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The tunnels opened suddenly into a cavern so vast Oliver nearly forgot to breathe.
The Gemstone Valley stretched endlessly beneath the volcanic crust: ridges of ruby, sapphire, and emerald pulsing faintly with their own inner light. Each crystal vein throbbed like a heartbeat, casting colors across the cavern walls until the entire space shimmered like a rainbow cathedral. The air hummed with energy—raw Vita infused in the minerals themselves.
Sorrel's whiskers twitched. "This place… it's alive."
Rosemary nodded, her expression unusually serious. "The valley is one of the Nether's oldest anomalies. Every thousand years, when Avernal 'updates,' the gemstones shift. They hold memories of flame and water, chaos and life. It's why the slime queen settled here."
Oliver adjusted his hoodie, feeling goosebumps crawl his arms. "A slime queen… I was expecting more like, you know, a giant gelatin blob. Not royalty with a palace."
"Don't underestimate her." Rosemary's tone was sharp. "She is a ruler. One who commands respect even from nobles."
At the end of the valley, a structure rose: a palace carved entirely from amber quartz. Its walls shimmered with golden light, glowing as if molten from within. Wide steps led up to a pair of open doors, and from inside spilled warm illumination and the faint hum of voices.
Two guards flanked the entrance—but they were not the usual brutish warriors Oliver imagined. They were slimes, their forms vaguely humanoid, with translucent golden bodies that rippled gently like liquid sunlight. They wore no armor, only faint etchings of runic symbols across their bodies, glowing softly. Their expressions were calm, almost serene.
As the group approached, the guards inclined their heads. "The queen is expecting you."
Oliver blinked. "They're… polite?"
Sorrel nudged him with a paw. "Not all slime races are mindless blobs, human. You really should stop underestimating things."
The four of them entered.
Inside was breathtaking. The throne room stretched long and wide, its ceiling a dome of amber crystal shot through with veins of diamond. Curtains of molten glass flowed down the walls like frozen waterfalls, refracting golden light across the chamber. Slime attendants moved with grace, their fluid forms shifting between humanoid and amorphous at will. Some carried trays of glittering fruit, others sang in tones like ringing chimes.
And at the far end, upon a throne of living quartz, sat the Slime Queen.
She was nothing like Oliver expected.
Her form was humanoid, tall and elegant, with curves that glowed faintly under her translucent skin of golden-yellow. Her hair, if it could be called that, flowed like molten honey down her back, shifting and rippling as if alive. Her face bore sharp, graceful features, her eyes twin amber jewels glowing warmly. She wore a gown spun of crystallized slime silk, delicate and shimmering, hugging her body as though grown from her essence.
When she moved, it was with the poise of someone used to ruling—fluid and smooth, her every gesture echoing with quiet command.
"Welcome, travelers," the Slime Queen said, her voice resonant, melodic, carrying a faint echo that vibrated through the gemstone walls. "I am Queen Lysandra of the Gelatinous Court."
Oliver's jaw nearly dropped. She was… well, beautiful. Way too beautiful for what his brain still labeled a "slime."
He caught himself staring until Sorrel smacked his leg with a paw. "Mouth closed, Oliver. You look like a tourist."
Rosemary stepped forward, bowing with practiced elegance. "Your Majesty, I present Oliver of the human realm, Sorrel of the Undine stream, and Lira, our culinary guide. We come seeking your blessing, and aid in harnessing the Salamander flame."
Lysandra regarded them with calm, glowing eyes. Her smile was faint but knowing, as if she saw through every mask at once. "Flame is restless. Flame destroys. To wield it, one must understand patience, containment… and respect. Few travelers earn my trust to even attempt it."
She rose gracefully, her gown rippling with her movements. The golden guards shifted quietly but did not follow; she needed no protection.
"Yet," she continued, stepping down from her throne, "your names have carried on the steam currents. The noble Rosemary, chosen of Rosefield. The otter mage Sorrel, whose waters pierce fire. The young Oliver, who walks with no class yet finds power nonetheless."
Oliver stiffened. "Wait—how do you…?"
"I am slime," Lysandra said with a smile, her amber eyes shimmering. "We are memory. Everything that touches this land, we taste. Everything left behind, we inherit."
Sorrel's ears twitched. "…That's unnerving."
Lysandra moved closer, her gaze lingering on Oliver. "And you especially interest me, human without a class. No title. No fixed path. That is dangerous." She tilted her head, and her smile deepened, soft yet razor-sharp. "And promising."
Oliver swallowed hard. "…Should I be flattered or terrified right now?"
Lira cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, about the Salamander flame—"
The Queen lifted a hand, silencing her without words. "Yes. The Salamander dwells in the deeper crucible. To earn its favor, you must cook for me. A dish that holds both flame and life. Fail, and you will not leave this palace alive."
The throne room quieted. Even the attendants stilled, their glowing bodies dimming in anticipation.
Oliver's stomach twisted. "…Cook? Like… actually cook? In front of a slime queen?"
Rosemary sighed softly. "Yes, Oliver. And pray your Earth experience extends beyond frozen pizza."
The Queen's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Begin."
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