Kael had never really seen the outer gates from the outside. Not like this. Sure, there had been garden strolls and chaperoned rides with his brothers, but those were polite, curated outings—never freedom.

  This was different. There was dirt under his feet, wind in his hair, no gold trim in sight, and no one telling him where to stand or when to smile.

  It had started with a craving—not for food, surprisingly, but for space. Open sky. Air that didn’t smell like incense and polished floors. Somewhere he could breathe without etiquette lessons looming. Somewhere he didn’t have to wear a single thing embroidered with a family crest.

  So he packed like any reasonable runaway prince might: three cinnamon rolls, a canteen of water, two bandages, a dagger he wasn’t technically allowed to have, and one very stubborn attitude. All of it stuffed into the pockets of his favorite hoodie, which was absolutely not regulation wear for royal outings.

  he whispered, crouching low in the stable shadows.

  

  

  

  

  Kael peeked around the stable gate, waited for the patrolling guard to yawn and turn, then slipped through the side path and vaulted over the drainage wall. Grass stained his knees. He grinned. Freedom.

  The Emberhollow woods were warmer than he expected—sunlight filtered gently through fat-leafed trees, dappling the ground in soft gold. The air smelled like pine and wildflowers, with a faint electric tingle that hinted at magic just out of sight.

  He walked slowly, letting it all sink in. Birds chirped overhead. Squirrels darted between roots. A pair of blue-banded butterflies circled his head like curious scouts.

  he murmured.

  

  

  Kael stopped mid-step.

  

  

  

  He sighed, then laughed quietly to himself.

  He climbed for the hell of it. The tree wasn’t tall, but it was enough to get above the underbrush and feel like he’d earned the view. The bark was rough, the leaves thick and fragrant, and the wind tugged at his hoodie just enough to make him feel alive.

  From the highest branch, he could just make out the distant spires of Emberhollow—tall, orderly, and far behind him. He settled into the crook of the trunk, pulled out a cinnamon roll, and took a bite. It tasted like freedom and sugar—exactly what he needed.

  An hour deeper into the woods, Kael crouched by a stream to splash water on his face—and that’s when he saw it.

  A faint shimmer near a fern, wobbling gently in the dappled light. Pale blue. Semi-transparent. No eyes, no mouth—just a jelly-like blob pulsing faintly with mana.

  He tilted his head. It wobbled in return.

  “Orion,” he whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”

  

  

  The slime gave a soft wobble, its glow dim but steady. It didn’t attack. It didn’t flee. It just sat there, pulsing quietly, like it wasn’t sure if it belonged.

  Kael inched closer, crouching by the fern. “Hey there, buddy,” he said softly. “You look… kinda gooey. You good?”

  The slime gave another slow shiver but didn’t move away. If anything, it leaned slightly toward him.

  “Looks like it’s hurt. Or sick.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a bandage, then hesitated.

  

  

  “Huh. Okay then.”

  He uncapped his canteen and gently poured a little water over the slime’s surface. The glow flickered. Then he laid a bandage on top like a blanket, unsure if it was doing anything but feeling oddly proud of the gesture.

  The slime quivered, then promptly absorbed the bandage with a soft glorp.

  “Okay… not what I meant to do.”

  He pulled out the second one, hesitated, and placed it more carefully this time—draping it over the slime’s surface like a fragile offering. The slime wobbled again, then crept forward and nudged his boot.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  It didn’t move after that. Just stayed pressed gently against his foot like a tired pet refusing to leave.

  Kael stared at it, then at the woods, then back at the slime.

  

  

  The slime pulsed with a faint, eager glow, like it already knew it belonged with him. Kael crouched, eyeing the little blob as it gently bumped his foot again.

  “Alright,” he said quietly. “I guess you’re mine now.”

  He grinned. “If I don’t name you Rimuru, my old self would never forgive me.”

  A soft chime echoed in his mind.

  

  

  Kael exhaled, a strange warmth settling in his chest. “Let’s see what kind of mess we get into, buddy.”

  A pulse of light surged from his palm the moment the name settled, threading through the air like a ribbon of magic snapped taut. Rimuru shivered, then began to glow—not faintly this time, but with an intensity that pushed back the shadows beneath the trees.

  Its body rippled and stretched, the once-wobbly form growing smoother, denser, more defined. It lifted slightly off the ground, hovering now, surrounded by a faint aura of mana.

  Kael took a step back.

  

  Kael blinked. He rubbed his forehead.

  

  Kael gave a small, incredulous laugh.

  

  Kael squinted at the glowing slime.

  He hesitated, then cracked a grin.

  

  Kael blinked.

  

  Kael exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

  

  Kael smirked.

  

  He shook his head, chuckling.

  The light around Rimuru swirled faster, cycling through shades of blue and white until it flared in one final burst and dimmed.

  Where there had once been a squishy blob sat something more refined—a compact sphere of semi-solid mana, still gooey, still undeniably a slime, but hovering confidently now, casting soft light across the forest floor.

  

  

  Kael stared like he’d just been handed a baby dragon. “You evolved,” he whispered, awe and delight tangled in his voice. “You’re a floating orb of magical jelly and you evolved.”

  Rimuru bobbed gently in the air, as if pleased with itself.

  Kael clutched his hoodie strings. “This is officially the best day of my second life.”

  Rimuru pulsed again—sharper this time, like a ripple through the bond tethered between them. A wave of energy radiated outward, brushing against Kael’s thoughts with something curious… and hungry. Then a strange shift settled in his mind.

  

  

  Kael blinked.

  

  

  Kael stared.

  

  

  He looked down at his new companion. “So not only are you adorable, you’re overpowered. I love this for us.”

  He reached out and gently scooped Rimuru into his arms, cradling the slime like it was both sacred artifact and squishy mascot. “Welcome to the squad, Rimuru,” he said, grinning. “We’re gonna break the world together.”

  Rimuru let out a soft wobble, then floated up and settled on Kael’s shoulder like it had always belonged there. The connection between them pulsed once—warm, steady, unshakable.

  The moment didn’t last.

  Kael froze as distant voices echoed through the trees—low, rough, and definitely not human.

  He dropped into a crouch behind a thick patch of brush, one hand on the hilt of his dagger, the other steadying Rimuru as it dimmed its glow.

  The words grew clearer. Not soldiers. Not nobles. Goblins.

  He edged closer, careful not to snap a twig. Just ahead, five goblins moved through the underbrush in a loose patrol—green-skinned, sharp-eyed, dressed in mismatched leather. Each carried a spear or a rusted blade. They looked tired. Hungry. But focused.

  One of them tripped over a root and fell face-first into a bush.

  “Flarkin stick-brush!” the fallen goblin cursed, voice surprisingly high-pitched.

  Kael had to press a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing. That had to be goblin swearing.

  Another goblin helped him up with a muttered grumble. “Quiet, Gobrin. If the tan-stalkers hear us again, we’re done for.”

  Kael’s amusement faded.

  He stayed completely still, listening.

  “They killed three more of ours last moon,” one of the goblins said. “Always watching. Always hunting.”

  The others fell quiet after that.

  Kael’s grip on his dagger tightened. This wasn’t just chatter. Whatever those tan-stalkers were, they’d left more than a rumor behind. And they weren’t far.

  Kael didn’t follow. He crouched in the brush until the goblins’ voices faded into the trees, then waited longer still—just in case.

  Rimuru pressed close to his neck, humming faintly with unease.

  When the forest finally went quiet again, Kael stood slowly, brushing dirt from his knees. Whatever else was in these woods, it wasn’t the kind of thing you chased on your first real adventure.

  The walk back felt longer. He moved with quiet steps and sharper eyes, every rustle in the leaves a little too loud, every shadow a little too still.

  Rimuru floated beside him like a loyal balloon, occasionally bobbing in time with Kael’s footsteps before hopping back onto his shoulder like it was reclaiming its throne.

  “You’re really committing to the mascot bit,” Kael muttered.

  Rimuru wobbled in agreement.

  Kael said as the canopy began to break and the treeline thinned into light.

  

  

  He adjusted Rimuru on his shoulder.

  A pause followed—longer than usual.

  

  

  Kael didn’t like that answer. Not one bit.

  “Cool,” he muttered. “Definitely coming back out here tomorrow.”

  He slipped back through the stable door just before sunset, hoodie torn at the sleeve, dirt on his face, and a floating slime perched proudly on his shoulder like it owned the place.

  Rimuru pulsed with quiet satisfaction.

  Kael looked like hell. He grinned anyway.

  First solo mission? Technically a success.

  Tomorrow, he’d go deeper.