of quiet walking, I nudge Kit with my elbow. “Enjoying the new gear?” I ask lightly. Then my tone turns more serious. “I hope so, because the time for admiring it is over.”
Her ears angle toward me, catching the shift.
“We’re down to our last few coppers after all that,” I continue. “It’s time to hunt, Kit.”
I tilt my head toward the open fields beyond the gate. “Slime Meadows. Close to town. Safe enough… if you’re paying attention.”
A small grin tugs at my mouth. “You’ll be facing the terrifying Blue Bubble Slimes.”
Kit’s amber eyes narrow, and her tail flicks once. “Blue… Bubble Slimes?” she repeats, as though trying to decide whether I’ve lost my mind.
I only smile and lead her through the town gates onto the worn path marked with faded warnings. Wind moves through the waist-high grass in slow waves as we enter the meadows, wildflowers scattered along the trampled trail.
“Welcome to Slime Meadows,” I announce with just enough grandeur to sell it.
It looks peaceful at first glance.
We hear it before we see it: a squelch, a plop, a panicked yell, then a wet splut followed by laughter.
Dozens of translucent blue globes bounce through the grass, some no larger than a fist, others round as pumpkins. Harmless, mostly. Sticky enough to ruin your day.
A young adventurer charges one with an oversized hammer. He swings, misses, and lands thigh-first in the grass. Splat. Another slime catches his back, then a third wraps around his arm. Hammer Guy flails as they swarm him like affectionate barnacles. His weapon slips from his grip, and he topples with his limbs gummed together.
A nearby party howls with laughter before moving in to pry him free.
Kit folds her arms, but curiosity glints behind her mock sternness.
“These are what you’re throwing me into?” Kit asks.
I tap one finger against her cheek. “XP, Kit. You’re faster than Hammer Guy.”
She laughs, her tail flicking high. “And you definitely planned to show me that.”
I give her my most innocent shrug. “Maybe.”
She snickers, and I nod toward the meadow. “Your turn. Show me what you’ve got.”
Kit cracks her knuckles and grins wickedly. “Let’s go get some gluey XP.”
She enters the tall grass with natural feline caution, placing each step in time with the wind.
Then she slips into Stealth. The rustling around her fades until even the flick of her silver tail becomes difficult to follow. She moves through the meadow like water finding the easiest path.
A Blue Bubble Slime bounces into her path. Kit erupts from the grass before it can react, opening with an Ambushing Strike.
Her right-hand dagger slices cleanly through the translucent globe, splitting it into two wobbling halves that dissolve into blue mist and splatter the grass with goo.
Two more slimes flatten against the earth, their translucent bodies compressing as pressure builds inside them. They trigger Pounce together, springing toward her from opposite sides.
Kit pivots sharply, her second blade already moving as she flows into a Dual Wielding Strike. She sidesteps the first and catches it with the flat of her off-hand dagger, sending it tumbling through the meadow in a wobbling arc. Her other blade flashes toward the second, forcing it aside as she spins between them.
Her footwork is balanced, quick, and almost elegant. I’m genuinely impressed, right up until she lands a touch too hard.
Grass and a twig snap beneath her boot. A slime she hasn’t noticed compresses within the clump beside her and triggers Pounce.
Splutch!
It slaps against her thigh and wraps around it in a quivering blue mass. Kit gasps, more offended than hurt, and a second slime follows with another Pounce, springing onto her back a heartbeat later.
She spins to throw them off, but the motion carries her into the path of two more waiting slimes. Within seconds, several azure blobs cling stubbornly to her clothes, limbs, and fur.
I bite my lip, trying to hold back a laugh. My smirk betrays me anyway.
Kit turns toward me with her arms raised in pure exasperation. “You promised combat! This is glorified laundry sabotage!”
I raise both hands. “It is combat. Low-tier, XP-rich, laundry-poor combat.”
“These are going to stain, aren’t they?” she complains.
“For sure,” I reply. “Magic gelatin.”
A particularly stubborn slime dangles from her tail like a sapphire pendant. Kit plants her hands on her hips, blue-streaked, begrudgingly adorable, and covered in wobblers.
“I was doing so well,” she sighs.
I nod solemnly. “Everyone does, right up until the first splat.”
I press one boot into the earth and extend my hands toward her, calling on the lightest spell in my storm arsenal: Rumble.
A low pulse rolls outward through earth and air. Every slime clinging to Kit quivers at once, then bursts in a rapid chain of soft, wet pops.
I follow with Prestidigitation, sweeping the stains from her tunic, breeches, boots, and fur with a flick of my fingers. The blue fades away, leaving her clothes clean and her violet tattoos glowing brightly once more.
Kit exhales and inspects her tail. “That’s a useful trick. Shame I had to be slimed before you showed it to me.”
I grin. “Only way to earn it.” My thoughts wander somewhere less instructional. “Besides, being slimed isn’t so bad.”
She shoots me a look, confused amusement drifting through the bond.
I change course before that thought has enough time to finish painting the picture.
“Second run,” I say, settling into a more instructive tone. “Listen for them. A slime’s squish sounds different from grass rustling. More wobble than whisper.”
Kit nods, keeping her eyes on the field. “Stalk with intent. Don’t rush. Commit to the strike. Got it.”
“And loot everything,” I add. “Coppers, half-dissolved boots, anything worth selling. Junk adds up.”
She smirks. “You spent a lot of time here, huh?”
“I was stained blue more days than I care to admit. Learned a lot.”
Her tail flicks once before she slips back into the meadow, quieter and sharper than before. She enters Stealth, the sound of her passage fading into the whisper of the grass.
The first slime compresses and triggers Pounce, but Kit is already moving left when it springs from the brush. Two more flatten against the earth and launch themselves at her from either side.
Kit rolls beneath them, skewers one with an Ambushing Strike, and punts the other through the grass like a sticky football. Her blades flash in a controlled Dual Wielding Strike, each movement flowing cleanly into the next.
She even scoops a copper piece from the grass without breaking stride.
“Loot secured!” she calls, pride crackling in her voice.
I shake my head. “Rookie mistake.”
Kit’s next step nearly lands on a slime hidden beneath the grass. Its body compresses beneath her boot before it triggers Pounce.
Splut!
It erupts against her thigh, and another springs onto her shoulder before she can recover. She hisses and hacks them loose, sending wobbling chunks of goo to the ground.
I chuckle from my perch on a low rock. “And that, Kit, is why we don’t celebrate until the field is clear.”
She turns a blue-streaked glare on me.
“I was going to let it slide,” I tell her, “but then you said ‘loot secured.’ Out loud.”
I send a light Rumble through the ground, bursting the remaining slimes, then follow with Prestidigitation to sweep the goo from her clothes and fur. My smirk remains firmly in place.
Kit exhales, composes herself, and raises one dagger in a sly salute. “I’ll try not to give you a reason to laugh this time.”
“The meadow isn’t done with you yet,” I warn.
She disappears into the tall grass once more, slipping into Stealth with her blades ready and her confidence restored.
By afternoon, Level 2 flashes across my HUD as Kit’s movements grow surer. By evening, Level 3 follows.
The sun sinks behind the hills, turning the blue slime scattered across the meadow silver at the edges and stretching violet shadows through the grass.
We head back toward town together while I count the handful of coppers and bits of junk she has gathered. She is still sticky, with patches of blue clinging to her arms, tail, and thighs like proud smears from her first real day as an adventurer.
“Hey,” I say, glancing over with a grin. “Fun fact before we get back.”
Kit narrows her eyes. “This is going to be weird, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
I reach over and drag one finger through a patch of slime on her arm.
She recoils. “Hey! What are you... eww!”
I lick my fingertip thoughtfully. “Still tastes like cotton candy.”
Her jaw drops. “You did not just...”
“I did. And I will again.”
Kit stares at me in equal parts horror and fascination before breaking into giggles. “You’re seriously messed up.”
I shrug. “There was a day when I was exactly where you are now. Four slimes stuck to me, exhausted, hungry, and furious. So I bit one.”
“You bit a slime?”
“Bit it hard. Got a mouthful of sugar goo and rage.”
Kit dissolves into laughter as we follow the lantern-lit road back toward town.
“And?” she gasps, wiping tears from her eyes.
I flash her a grin. “Tasted like victory.”
By the time we reach the Feisty Dwarf, our purse jingles with enough coin to cover stew, a room, and a warm bath. Kit is still blue, her fur stained and her new boots gleaming with slime, but she is a Level 3 adventurer now.
Slime Meadows becomes her second home over the next several weeks. Each dawn, she slips into the tall grass beneath a brightening sky. Blue Bubble Slimes trigger Pounce from the brush like squishy missiles, and each evening, a trail of blue footprints marks our return to town.
Level 4 takes three full days of cleaner strikes, narrow dodges, and increasingly creative profanity. Level 5 takes five more. By then, the slimes grant less XP with every kill, and each new level demands more than the one before it.
One morning, Kit wipes a strand of matted silver hair from her face and glares across the meadow. “They’re multiplying. It’s a blue conspiracy.”
I lean against a mossy fencepost. “Respawns. Welcome to the grind.”
Exhaustion shows in every line of her posture. “You could help.”
“If I start killing them, we split the XP.”
She crosses her arms. “And?”
“The system adjusts for my higher level. With me involved, we’d gain almost nothing.”
Kit blinks at me suspiciously.
“Even if I kill only one,” I add, “your XP reward for the entire engagement drops to nearly nothing.”
She stares at me. “That’s the dumbest rule I’ve ever heard.”
“Welcome to adventuring.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure you’re not just enjoying this?”
“I enjoy watching you improve,” I admit. “Improvement just happens to come with adhesive consequences.”
Level 6 takes longer still. By the time it arrives, Kit’s movements are razor-sharp. She feints, ducks, strikes, and gathers loot without being mobbed by half a dozen slimes, most of the time. She even begins collecting rare slime pods after the local taverns start paying for Bubble Slime Jelly to sweeten their desserts.
Level 7 becomes the real grind. Days blur into dawn departures, blue-streaked returns, hot baths, and exhausted sleep. Her boots keep a permanent sapphire sheen, and her tail is never completely clean.
Then, after one flawless finishing strike, Level 7 flares across my HUD. My excitement surges through the bond. Kit feels it, realizes she has reached the goal I set for her, and spins toward me in triumph. She forgets the slime puddle behind her until her boot lands squarely in the middle of it.
She disappears face-first with a wet splorch.
I cast Prestidigitation through tears of laughter. Kit drags herself upright, squeegees slime from her face, and raises one dagger toward the sky.
“Seven!” she cries, head held high. “I’m Level 7!”
That night, the Feisty Dwarf overflows with warmth and raucous laughter. The innkeeper slaps Kit on the back and jokes that she has left blue streaks on every bench in the common room. Kit doesn’t care. She dances barefoot beside the fire, silver hair flashing in the light and laughter ringing above the music.
I join her when the song slows, taking her hands in mine. She rests her forehead against mine, amber eyes shining with exhausted victory.
Level 7. The milestone we have been working toward for weeks.
Later, we retreat to our room above the common hall. Kit bathes twice, but faint blue stains still cling to her fingertips.
“Permanent now,” she whispers, holding them up for inspection. “Marked for life.”
I catch her hand and kiss the blue tips. “Badge of honor.”
She giggles and curls against me, her tail winding around my leg. The Harem Bed draws us into shared dreams, leaving the slimes, music, and tavern noise behind.
Morning arrives with sunlight filtering through the thin curtains and the scent of bread and spice drifting from the kitchen below. Kit remains tucked against me, her silver hair spread across the pillow and tiny violet lights pulsing along the flowers and vines tattooed across her skin. A few stubborn blue smears still mark her arms and tail.
“Mmm…” she murmurs in her sleep. “Waffles or pancakes?”
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “Why not both?”
One golden-flecked eye opens. She smiles and nuzzles closer. “Level Seven, Master.”
“And still defeated by a puddle.”
Kit sticks out her tongue.
My fingers brush the same stubborn silver strand from her face again. For a heartbeat, a faint thread of light follows it through my grip before fading.
Kit’s eyes settle on mine, still soft with sleep but fully awake now. My hand rests lightly against her hip, her breathing steady beneath my palm. Her tail curls more tightly around my leg as she studies me.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, teasing, though vulnerability trembles beneath the words.
“I am.”
Her fingers brush mine. “Why?”
Too many answers crowd together, all of them larger than the quiet morning deserves. I give her the simplest truth.
“Because I still can’t quite believe you’re real.”
Her smile forms slowly, surprised and luminous. She leans forward until her forehead rests against mine.
“Keep looking,” she whispers. “Just in case I disappear.”
“I hope you don’t.”
Her answer comes without hesitation. “Not a chance.”
I could reach for an ability and shape the moment with magic.
I don’t.
I lean forward and kiss her.
No charm. No borrowed heat. Just sunlight, tangled sheets, and Kit’s breath catching against my lips.
Her fingers slide up my chest as she melts against me, smiling into the kiss. Then the bond surges between us, carrying more than desire. Recognition. Trust. The fierce relief of finding somewhere we both belong.
The feeling moves through us in both directions, too bright and joyful to mistake for anything else.
When Kit opens her eyes, they shine, and the bond carries her happiness into me until I’m grinning like a fool.
“We’re more bonded now, aren’t we?” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I laugh softly. “That was definitely more than a kiss.”
Kit buries her face against my neck and holds me tighter.
“I’m so glad you bit that slime,” she whispers.
We collapse into helpless laughter.
The rest of the day passes without quests, grinding, or blue gelatin. We stay tangled together beneath the blankets, touching without urgency and enjoying the rare luxury of having nowhere else to be.
By evening, we have returned to our usual corner booth. Kit presses against my side wearing one of my tunics, her tail curled around my leg beneath the table.
The Half-Drunken Dwarven Bard glances our way and shifts into a lilting melody, somewhere between a lullaby and a celebration. Several nearby patrons smile into their drinks. I can’t prove the song is meant for us, but Kit seems certain.
She rests her head on my shoulder and threads her fingers through mine.
“I think,” she whispers beneath the music, “this is my favorite kind of XP.”
I kiss the top of her head and hold her a little closer.
I wake shortly before dawn, while the room is still gray and the horizon beyond the curtains has only begun to pale. Kit lies curled against me, breathing slow and peaceful, still wrapped in dreams.
My hand finds hers beneath the covers. For a moment, I let her sleep.
Then I remember where we’re going.
I shift closer and gently nudge her awake. “Kit.”
Her eyelids flutter open. A sleepy smile begins to form, then fades as she hears the seriousness in my voice.
“We need to talk,” I say quietly. “Today won’t be like Slime Meadows.”
She studies me, the last haze of sleep clearing from her amber eyes.
“The creatures you’re hunting today can think. They can hide, carry blades, and understand exactly what those knives are for.” I tighten my fingers around hers. “You’ve come a long way, and I’ll be beside you the entire time. But once we leave town, you’ll need to stay alert. I need you to trust your instincts, trust your training, and trust me.”
Kit holds my gaze. No teasing now. No playful deflection. She squeezes my hand once.
“Tell me what I need to know.”
Outside, Marrowpine slowly wakes. A cart rattles across the cobbles. Shutters open. Somewhere below, the innkeeper stirs the morning fire.
But the warmth of the room already feels farther away as I consider what waits beyond the gates.
Slimes Pounce.
Kobolds carry knives.