Chapter Text
After a few months, she had grown accustomed to him coming by in the mornings and leaving at night. But this time, she didn't even notice the days going by; her mind was too focused on trying to crack down on ancient magic the Federation had instructed her to work on. The order was sudden, with no buildup or warning. They had called him abruptly, demanding a new spell that could be useful to them or maybe to see if she was still valuable. In a panic, she spat out in anger, something so idiotic not even Mariana could believe it, "I'm close to cracking a forbidden spell, one that even the name could put all of you in danger at this very moment." Her eyes went wide, and her fingers trembled in anxiety. 'Idiot,' she mentally scolded herself; her knowledge was beyond normal witches; of course, she had been raised in this god-forsaken Kingdom, and she made sure she knew every and any incantation, spell, and rune. But most ancient rune bindings had been lost to knowledge long ago. She had hoped that just by uttering something like that, it would scare them, but she was wrong. At those words, the room fell silent; with every passing minute, her anxiety rose, only to be broken by a dismal sound. Not even a word, just a wave to leave, and so she did. This impulse stemmed from a great fear of losing everything, losing it all? No, she never had anything to lose, so why was she afraid of losing something she never had? The Federation had put a blindfold on her and deemed her useless. Maybe she had developed an attachment to the tower, but if she lost it, Mariana wouldn't mourn it for more than a few days. She was complicating her feelings for something that was just a passing thought.
From then on, she studied day and night, not waiting for or being bothered by others' company. Everywhere you looked, there was a war of paper, ink stains, and maybe even blood. She wasn't sure her mind was too blurry to recognize anything anymore. She lay exhausted on her floor, staring up at the ceiling. Traces of magic could be seen as it spiraled and swirled around, making it seem as if it was dancing just for her. So far, nothing had been clear to her; everything was a jumbled mess, symbols she knew didn't seem to make sense anymore, and spells that she had learned from a young age seemed to not even make a scratch in the surface. She continued staring at the ceiling, vision unfocused, until a tuft of hair peeked into her view. Slimecicle, with his ever-present smile, looked down at her. "Can I help?" Mariana had forgotten he was there. No, really, he had been so quiet observing her that she didn't notice him anymore. Although suitable for her focus, it was a little unnerving to see how calm and still he could be when the moment required it. With a tilt of her head, she searched for the book with the spell. Reaching out and lazily grabbing it, she handed it to him. In reality, Mariana had no hope he would understand anything inside the book, but if anything, it could give him something to do. Slimesicle opened the book to the page with folds and scribbles. He assumed that was the correct page and started reading it. Within minutes, his eyebrows knitted. Slowly and sluggishly, she lifted herself from the ground and into a sitting position. As she expected, he didn't understand. "This symbol looks wrong." She looked at him mockingly, "Yeah?" There was no sincerity behind her voice; it was more entertaining than listening. Slimecicle, still with a frown on his face, tapped on the book and traced his fingers in the air as if trying to show her the correct one. "I'm serious, see you're doing this-" he played with his hand in the air, showing her the symbol Mariana had written on the book. "-when in reality you should have been doing this." then he did it again, but a different symbol, a symbol she couldn't recognize. Mariana could only look at him in confusion, leading him to give a frustrated sigh of not being taken seriously and return the book to her. "Just try it out and see what happens," he shrugged, his posture relaxed. After a few minutes of examining the rune, she found herself frowning. The symbol Mariana had drawn around the circle—it was different. Subtle, but unmistakably so. The strokes curved in unfamiliar ways, the edges dipped and flared in a style absent from the ancient book she was cross-referencing. And yet… Slimecicle's version, scrawled messily on the margin of a torn parchment, bore an uncanny resemblance. Not similar. Identical. She blinked, looking between the two samples, heart thudding. He shouldn't have known that. Not unless—
Movement in her peripheral vision snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Slimecicle already making his way toward the door. There was no announcement, no dramatic exit—just a quiet, knowing smile and a single wave as he stepped into the fading light. "See you tomorrow," he said casually like he hadn't just unraveled a thread she hadn't even known existed. Then he was gone. She remained still, gaze lingering on the door. The silence felt heavier now, charged with questions and half-formed suspicions. He knew. Somehow, in ways she didn't yet understand, Slimecicle knew things—about the runes, about Mariana, maybe even about the magic itself. And he hadn't said a word.
Only smiled.
It was late at night, and once again, Mariana found himself staring at the vine-infested ceiling. He had spent days and nights unable to sleep, just for the day he could finally rest; sleep did not come easily to him. His thought kept wandering to Slime; in an unnerving turn of events, everything went fine. He had shown the Federation the finished product, and they appeared satisfied, at least. That wasn't the problem; the problem was that Slimecicle was right. It had worked—a question repeated in her mind.
Where the hell did he learn how to read ancient runes?
As he lay on the bed, he could sense the wards in the tower flaring every time she tried to rest, echoes of his unease. Who the hell does he think he is? Or, more importantly, why the hell was he so curious about her magic?
The Federation had taught all of his knowledge, and even so, it was almost impossible for Slimecicle to know. That language was buried under centuries of secrecy, hoarded by kings, warlocks, and tyrants who preferred their spellcasters to be obedient and ignorant. And here was a nobody, that idiot, who had perfectly replicated it. Crude, unfocused, but real. Knowledgeable enough to make her shiver with nervousness. Mariana had dismissed him as a glorified babysitter with a lime gimmick and a mouth that never stopped. But now? he seemed more of a threat. Knowing that this unnerving thought was not going to stop, she stood and walked around her tower, bracing herself for a long, tiring night.
By morning, she had new runes etched into the corners of the tower. Her sleeping clothes were dirtied from kneeling, and her wrist was aching from writing. Standing up and looking around, they glimmered faintly on the stone she had engraved detection glyphs, silence charms, and a protective veil woven into the shadows themselves. She told herself it was for her safety, but she no longer knew what that meant . A soft knock broke the stillness of the room, tapping lightly against the silence like a pebble skipping over water. It was a strange sound—almost foreign—especially considering the usual herald of Slimecicle's arrival was a chaotic burst through the door, accompanied by noise, excitement, and a complete disregard for privacy. The difference tonight was subtle but telling. Maybe he'd seen the soft glow of her lantern flickering through the window from wherever he'd been lurking—or perhaps he just felt something was off.
Too tired to form a complete sentence, she let out a noise—something halfway between a grunt and a sigh that vaguely meant "come in."
The door creaked open, and Slimecicle stepped in with a cautious curiosity. His eyes scanned the room first—taking in the scattered books stacked with some attempt at order, half-finished scrolls piled like forgotten thoughts, and the faint scent of ash, herbs, and seawater still lingering in the air. He gave a low, playful whistle. "Damn," he muttered with mock awe. "Someone has been up all night?" Then his gaze landed on her. His eyes lingered, not in the way that burned, but in a way that puzzled. His head tilted slightly, brows drew together in mild confusion or concern, then amusement. She followed his gaze down, realizing what he was seeing: her hair undone and frizzy, one of her sleeves half-rolled, soot on her cheek like an unfinished thought. Her night clothes were wrinkled from hours hunched over a desk, and her eyes were lined with fatigue she hadn't yet acknowledged. She looked like a walking mess of long nights and raw nerves. A heat crept up her neck, painting her usually sharp and angry features with blush so faint, it would've been missed by anyone else—but not him.
"I'll- I'll go shower, " she mumbled abruptly, her voice cracking as she tried to pull her cloak tighter around herself. It only made her look smaller. Slimecicle blinked, and for a beat, something flickered across his face—surprise, then a flush of his own.
"Oh?" he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. "Wasn't gonna say anything. But now I'm imagining it, so…" She let out a growl that was more flustered than furious, spun on her heel, and stormed toward the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind her with enough force to rattle a few glass bottles. Hot water thundered into the stone basin as she scrubbed away the night—and the embarrassment. Her heartbeat took its time settling.
When she finally emerged, dressed in fresh day clothes that didn't smell like burnt sage and ink, the lantern was still on. But now, Slimecicle was no longer lounging in the center of the room. Her gaze found him near the windowsill, one knee propped up, arm draped casually across his leg. He was staring out at the sea—at the thick, ghostly mist that had begun to roll across the waves like a creeping veil. The herbs she kept on the sill swayed gently beside him, perfuming the air with rosemary and moonmint. He looked utterly absorbed by the view, the way a child might watch snowfall for the first time. But she knew better.
"You've been busy, " he said, not turning her way. An irritating thought made its way to the forefront of her mind. "And you've been suspicious, " she snapped. Finally, he noticed her, looking over his shoulder, grinning as if her words were a compliment. "You're not wrong". Again, that stupid mask he would put on with her, the type that always smiled, almost as if he found the situation they were in amusing. She hated it; It made her feel like he already knew what she was going to say next. Mariana stepped closer, arms crossed, guarding herself, and in a low voice, "You said you didn't remember anything before the Federation. " A conversation they had a few weeks back. She had been trying to snoop into his past but found nothing other than the fact that he had no recollection of how he had gotten here. "I don't, " he had spoken in a soft, retreating kind of way. "Then how do you know how to read the ancient runes? " her voice lowered to match his. Slimecicle only tilted his head, a gesture of generous thoughtfulness. "I dunno. I just... knew. Like muscle memory. My brain just knew what was wrong with the circle things you do. "
"That's not normal."
His face twisted into a serious expression, not in an offensive way, but more like a defensive one. "I'm not exactly normal," he said, holding up a hand. The slime coating him rippled like liquid glass. "In case you haven't noticed," annoyance plastered on him. She shrugged off his remarks and sat on a loveseat near the window, intending for this conversation to continue; she had to get some answers out of him. Narrowing her eyes to the same view Slime was before she rudely interrupted him. "Did Cucurucho teach you?" she whispered, almost in fear of hearing the answer. "No. I guess I already knew before I came here." Once again, he turned to gaze out at the ocean view. A silence settled before she asked again, "Are you ever serious?" She felt it, the shift in his attitude. "I am, just not with you." Although the words could be interpreted as tender, his voice betrayed him. It had come out in a quiet voice. Steady. It was worse than his jokes. She turned away before he could see the way her mouth twitched in frustration. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Mariana continued, "I do not like secrets," she muttered, fiddling with a random jar of tea he had found next to her seat. She pondered how old it was. Well, it was more like acting; she wanted to look indifferent. "Well then," he smiled cheerfully at her, "you're gonna hate me. I'm one big fucking secret wrapped in green goo." he mockingly threw some goo residue at her, almost as if trying to hit her; she knew better, that slime thing around him never left his body. Standing, he stretched his aching limbs and faced her with his hand behind his back. "For what is worth... I'm not trying to spy on you. Or trick you. I'm just.... trying to understand what I am and how I got here." Although Mariana already knew, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity with him. She had been the same young, confused, and scared. However, it's been years since that feeling resurfaced. Although untrusting of him, something about his open stupidity made her feel a sense of comfort. Just two people who were robbed from where they were and converted into puppets for the Federation. She let her feelings wield her words, "Would you like to learn about Magic?". Baffled by her words, he stared and nodded robotically. "Fine," she said, lifting herself and walking to a discarded, heavy, rune-covered scroll on her desk. "Memorize these symbols." With a bit of weak magic, she floated it his way. Carefully, he grabbed it mid-air. "If you mess it up, the tower will explode." A mocking grin was shot his way, only for him to shudder in surprise. "Wait—what—?!" letting her face relax, she teased. "Kidding," she said, deadpan. "Probably." And when he laughed, nervous but delighted, she couldn't help the smallest, most traitorous of smirks.