Dawn broke over the makeshift camp.
Pinky had already been awake for an hour. He moved through his training forms in the pale light, sword cutting precise arcs through the morning mist. The slime girls watched from the shadows of their cliff shelter, too afraid to approach, but too curious to look away.
Lyriel stirred from her bedroll, yawning, stretching. Her green hair was a tangled mess. Her glasses sat crooked on her face.
"Good morning, husband!" she called out. "I'll make breakfast!"
Pinky froze mid-swing.
No. Not that. Anything but that.
He sheathed his sword and sprinted toward the campfire, but he was too late. Lyriel had already pulled out a pot, some dried meat, and a handful of herbs that looked suspiciously like weeds.
"Let's see," she hummed. "A pinch of this, a dash of that..."
Pinky grabbed her wrist. He shook his head frantically. He mimed eating something and then dying.
"Oh, husband! You're so dramatic! My cooking isn't that bad!"
It was. It absolutely was. Three weeks ago, she had made something she called "forest stew." Pinky had spent the next two days unable to keep anything down.
"Um... excuse me?"
Both of them turned.
Lizy stood a few feet away, her translucent form shimmering in the early light. Her sisters hovered behind her, half-hidden.
"We... we can help," she said quietly. "With the cooking. If you'd like."
Lyriel's face scrunched. "I don't need help. I'm perfectly capable of—"
Pinky nodded vigorously. Yes. Please. Help.
"See?" Lizy said, a small smile forming. "Your husband agrees."
Lyriel pouted but stepped aside.
The slime sisters moved with practiced efficiency. Lizy directed her sisters quietly, pointing at ingredients, adjusting the fire. They were still nervous, still flinching at sudden movements, but the presence of the pink-haired knight seemed to settle them.
"No bad people come when he's here," Mimi whispered to Wixi. "I watched all night. No one."
"Don't get used to it," Wixi muttered back. "He'll leave. They always leave."
But even she kept glancing at Pinky, watching him resume his training in the clearing.
***
Wixi picked up a stick.
She didn't know why. Something about the way he moved, the way his sword cut through the air with such precision, such control. She had never seen anyone fight like that. The adventurers who came to their territory were clumsy, brutal, relying on strength rather than skill.
This was different.
She stood at the edge of the clearing and tried to copy his movements. The stick felt wrong in her hands. Her stance was all off. But she kept trying.
Days passed.
Pinky noticed, of course. He noticed everything. But he said nothing, did nothing. He had a mission. He couldn't afford to get distracted.
Then, one morning, he saw all three of them mimicking his forms.
Lizy held a fallen branch like a sword, her movements careful, analytical. Mimi struggled with a twig, her small form trembling with effort. Wixi attacked an invisible enemy with fierce determination, her technique terrible but her spirit undeniable.
Pinky stopped.
He watched them. And for a moment, he wasn't seeing slime girls. He was seeing a silver-haired trainee struggling to keep up, swinging her sword until her arms gave out, refusing to quit no matter how many times she fell.
Zilvie.
He shook his head. No. Don't think about her. Focus on the mission.
But the image lingered.