Chapter 68

  Two weeks after their return from the Dungeon, life had settled into a comfortable rhythm.

  Arin spent his mornings training with the party, his afternoons helping with minor contracts around Vyrdan, and his evenings in the common room of the Wandering Drake, surrounded by the noise and warmth that had become familiar. The Dungeon would reopen in another week, and they were preparing for their second run, this time with better equipment and hard-won experience.

  The morning started like any other. Kelsa had them running drills in the training yard behind the guild hall, working on coordination exercises that would help them function as a unit in the Dungeon's unpredictable environments. Torvin practiced defensive formations with his new shield while Essa worked on channeling healing magic under pressure.

  Arin drilled his Stone Skin activation, triggering it again and again until the response became instinctive. By midmorning, he could harden his form within a heartbeat of sensing danger, the transformation as natural as flowing or absorbing.

  "Good," Kelsa said, watching him deflect a practice blow from Torvin. "That's the kind of reaction time that keeps people alive."

  They broke for lunch, planning to spend the afternoon reviewing maps of the Dungeon's third floor. The volcanic environment had nearly broken them last time. This time, they would be prepared.

  That was when the Dungeon portal flared crimson.

  ***

  Emergency lights started going off from the magical crystals. The distinctive crimson pulse meant a party had returned in crisis.

  Arin was in the guild hall's common area when it happened, waiting for the others to finish gathering their things. He joined along with the other adventurers who were present, moving quickly toward the building where the gate to the Dungeon of Challenges was. Upon arriving, Arin and others saw the two figures, both of them wounded, one barely able to stand emerge from the gateway.

  They're gold rank adventurers based on the tokens on their chests.

  He recognized one of them, a swordsman named Varen who led a five-person party. They'd entered the Dungeon a few days after Arin's group had emerged, exchanging professional nods in passing, the acknowledgment of peers engaged in similar work.

  Five had gone in, but only two came out.

  Guild staff rushed forward to help, and healers were called. The common area fell into hushed murmurs as everyone tried to piece together what had happened. Arin moved closer, not to intrude but to understand. Death in the Dungeon wasn't uncommon, but a Gold rank party losing three members was significant.

  He caught fragments of conversation as Varen was helped to a bench.

  "...fifth floor... didn't expect..."

  "...came out of nowhere... so many of them..."

  "...slimes... the whole floor was infested with slimes..."

  The word hit Arin like a physical blow. He went still, his form rippling slightly before he controlled himself.

  "Dozens of them," Varen was saying, his voice raw with grief and exhaustion. "Different types. Acid slimes, stone slimes, some kind of shadow variant we'd never seen before. They coordinated. Hunted us like wolves hunting deer." His hands were shaking. "Mira tried to hold them off while we retreated. They dissolved her armor while she was still wearing it. And Tomas... Bren..."

  He couldn't finish. The other survivor, a woman whose name Arin didn't know, was weeping silently.

  Arin felt eyes on him. First one pair, then another. People in the crowd were looking his way, their expressions shifting from shock at the news to something harder as they connected the dots.

  Slimes. In the Dungeon. Killing Gold rank adventurers.

  And here stood a slime in the guild hall.

  Arin quietly withdrew, his form moving toward the exit with as little attention as he could manage. The whispers followed him anyway.

  ***

  The change didn't happen all at once. It crept in like cold seeping under a door.

  The day after the survivors emerged, Arin noticed that the merchant who had waved him over just last week now found reasons to be busy when he approached. Conversations stopped when he entered the guild hall. A shopkeeper who had been happy to sell the party supplies discovered he was suddenly "out of stock" of everything they needed.

  "It's just shock," Essa said when they gathered at the inn that evening. "People are grieving. They'll remember who you are once the initial reaction passes."

  But it didn't pass. It grew.

  By the third day, Arin heard the stories being told. How the slimes on the fifth floor had been "organized," "intelligent," "hunting with purpose." How they'd specifically targeted the party's healer first, knowing she was the key to the group's survival. How they'd used tactics that no mindless monster should have been capable of.

  "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" someone muttered loud enough for Arin to hear as he passed. "Intelligent slimes. Ones that can think and plan. Wonder where those came from."

  The implication was absurd. Arin had nothing to do with the Dungeon's monsters. He'd been fighting them alongside his party just weeks ago. But grief didn't care about logic, and fear needed a target.

  On the fourth day, the Gold rank woman who had praised him at the celebration walked past without acknowledgment. Her eyes found him, then looked away as if he weren't there.

  On the fifth day, someone spat on the ground after Arin entered the guild hall.

  On the sixth day, Marcus, the innkeeper who had smiled at their return and offered free drinks, asked if they might consider finding other lodging.

  "It's nothing personal," he said, unable to meet Arin's eyes. "But some of my regulars... they've lost friends. They don't feel comfortable. You understand."

  Arin understood perfectly. That was what made it hurt.

  ***

  "This is ridiculous," Torvin snarled, pacing their room at the Drake. Kelsa had convinced Marcus to let them stay, at least for a few more days, but his reluctance had been obvious. "You're not responsible for what happened to that party. You weren't even in the Dungeon!"

  "It doesn't matter," Kelsa said quietly. She stood by the window, watching the street below. "People are scared. Three Gold ranks dead, killed by slimes that acted like... well, like Arin does. Smart. Tactical. That's terrifying to them."

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  "So they blame him? He's the one slime in this town who's proven he's on our side!"

  "Fear doesn't care about proof," Essa said softly. "It just needs a target."

  Arin had been silent throughout, watching his friends defend him with an ache in his core that had nothing to do with physical damage. He spoke slowly.

  "They are not wrong to be afraid."

  "What?" Torvin stopped pacing.

  "Slimes are dangerous. I am dangerous." He paused. "They lost friends to creatures like me."

  "You're nothing like those things," Essa said firmly.

  "They do not know that. They only see what I am, not who."

  The room fell silent. Outside, Arin could hear the normal sounds of Vyrdan going about its business, a city that had been becoming home. A home that no longer wanted him.

  "We could wait it out," Kelsa said, though her voice lacked conviction. "Eventually, the grief will fade. People will remember what you've done for this city."

  "Will they?"

  No one had an answer.

  ***

  The summons came on the seventh day.

  Guild Master Harren's office was smaller than his position might have suggested, crammed with ledgers and maps and the accumulated paperwork of running Vyrdan's adventuring operations. The man himself matched the space, compact and practical, with the callused hands of someone who had swung a sword before he'd ever held a pen.

  "Close the door," he said as the party filed in. His expression was tired, the look of a man who had spent a week dealing with problems that had no good solutions.

  "I'll be direct," Harren continued once they were settled. "I've received seventeen formal complaints about your party's slime member in the past six days. Three of them are from families of the adventurers who died in the Dungeon. Two are from guild members who've refused to take contracts if there's any chance of working alongside you. The rest are from merchants and citizens who've declared they won't do business with any party that includes a slime."

  "Those complaints are baseless," Kelsa said, keeping her voice steady. "Arin had nothing to do with what happened on the fifth floor."

  "I know that. You know that. But grief and fear don't care about facts." Harren leaned back in his chair. "I've been in this business for thirty years. I've seen what happens when a city turns against someone. It doesn't matter if they're right or wrong. What matters is that every day Arin stays here, the tension gets worse. People are talking about taking matters into their own hands."

  "Let them try," Torvin growled.

  "And then what? Your party kills some grieving family member who comes at Arin with a torch? You think that makes things better?" Harren shook his head. "I'm not throwing you out. The guild doesn't work that way, and your record speaks for itself. Two floors of the Dungeon of Challenges on your first run. That counts for something. That counts for a lot."

  "But?" Kelsa asked.

  "But I'm strongly suggesting you consider relocating. Temporarily, at least, until this blows over." Harren pulled a map from his desk and spread it out. "Valdris is a good option. It's a bridge city built over the Shearwind Gorge, a major trade hub where three kingdoms meet. Neutral ground, diverse population. They've got kobold merchants, harpy couriers, even a troll working security at one of the guild-affiliated inns. People there judge adventurers by their results, not their species."

  He tapped a location on the map. "The guild master there is a woman named Corrine. She's known for being fair-minded. And the city sits above the Echo Warrens, old mining tunnels that have become a major source of adventuring contracts. Creatures down there hunt by sound, which means parties with unusual sensory abilities tend to do well."

  "You're asking us to run," Essa said quietly.

  "I'm asking you to survive." Harren's voice was heavy. "I've seen what happens when situations like this escalate. It never ends well for anyone. You can stay and fight a battle that has no winner, or you can leave and build something somewhere else. Somewhere people will judge you for what you do, not what you look like."

  He met each of their eyes in turn, saving Arin for last.

  "For what it's worth, I think what's happening is wrong. You've done good work for this city. But I can't protect you from a community that's decided to be afraid. No one can."

  ***

  They talked late into the night, weighing options that all felt like different flavors of defeat.

  Stay and fight. Stay and wait, or leave.

  "I won't lie," Kelsa said finally. "Part of me wants to stay just to prove we can. To show them they can't drive us out with whispers and cold shoulders." She paused. "But Harren's right. If someone gets hurt, if we have to defend ourselves against civilians, we become the villains they already think we are."

  "So we leave," Torvin said bitterly. "We tuck our tails and run because some idiots can't tell the difference between a monster and a person."

  "It's not running," Essa said gently. "It's choosing a different battlefield. One we can actually win."

  Arin had been quiet, letting his friends debate. Now he spoke carefully.

  "I do not want to be the reason you lose your home."

  "Vyrdan isn't our home," Kelsa said immediately. "It's just a place we've been staying. Home is this party. Home is the four of us, together."

  "She's right," Torvin added, his anger fading into something softer. "I meant what I said last week. You're family. And family doesn't abandon family because strangers are being stupid."

  "We go to Valdris," Essa decided. "We start fresh. And we prove ourselves all over again if we have to."

  "Together?"

  "Together," they answered as one.

  ***

  They left three days later, their affairs settled and their packs loaded.

  House Carren had been understanding when Kelsa explained the situation. Lady Sera had even offered to intervene, using her family's influence to quell the unrest. Kelsa had declined.

  "We appreciate the offer," she'd said, "but forcing people to accept us doesn't change how they feel. It just makes them hide it better. We'd rather earn acceptance somewhere new than demand it somewhere old."

  The sponsorship would continue, Lady Sera had assured them. House Carren's interests extended to Valdris, and a successful party was a successful party regardless of which city they operated from.

  Arin stood at the edge of the city as dawn broke over Vyrdan's walls, watching the first light catch the rooftops he had come to know over the past months. The guild hall where he'd grown as an adventurer. The market square where he'd learned to navigate crowds without causing panic. The Wandering Drake, where just two weeks ago he'd sat with his party and talked about family.

  Two weeks. That was all it had taken for everything to change.

  "Ready?" Kelsa asked, coming to stand beside him.

  "No," he admitted. "But I will be."

  "Valdris is a week's travel," Kelsa said. "Longer if we take contracts along the way. We're not in a rush."

  Torvin and Essa joined them, their packs shouldered and their expressions set with determination.

  "Let's go make a new home," Torvin said.

  They walked away from Vyrdan without looking back, four adventurers bound by something stronger than geography or circumstance. The road stretched before them, winding toward a horizon full of uncertainty and possibility in equal measure.

  Behind them, the city grew smaller with every step. Ahead of them, Valdris waited.

  A new start. A new chance to prove that a slime could be more than a monster.

  Arin held that hope close as he traveled, carrying it like a small flame against the darkness of doubt.

  It would have to be enough.

  ?