The chamber had given him peace, but it could not keep him. Zeke knew that. Shelters were fragile things in a world like this. Moisture trickled from the stone, enough to sustain him, but the hunger gnawed still. He could not remain hidden forever. So when the faint tremors quieted and the air stilled, he dared to slip from his crevice, dragging his body back toward the surface.
The fissure scraped him again as he squeezed through, but he no longer recoiled as sharply. Amorphous Body had strengthened; he flowed with less strain, his edges stretching smoothly instead of tearing. The System's upgrade was subtle, but its effects lingered in every motion. He felt more like a creature of intent than a lump of accidents. Even so, venturing outside again carried a weight of dread.
The ashlands stretched endless and gray. The haze still choked the horizon, and heat pulsed from cracks in the earth. He slid forward, hunting faint motes of essence from insects or drifting organisms. But there was something different today: the haze above thinned. For the first time since his awakening, the ashen veil parted enough for sunlight to pierce through.
The light struck him like a spear. He shrieked silently as his body shriveled, edges crisping beneath the sudden blaze. It was not gentle warmth, not filtered glow. Here in the volcanic lands, sunlight blazed harsh and raw, scouring his jellylike form. His translucent skin smoked, patches blackening as liquid hissed away into vapor. His surface bubbled, pocked with fissures that split wider as he writhed. He dragged himself toward the shadow of a rock, but the light followed, burning still. His form rippled, his mass thinning. If he lingered too long, he would collapse into dust.
Agony flooded him. His edges split into cracks that threatened to tear apart. Moisture fled too quickly, his body shrinking toward collapse. The ember of fire inside him flared in panic, but it offered no salvation. Fire could only burn him more. He was prey again, helpless before something he could not fight. Not beast. Not predator. Only the sun.
No… not like this… not to light…
And then memory struck.
A boy sprawled on a rooftop, arms folded beneath his head. Summer sunlight spilled across his skin, burning pleasantly against freckles on his nose. Beside him lay another boy—same age, same face, same sharp gaze softened by a lopsided grin. Cass. His twin. His mirror.
"You're insane," Cass muttered, shading his eyes with one hand. "Lying out here all day's gonna cook your brain, Zeke."
"I'm experimenting," Zeke replied, eyes closed, letting the warmth seep into every pore. "Testing heat tolerance. If the world ends, maybe I'll evolve into solar-powered Zeke."
Cass snorted and elbowed him. "More like sun-fried idiot. You'll shrivel before you shine."
And then he'd laughed. That laugh. Their laugh—Zeke's own voice, only brighter.
The memory burned through him harder than the sunlight. It was from his first life. The one before his regression. When he had actually been a kid. When Cass had been a kid. Before the weight of the war crushed their innocence. Before the regression. Before they were in a rush. God, he missed the idiot. He quivered, almost splitting apart beneath its weight. The loss was a wound deeper than the heat could carve.
Cass. His twin. His other half. The bond that had steadied him through every storm, every awakening, every mad theory scrawled on lab walls when the world still made sense. Gone. Or worse—scattered, alone, suffering.
The pain of it fused with the searing sunlight. But instead of breaking him, it changed something. The warmth did not feel only cruel anymore. It reminded him of Cass—of laughter, of comfort, of light shared. Zeke pulsed, trembling, and for the first time, the sunlight within the ashlands did not feel wholly hostile. It felt like memory. Like bond. Like hope.
The System stirred.
[New Affinity Unlocked: Light (Basic)]
Resonance flared through him. The shriveling slowed, his form hardening faintly against the blaze. A glow pulsed from his core, not fire's violent lash but gentle radiance. It spread outward, knitting his edges, holding him together where he might have collapsed.
[RES +3]
Zeke quivered, stunned. The glow inside him was soft, steady, utterly unlike fire. Where fire had raged, light soothed. Where fire had torn him apart, light steadied his fragile edges. The contrast struck him deeply. Both were dangerous, but light carried no malice. It reminded him of Cass's warmth, of sunlight on skin, of laughter shared.
He pulsed again, weak but steady. The sunlight still hurt—his body was not made for it—but the resonance steadied him. He could draw strength from it now, however faint. Light burned, yes, but it also warmed. And in that warmth, he felt Cass's echo.
He collapsed into the shadow at last, dragging himself into relief. Steam rose from his surface, but he no longer quivered at the brink of collapse. Instead, he flickered faintly with inner glow. Not strong, not bright, but enough to push back the emptiness.
He lingered in the dim shade, letting the memory settle. Cass had always been light—not fire, not heat, but radiance. Zeke had chased theories and books, Cass had brought laughter and ease. One had burned, the other had warmed. And now, both lived within him. Fire was his hunger. Light was his bond. Together, they made survival more than instinct. They made it memory.
"…Cass," he whispered inwardly. "If you're still out there… I'll carry this. For both of us."
The ashlands rumbled faintly, as if mocking his vow. Predators still prowled. Dangers still hunted. But Zeke felt different. The chamber had given him safety. The fire had given him hunger. And the light had given him memory. That was enough to keep crawling.
System Update
Status
Name: Ezekiel Ashbourne
Race: Prime Slime (Unevolved)
Level: 5
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic)
Stats
STR: 3
AGI: 3
VIT: 6
WIL: 3
RES: 5 → 8
MNA: 14
CTL: 1