The walk from the amphitheater felt different with Regulus' weight on his shoulder. They left the polished stone terraces behind, passing the pale granite homes of the city center where wealthier families lived.
Thalandir opened into vast expanses. The night was dark and vast. Stars twinkled in the twilight, and he smiled with delight. It wasn't just another night. It was his first night with a legendary tame on his shoulder.
He followed the main street as it moved away from the crowd, turning onto hard-packed dirt. His home stood in a quiet clearing where a stream bubbled over smooth rocks; the sound provided a constant, melodic backdrop to the rural silence. It was the peace he always craved after a day in the city.
A sturdy, old blacksmith's forge, constructed with wood and stone, smelling of aged coal, the ground, and cool metal. Though the forge was silent now, its anvil sat like a sleeping beast in the shadows of the porch. The structure remained a wall of safety for the small family.
Thorne stood by the porch, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He was a mountain of a man; his broad shoulders stretched the seams of a sweat-stained tunic. A thick white beard covered his jaw, and he pulled long, whitish-blond hair back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. Would he be so impressive one day? The thought made Crispin smile.
His eyes widened as he saw Crispin approach. He dropped the cloth. Crispin could not contain his grin, his chest swelling with the news carried from the amphitheater.
"Dad! Look!" Crispin gestured to the blue mass on his shoulder. "His name is Regulus. The Elder validated the bond. He's a legendary emperor slime."
Thorne stepped forward, his weathered face breaking into a smile. He reached out a calloused hand and drifted it toward the creature. Regulus responded by bouncing; his translucent body pulsed with an azure light that mirrored the crystals he had consumed earlier.
The man let out a low, hearty chuckle. "An Emperor, eh? He's got spirit, I'll give him that." He sighed, a touch of longing in his voice as he looked at the bond. "I always wished I'd been born with the spark for taming. I would have traded every scouting mission I ever ran just to have a bond like that."
The heavy wooden door creaked open. Elara stepped out. She was a raven-haired beauty with sharp green eyes that seemed to cut through the twilight. Her expression was serious, her lips set in a thin, demanding line. She did not look at her son's face; her gaze went straight to his shoulder. Her lip curled in a sharp, unmistakable sneer.
"A slime?" She stepped onto the porch, her voice rising with a frantic edge that cut through the peaceful afternoon. "What will the nobles think? My son, a tamer of the village, bonded to a puddle of scavenger jelly?"
Regulus rippled beneath Crispin's touch. The slime's vibrant blue surface flushed a deep, shameful red. It tried to flatten itself against the boy's tunic. The sight of the creature shrinking away—the same creature that had flexed its bicep with such pride in the woods—made Crispin's blood boil. He scooped the slime up, tucking the cooling mass against his chest.
"The Elder approved of him!" Crispin snapped, his jaw set tight. "He told the entire amphitheater that Regulus is a legendary emperor. He's worth more than any common drake."
Thorne's expression shifted. His gaze turned flat and iron hard as he looked at his wife. He stepped between them, his large frame shielding Crispin from Elara's glare.
"Go inside and eat, Crispin. Your mother and I need a word. I'll handle this."
The kitchen smelled of woodsmoke and the savory aroma of a long-simmered meal. On the stove sat a pot of roasted cave-tatoes—thick, starchy roots that grew deep in the nutrient-rich soil of the lower caverns. A platter held seasoned rock-pheasant, its skin crisped over an open flame and rubbed with salt-crystals and bitter-herbs.
Crispin sat at the heavy wooden table. He placed a small dish of sweet nectar-moss in front of Regulus. He ate, his color returning to a calm blue as he absorbed the nutrients.
Crispin pulled a tender piece of rock-pheasant from his plate. "Here, Regy. Want a bite?"
Regulus' eyes widened. A small, translucent arm grew for him to take the meat. He pulled the pheasant into his jelly; his core pulsed with a sudden, warm gold light as he assimilated the protein. He let out a soft, humming vibration of approval. Outside, the sounds of his parents' muffled fussing drifted in from the porch.
"He could have had a dragon!" Elara's voice was high and sharp. "The Elder released three of them! Instead, he brings home a pet that belongs in a child's jar. We will be the laughingstock of the next market day."
"He brought home a legendary," Thorne's voice was a low, rumbling growl of defense. "The boy did what few in this village ever will. He found a sovereign. If you can't see the pride in that, you aren't looking at our son. I'm proud of him. You should be too!"
"I am looking at his future!"
Crispin focused on his plate; the savory, earthy taste of the cave-tatoes grounded him. He was finishing his meal when Thorne walked back in. The man looked tired, the lines on his face deeper in the kitchen's amber light, but he managed a small, supportive smile as he placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder.
Thorne turned and walked to a heavy floorboard near the hearth, prying it up with a grunt of effort. He reached into the dark space and pulled out a long, rectangular chest made of dark, oil-rubbed wood. Iron bands reinforced the corners of the box. He set the heavy object on the table; the weight causing the wood to groan.
"This is part of our Aldyr heritage," Thorne said, his voice dropping to a low, reverent tone. "My grandfather passed this down to me. None in our line have ever been able to use these items."
Crispin reached out and lifted the lid. A sudden chill emanated from the interior. He found a cold stone resting on a bed of velvet. It was circular with precise hexagonal cuts across its surface that seemed to catch and hold the dim kitchen light. Beside it lay a metal rod. The shaft appeared silver and was etched with faint runes. Its tips were golden and shaped like mace heads.
Tucked into the corner was a bundle of Shae'Vaelryn clothing. The fabric was once a brilliant cerulean, but it was now old and tattered. Threads of silver hung loose from the sleeves, and the material felt as though it might fall apart if handled.
Crispin looked at the stone, then at the rod, and at his father. The air in the kitchen felt charged, as if the room itself recognized the artifacts.