The descent from the lower tiers to the waterline felt different today. The air was thick with the smell of brine and decaying kelp, but Crispin didn't mind the smell. He felt the supple leather of his new boots gripping the timber of the wharf, and the weight of the pauldron on his shoulder was a grounding presence.
Kaelen leaned against a massive assembly of incoming cargo. His mountain jaguar lay sprawled across a stack of sun-bleached crab pots, its tail twitching as it watched the gulls. The big man turned, his eyes sweeping over Crispin's black gambeson and the intricate elvish threading. He pursed his lips, his gaze lingering on the refined cut of the purple shirt beneath.
A low, booming laugh erupted from Kaelen's chest. "Boy, you cleaned up to be prettier than my daughter." He stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding on the wood. "I've sent a message to the elder. I know you're supposed to go back today and head to your next assignment, but I'm going to keep ya an extra day. Ya okay with that?"
Crispin looked out at the shimmering expanse of the Hollow Earth's sea. For the first time, he didn't feel like a guest or a ghost. "Yeah," he said, his voice steady. "I like it here."
Nearby, the chained drake let out a sudden, aggressive hiss. It lunged to the end of its heavy iron tether, its nostrils flaring as it caught the smell of the creature on Crispin's shoulder. Regulus didn't shrink. He unfurled his translucent wings, the glass-like membranes vibrating with a high-pitched hum. He hissed back, a sound like steam escaping from a pressurized valve.
Kaelen's eyebrows shot up. "I wondered what you had in that satchel yesterday. It's been ages since I saw an emperor slime, boy. Yours has plenty of spirit. May I examine him?" He jiggled the satchel's strap.
Crispin looked at the pauldron. "Regy? Is it okay?"
The slime-wyvern tilted his head, his golden eyes scanning Kaelen's face. After a moment, he rippled and flowed from the leather perch into Kaelen's calloused, massive palms.
"He needs more weight, but he is as healthy as I've seen," Kaelen muttered, lifting Regulus to eye level. The wyvern's shimmering core pulsed with a soft light. "What is he? One kilogram?"
Crispin nodded. "Just about."
"Okay, today is about getting more mass for this little treasure." Kaelen handed a large, reinforced burlap sack to Crispin. "On the menu today is periwinkles. The Lords up in the summits are preparing for a feast, and they love em. They're worth their weight in silver if they're fresh."
Kaelen reached into his belt and pulled out a small, red-capped cylinder. "The beach can be dangerous. Those tide pools can hide giant crabs and sharks. If you run into anything you two can't handle, use the flare. If you spot anything you can, then handle it. We can examine it together afterward and see what we can get for it."
Kaelen paused, looking at Regulus as the creature crawled back onto Crispin's shoulder. "Remember, the goal is mass for your tame. This will be critical for…" He trailed off, studying the wyvern's form. "Is that an 'it,' or a 'him'?"
Crispin shrugged. "Slimes don't have such things. He chose his name, so I go by that."
Kaelen nodded, a spark of respect in his eyes. "Fair enough. Get to the tide pools."
The trek to the southern beach was a journey through a world of fine white sand and towering pillars of kelp. Crispin moved with the silver rod in hand, the metal glinting in the overhead light. He reached the tide pools—vast mirrors of trapped seawater teeming with life.
He spent hours bent over, his fingers scouring the edges of the rocks for the small, dark-shelled periwinkles. Regulus helped; his fluid body sliding into crevices too narrow for human hands. The bag grew heavy, the clinking of shells a rhythmic reminder of their progress.
The water in the largest pool surged.
A Sunder-Claw Crab erupted from the silt, followed by a second, smaller mate. They were the size of tavern tables, their shells a mottled mess of deep greens and rusted reds, covered in jagged spikes.
Crispin lunged back, his boots slipping on the slick basalt. "Regy, flank!"
The slime-wyvern took flight, its translucent body invisible against the shimmering water. The first crab swung its massive claw, shattering a standing rock where Crispin had been a second before. Shards of stone whistled past his ear.
Crispin drove the silver rod into the first creature's underside, feeling the vibration travel up his arms. The second crab pivoted with surprising speed, catching the end of the silver rod in its smaller claw as it tried to wrench the weapon away.
"Solar Flare!" Crispin roared.
A blinding burst of white light erupted from Regulus as he hovered above the crabs. They recoiled, their sensory stalks retracting in agony. Crispin seized the moment, twisting the rod free and delivering a crushing blow to the joint of the primary claw of the nearest beast. Chitin cracked, and blue ichor sprayed the sand.
Regulus dived, his body thinning into a needle-like point. He drove himself into the crack in the shell, expanding with violent force. The crab gave one final, shuddering heave and went limp.
Regulus flowed over the carcass, but the second crab was recovering. It lunged, its serrated pincer missing Crispin's thigh. He swung the silver rod in a desperate arc, driving the beast back toward the deeper water. Together, they wore the second beast down, Regulus lashing at its eyes until Crispin could deliver the finishing strike.
Crispin leaned on the rod, gasping for air. "Good job, Regy. Eat. Get that mass."
Regulus flowed over the remains. The water at the edge of the pool didn't ripple; it parted.
A coastal serpent—a juvenile leviathan two meters long—slid onto the sand. Its body was a muscular coil of midnight-blue scales, and it possessed two powerful pectoral fins that it used like primitive arms to haul itself forward. Its head was broad and flat, filled with rows of needle-like teeth.
It didn't hiss. It roared.
The serpent struck with terrifying velocity. Crispin just got the silver rod up in time. The creature's weight slammed into him, throwing him onto his back in the shallow water. The serpent was on him in an instant, its pectoral fins pinning his shoulders while its head lunged for his throat.
Crispin jammed the length of the silver rod into the serpent's open maw, the metal groaning under the pressure of the beast's jaws.
"Regulus! Help!"
Regulus abandoned the crabs, but he was small compared to the leviathan. He lashed out with his tail, striking the serpent's lidless eyes, but the creature's scales were thick. The serpent thrashed, its powerful tail whipping around and catching Crispin in the ribs. The air left his lungs in a sharp wheeze.
Desperation took hold. Crispin rolled, using the serpent's own momentum to throw it off. He scrambled to his feet, his vision blurring. The serpent reared up, its fins digging deep furrows into the sand as it prepared for another lunging strike.
Regulus surged. He flowed underneath the serpent, expanding into a wide, frictionless sheet. When the beast lunged, its fins found no purchase. It slid past Crispin, exposing its pale, softer underbelly.
"Now!"
Crispin didn't swing. He thrust. He drove the silver rod into the serpent's belly with every ounce of his muscle. The metal pierced the hide, and the beast shrieked in primal agony.
The serpent coiled around the rod, its muscular body constricting with enough force to snap a man's spine. Crispin refused to let go. He felt the heat of the Heart of Perseus radiating from Regulus, and a matching warmth throbbed in his own palms where they gripped the silver.
Regulus flowed up the rod, his translucent body glowing a fierce, pulsing violet. He merged his essence with the weapon, his filaments sinking into the cool metal.
Crispin roared. He hauled the serpent up and slammed it into the basalt rocks. Over and over, he brought the silver rod down. His mind whirled with confusion and pain. He slammed the staff down again, and past mockery and laughter roared to his mind. What was he trying to kill?
"Die!" Crispin screamed. The word tore from his throat, raw and jagged.
He brought the weapon down again. "Die! Die! Die!"
He wasn't seeing the serpent anymore. The sneer of the Lord Captain and the cold, disappointed eyes of the nobles were visible to him. Shame surged through him, and he grunted in frustration.
"I am not false-born! I am Tamer Crispin Thornborn, descendant of the ancient blood—I am an Aldyr!"
With a final, desperate roar, he swung the silver rod with such force that he shattered the serpent's head into a ruin of bone and scales.
The silence was deafening.
Crispin's fingers loosened. The silver rod clattered onto the wet basalt. His knees buckled. He collapsed into the shallow surf, curling into a ball on the sand. Ragged, ugly sobs racked his chest. He cried for the boy whom others had mocked. He cried because he was terrified of the rage he had just felt.
A weight settled against his cheek.
Regulus slid against Crispin's skin. The slime didn't hiss. He expanded, a soft, translucent veil that wrapped around Crispin's head in a silent embrace.
Crispin reached up, his hand shaking and stained with blue ichor, and buried his fingers into Regulus's soft form. "I'm sorry," Crispin choked out.
On the silver rod, a transformation began. The silver compressed and thinned, becoming a lean, predatory shaft of bleached white bone. The needle teeth of the serpent rose from the carcass and knit themselves around the metal, forming a lethal, sunburst crown around a central spike of sharpened bone.
[Artifact Upgraded: Leviathan's Spine (Staff of Perseus–Stage 1)] Form: Coastal Spear
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
LEVEL UP: 2 → 3 (Crispin)
Level: 3 [10→180 / 450]
Attributes:
Strength 10→11 | Dexterity 11→12 | Endurance 11→12
Perception 13→14 | Will 14→15
LEVEL UP: 3 → 5 (Regulus)
[25→10 / 650]
MAS: 1 KG→ 4 KG | COH: 45 → 80 | ASC: 8 → 17
PRC: 34 → 43 | SPL: 2 → 4 | SPD: 2 → 12
[Blueprint Upgrade: Regulus can now combine blueprints to create new forms]
Crispin ignored the announcements. He just held onto the only thing in the world that didn't expect him to be anything other than what he was.