Chapter Text
4C had been doing a lot of thinking. Being alone tended to have that effect on him. All he did was think, sometimes to an alarming degree. He thought until his head hurt from all the worry and his heart broke from everything that his brain was telling him. It was hard not to, honestly. After you’ve been through so much, you start hearing things that you don’t want to hear, you start remembering things that you don’t want to remember.
He really didn’t want to have those constant reminders of his sad, pitiful life every time he simply wanted to think more about the future.
The swamp, for example, used to be a source of comfort for him, his family always trying to teach him how to steal as he’d laugh back and ignore every lesson. He tended to pay more attention to self defense, anyway. He liked to look around him, at the sky and ground in all their nighttime glory. The moon reflected on the murky water, being the only source of light at such an hour. It used to be green, and the giant plants all around had so many different colors… but then it was red. The water, the plants, the walls of every house. Blood, blood everywhere. Some of it was blue, which made 4C even sicker just thinking about who it belonged to. Then there was the mace. The prison cell. The journey back.
He wanted to forget all of the town, never to remember its location or inhabitants.
Even after everything that had happened in Bannerfall alone, everything that the slime had witnessed and been subject to in his year and a bit in the lands of mountainous skies and sprawling poppy fields, he wanted to never think about any of it again. Specifically while he was in the Blue Kingdom, trying desperately to help and build up his reputation, but failing miserably because his stealing habit had been engraved into his mind long ago. Not only that, but also any time that he experienced unfair hatred in Red, simply for opposing them. He was judged by where he came from, which he had always known was not fair. He didn’t like that his head held such horrid memories, he would prefer if he could lose them and start over from scratch.
He could forget about going to Hell, especially. The scorching heat that melted his very body into simply a puddle, or tried to, anyway. Plus the horrible, laughing voice that taunted him when he fell and discouraged every hope he had of getting out. It squashed every pitiful attempt at lifting himself back up. He really didn’t like that it sounded like Owain, took his voice and twisted it into a disgusting echoey version, and simply because they both detested each other.
He hated the farkle games, every roll of the dice rigged for him to lose, the so-called “champions” laughing at his despair. They were made specifically to play with his mind, tricks and illusions that weren’t real, but seemed so incredibly genuine that 4C had a hard time telling. It showed him his friends as he lost pieces of himself, to them, no less. The siblings with terrifyingly soulless eyes and no jokes or banter hidden up their sleeves. There was only the roll of the dice, and scratches of lead on paper.
The climbing and falling cycles were made up of delirious words and a hopeless dream that maybe someday, he would be able to escape. But then he’d climb up again, and fall right back down, finding it harder and harder to bounce back each time it happened. He’d tell himself that he would, but did he ever? He was still missing a small part of his soul, even now. He could feel it deep down, even if he didn’t exactly want to tell anyone that it was still affecting him.
He wanted to forget that he was trapped in Hell only because of his own stupidity.
There was also the part where he was kidnapped by the Red Kingdom, dragged against his own will as he was passed out from heat exhaustion and starvation. He was forced into a stone cage with no way out, it was dark, cold, and most of all dehumanizing. He wasn’t a human to begin with, but if he ever felt like one at any point, that was where it disappeared. He was dehydrated, hungry, and far too small for him to have been healthy at all.
The tongue appeared and left several times, and 4C lost hope several times. He could still feel it on his slime, pulling and stretching his body until a light came out of him. It had never fully gone away, only dulled as time went on. He hated how much he didn’t care after a few days, just wanted to get out.
He could remember the potions that were put on him for the sake of experimentation, like he was some object to be played with. Poison that wrapped around his throat and tried to bring him down to Lady Death, or perhaps back to Hell. Harming potions that should have hurt way more, until 4C’s mind numbed the pain, and eventually, he just got used to it.
He wanted to forget about the frog’s ginormous eyes and long tongue.
He was also hit with a particularly heavy object not too long ago, leaving him damaged even now with a scar that would never heal. It still hurt on the side of his head, damaging the membrane and perhaps more aspects of his life than he’d care to admit. He couldn’t see all too well anymore, and if he exerted too much energy a sudden migraine would plague him. Even touching the area would send a spout of pain into his nerve receptors, so bad that he’d probably scream.
The words that came out of his brother’s- no, not anymore. He was no longer the man’s brother, only an enemy which should be dead, because he tried to kill him.
The words that came out of his friend’s mouth were cruel, unforgiving, and ruthless. Although, they were true. He was a coward at heart, afraid of every action’s consequences and scared of what the people around him might do to him. Although, he could do without them constantly bouncing around in his head after every action, wondering if he was proving them right, or if he was finally doing something that disproved that theory. The answer was almost always the former. The fact that it was all his fault, and he knew that it was, no matter what anybody said, made everything so, so much worse.
He wanted to forget all the hesitance, accidents, and consequences that came with the oath situation.
But the unfortunate reality was that he wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t forget about all of the terrible things that had happened in this cursed land that was plagued with war and constantly conflicting sides. The memories would always be there, lingering and reminding him what he went through. He wouldn’t leave everything behind, his mind blank with new possibilities, not on purpose or accident, because in reality, they helped to shape the positive things. If he lost all the bad parts of himself, then what would happen to the good parts? Would they cease to exist, as well? Would he cease to exist?
Like a frustrated lesson on stealing after he was caught, a lecture about stealth and taking after his ancestors. Then getting distracted by a butterfly, which almost never appeared in that region, and chasing after it until his mother’s calls were far and few between. Then he’d lose the beautiful thing and have to trudge his way home, a pattern every few nights until the teachers inevitably gave up.
Enjoyable late nights sitting on the top of the unfinished blue castle, rocky stones being kicked under two pairs of feet. Laughter echoing through the quiet air, a new joke that one of them had made. Red hair billowing in the wind as she tried her best to balance on a particularly steep battlement. Then more giggles as she eventually fell, shaking some of the building and probably waking a few citizens up in the process. He would get to say ‘I told you so’ as he was proven right, again.
He was fond of forbidden conversations in a flower field, a mix of red and purple that swirled together in no particular pattern. A picnic which he used to try and broker peace, even though it didn’t work. The blanket was still there, heavy rocks holding it down in case of a sudden storm, though the heart was gone, probably taken down by people who didn’t want peace within the kingdoms. How predictable. He would sit with his back against the tree, next to him a certain brave knight. They talked about bravery, they talked about oaths, they talked about trust and loyalty.
Damnit, he would miss the random farkle games in the middle of an important task. The clicking of the dice on the table as he rolled unluckily and his counterpart apparently had deals with fate herself. They had played so much, that every story had been told, and there was sometimes nothing else to say. Every roll had been seen, and every move had been done, and yet they still farkled. Unfortunately, that knight certainly would never want to roll dice with the slime ever again, and his tales about Soluna would never be heard, unless by the people he still talked with.
So he would remember.
He would keep those terrible things locked in his mind for eternity if it meant he got to keep all of the happy ones. Selfishly, he wanted them to stay. He needed each person to have a place in his head, a designated section for each bit of information about them. If he didn’t do it for himself, then for the people he had learned to so dearly love and trust in this cruel, unfair world. He’d do it for Mae, Katie, and Nom, even if the knight didn’t want him to. Because he was selfish, and he was a coward.
A coward who didn’t want to forget any of the precious memories that his mind held dear. A coward who didn’t want to fight, and that’s why he was so far away from any kingdom. He liked to tell himself it was for the good of both sides, but he knew what the real reason was. He was scared.
He didn’t want to face any of those people on the battlefield. He didn’t want to slit someone’s throat and have to tell their loved ones what happened. He didn’t even want to think about attending a funeral, only having thoughts about how it all could have been prevented.
What was the point of always fighting, if nobody knew what they were fighting for? It was a pointless feud that had no clear starting point and no end within sight. Red, Blue, who cared anymore? It was all for nothing, anyway. The many people who had died for their kingdom when peace could have been brokered long ago… all 4C felt was pity. He was sorry that they had been hit with the cruel blades of people they didn’t know, and laughed at as red seeped from their wounds, their entire kingdom made a joke of. All of it pointing to a past of nothing but more inconsequential slaughter. Somebody’s brother, somebody’s sister, somebody’s lover.
None of it had any meaning. Why die for your kingdom if it did nothing to bring peace to the war? If there hadn’t been a victor in thousands of years, why would there be one now? It was the same point that everyone 4C talked to brought up every time; that if the peaceful words that could end this war existed, they would have been said already. But they failed to think of the thing that opposed that theory, so dead focused on delivering the final blow to a kingdom that they could love, had they been raised in that one. If there would be a winner, a side would have been favored already.
They had been fighting for a thousand years. Nobody had won yet, why would someone win now?
The war wasn’t going to end, at least not in 4C’s lifetime. That was saying something, because slimes lived for an incredibly long time, similar to elves. By the time he was gone, the fighting would still be going on, and nobody would be doing anything about it. He didn’t see a point in fighting for either side to win when they were both equally as in the wrong. Did the Red Kingdom understand why the Blue Kingdom hated them? Did they ever look into another perspective? Did the Blue Kingdom ever stop and think why the Red Kingdom defected? Did they ever look internally? No. Nobody dared to listen. A skill like that was valuable, and not something native to Bannerfall.
Both kingdoms only wanted death. Death and destruction that lead their enemies to fall. They wanted to lay waste to the other land, and destroy everything that all of them cared about. But that meant killing people. Because a person could be cared about too, but that would only mean causing people on each theoretically winning side pain.
Ser Bek would not be happy if Eloise had to die, crying over her dead body as her comrade’s sword was stuck in her gut. Vice versa, if a blue member were to catch the knight off guard, and leave her with wounds that would not heal with the mage’s circles. 4C had seen their blooming relationship, there was something between the two. It was so obvious that even the slime could see it.
If Graecie had to kill… anyone, she would be upset. Blood on her sword that she never meant to put there, a dead body at her feet, someone she used to know, someone who had a family, someone whose life wasn’t over yet. Until it was.
Even Katie had built so many relationships with Blue, especially with people like Mae and Shan. If Shan were to get attacked by an army of undead soldiers, would the knight fend them off, saving the mage, or would she simply leave them be, and cry when she saw the body afterward? Killing the rogue was not an option, 4C would make sure of that, but if the brave knight was forced to use her weapons on the rogue, she would be inconsolable.
Nom would not like it if his sister were to die defending her kingdom. Just seeing her lifeless eyes would put him into a rage, and he’d probably turn on his own- nevermind. He could almost see his disheartened grip losing strength as he dropped his morningstar, falling to his knees and screaming. It went both ways, though. Katie would be devastated if her brother were to sacrifice himself in some honorable name just to prove he still had some sort of moral code. He didn’t think she would ever get over it, if that were to happen. They had grown so close after the last battle, that this next one was going to be a mess.
The people that had to die for an end to the war weren't worth it. Their lives which had so much meaning in them, everyone’s stories that would end with them if they weren’t told, weren’t worth the risk. So why wouldn’t they at least try peace? Why was everyone so against it? The freedom of a treaty would be way less exhausting than running around trying to hinder the other side like headless chickens.
He was so sick of everyone always doing this whole “we need an end to the war” thing, that he was half tempted to draft up a peace agreement himself, and force the two current monarchs to sign it. But he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with one of them, and he had a feeling that he wouldn’t agree to it anyway. Plus, even if they would, because it was forced it wouldn’t exactly hold any weight.
4C sighed, ripping out some of the grass next to him and letting it go, watching as it flew a few feet away with the wind. He stared out into the open sky, admiring the nice blue color that passed over them every single day without fail. The consistency, at least, was nice. There were barely any clouds today, and the sun was a little hotter than usual, burning into his slime that was exposed and trapping the more heated air in his clothing. It was going to start actually melting his slime soon, he knew, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move.
It felt weird to have such a heat be brought down to meet him, and not be constantly trying to reach an almost unattainable goal. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t jumping, he wasn’t climbing. He was simply being, and he didn’t get the opportunity to do so very often.
The lake in front of him reflected the open air, crisp and crystalline, far more clear than the waters back home. Where they had plants sticking out of the water, this had sand floating at the bottom. The swamps were green and murky where Bannerfall was blue and translucent.
Ripples in the surface let the slime know that a fish was getting ready to show its face. It was nudging at the tension with its fins, swimming happily without a care in the world. As he expected, it jumped out of the water a moment later, green scales catching the sunlight and reflecting it into his eyes. He blinked for a moment, just at the right time to miss the rest of the sighting. All that was left was a few disturbances in the water, letting him know that the sea creature had gone back to its habitat.
“The water’s so pretty…” he mumbled to himself, brushing his fingers against it and feeling the way he was able to soak some of it up. It rejuvenated him nicely, especially in the intense sunlight.
“I agree,” a softened voice behind him made his spine tingle and his back straighten. The water blurred at the edges, although he was no longer paying attention to the wildlife underneath it. He didn’t want to turn around. Everything screamed at him to ignore it and keep looking at the lake. No. No, no, no.
He looked.
Messy black hair, cut short before it even got to his shoulders. Deep brown eyes with heavy bags under them, like the man hadn’t been sleeping the last few days. His extremely tired look was paired with a sad smile, his head tilted to the side at the sight of the slime.
Did he expect to see him here? Was he looking for him?
Black metal armor covered most of his body, cut through only by a stripe of red accented with a bit of gold. The shoulder pads were similar to a dragon’s scales, at least, that was what 4C always thought of when he saw it. The cape on his back billowed in the wind, similar to the flags on the rebel kingdom’s castle. It was kind of misleading.
However, the slime’s eyes only combed over the figure briefly, not taking in too many details after the face. Instead his gaze traveled directly to the large brandished weapon in his hand, laying with its spikes into the grass, both blue and red staining its surface. Upon seeing his own blood, he went to touch his head, and was reminded of the sensitive outer layer immediately with the shot of pain that shot through his body.
The man’s hand was on the tip of the hilt, steady and ready to grab it if there was any threat. Was 4C a threat? Six months ago, the answer would have been an automatic no. But now, it was a bit more uncertain.
He swallowed nervously, glancing from his face, to the weapon, not sure exactly which he was more afraid of. The deadly mace that had killed more people than even 4C knew, or the man in possession of it that was acutely trained to use it. To be honest, he was afraid of what either might do to him. He couldn’t sustain another blow to the head, likely he’d be killed on impact. He also couldn’t handle another heartbreak, more hurtful words that stabbed through his slime, even if they were true.
He backed up from the figure, wading into the water slightly, ignoring the sand that floated in it as his movement disrupted the resting place of the grains. His leather boots started to soak up the liquid, though it didn’t bother him much. He was made out of moisture, after all.
“Nom…” he croaked out, trying to ignore the way his voice broke.
“4C,” his brother responded, gaze not wavering from his face.
“What are you- how did you find me?” The slime took another step backward, further into the lake.
“I had a hunch,” he said, smiling again. It wasn’t crazed, nor maddened, not even genuinely happy. Would his grip tighten on the mace, or would he hoist it over his shoulder.
“I…” the rogue fell silent, astonished at the figure in front of him. He felt his knees almost buckle under him, a slight shake in both of his hands. He wasn’t normally so trembly, but for some reason this was making him nervous.
It was a word he didn’t use all too often, because he didn’t succumb to such a thing. Not usually, anyway. The tremors only reminded him of being scared. Scared and all alone in a cold, dark cell. Blood soaked into each of the stones outside, seeping into the cracks and melting over them as a dead arm fell into view.
A man stood over him, coming out from just around the corner. He stared, not saying a word as 4C tried to stop the tears from escaping. Don’t cry, 4CVIT, not now. The darkened shadow stretched and distorted itself in the dim light, only seen because of the candle on the shelf outside. Was this where it ended? Was this the last face he would see?
He sank into his cloak, trying harder to disappear. Maybe if he was invisible, he could get out of this. The candle outside prevented him from doing so, and he only flickered out of view for a second. He thought he would die. He was afraid. He was so afraid.
He tried not to be, since.
“You’re back,” Nom pulled him out of the nightmare, observing the slime and soaking in every bit of him. His gaze traveled down, looking at the clothes he was wearing, then up to the slime’s injury and resting there for a moment,
“I’m back,” 4C repeated, trying to mask his fear.
“I thought you wouldn’t. I should have known you wouldn’t give up so easily.”
“I wasn’t going to, actually, I- I found a new home. Somewhere else.”
“Oh?” The knight took a step closer, intending to approach him like a scared animal. He resisted the urge to step back again, reminding himself that the water would only swallow him further if he did so.
Though, maybe he would prefer that to having this conversation. Disappearing sounded very appealing right about now.
“Yeah…” he didn’t dare reveal too much.
“I- um. I’m sorry,” he scratched the back of his neck, laughing.
“For what?” 4C cocked his head to the side, looking the knight in the eyes, bravely making contact.
“For… you know…” he gestured to his own head, “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no. I deserved it,” 4C stepped fully out of the water, only a few feet away from Nom now. “I know that what I did was bad, and I know why you did it. It makes sense.”
He shook his head, “It was- I almost killed you, you shouldn’t deserve any sort of harm.”
“I betrayed you, there has to be some sort of consequence for that.”
“No. 4C, none of that was your fault, I see that now. I was being dumb and- I tend to make a lot of…” Nom put a hand behind his neck, “rash decisions, I guess. But me hitting you with my- the mace? That was all on me. I’m sorry I made you feel any different, I wasn’t really thinking clearly.”
The slime paused for a moment, letting a slight breeze blow through the basin as he conjured up a response. He wasn’t really mad at the knight, was he? Sure, he was certainly upset that he had lost his brother, and not exactly the happiest about losing his home, but all it really did was open his eyes to the fact that Bannerfall, no matter Blue or Red, was not the place for him. He didn’t really understand the cost of war, and he didn’t understand the point, either.
“It’s okay,” he decided, “I made up my mind long ago.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What about?”
“I… about my home. Where I belong, what I do, who I interact with. I’ve been a lot less… social recently.”
“You shouldn’t have to second guess everything about yourself just because I did something stupid. Be yourself. You shouldn’t care so much about me.”
“Shouldn’t care so much?” Rage boiled through his being, and he took a step closer, suddenly able to face the man and look him dead in the eyes. “Nom, you were my life, for a year. An entire year. 365 days that I spent with one singular friend, and a couple others I only kept at arms length. You were the only person I had for a long time, you taught me everything I know about this place, about everywhere else, and basically about the entire world. You were my rock through everything we both went through in that swamp, I knew whenever I was thinking about it that I could come to you. We were brothers, Nom. But yeah, I shouldn’t care so much…”
The knight didn’t speak, instead pressing his lips together in thought, opening his mouth to say something only to get interrupted by the slime.
“So I’m sorry for thinking so hard about what my brother might think about me. I’m sorry that I told a secret that he explicitly told me not to tell. I’m sorry for avoiding him, when I realized what I did. I’m sorry for becoming a bit more self reflective after almost dying. I’m sorry I can’t keep my mouth shut. I’m sorry, Nom, for even burdening you with my existence in the first place.”
The knight’s mouth dropped open slightly, looking at the slime in fear, at first. Then concern was plastered over his features, taking another step forward, then another, and a third after that. He walked faster and faster with each step, more sure of what he was doing until he was close enough to put his hand on 4C’s shoulder. 4C, who hadn’t even realized that the last sentence had slipped out until he looked up from the ground where his eyes had slipped to, and studied the man’s face.
Tears slipped out from the slime’s eyes, almost invisible unless you knew to look for them. Nom put his calloused hands onto the slime’s shoulder, careful not to put his full weight there. The rogue tried to back away, though he didn’t know why the touch felt so foreign to him.
“No, 4C,” suddenly the slime in question froze, “I’m sorry, because all this time when I should have been appreciating you, I was making you feel like you had to prove your worth to me.”
He wrapped his brother into a tight hug, squeezing hard until he realized that he was morphing 4C’s body weirdly, making him slightly light headed and sort of dizzy. More-so than usual, because of the dried up blood still on his scalp.
“I’m glad you weren’t a ghost this time,” Nom whispered, slightly melancholy.
“What?”