James woke to the soft, muffled clang of a bell in the yard and the smell of fresh hay and dew. The world was grey and blue, steeped in that still hour before sunrise when the farm seemed half-dreamed—a quilt of fields, mist, and woodsmoke just waiting for the sun to stitch it all together. He blinked blearily at the ceiling’s knotty pine, burrowed deeper in the blanket, and listened: a rooster calling out somewhere, a milk cow’s restless low, his little sister Lilly’s snuffling breaths from her cot across the room. The same routine, every day, for five years—at least since he’d arrived here.

He reached under the bed for the chamber pot, cold ceramic heavy in his palm, and relieved himself in the old country way. Even after half a decade he hadn’t gotten used to that particular ritual, but it was easier now, his body’s small aches and needs predictable. He was used to this body—the quick, lean limbs of a teenager, the sandy mop of hair always threatening to fall in his eyes, the farm-roughened hands that were nothing like the soft, calloused adult fingers he remembered. The only real difference, the one that set him trembling sometimes, was inside: memories layered like tree rings, thick with knowledge and regret from another world, a life snuffed out with a flush and a blackout.

He set the pot aside, careful not to slosh, and listened to the old house creak around him. His father—Harlan, broad and bluff, a voice like thunder—was already up, boots clomping on the porch. His mother—Marta, hair always in a braid, eyes full of silent laughter—was humming in the kitchen, the sound warm as fresh bread. To them, he was just James, the elder son, dependable and a little quiet. No one here knew he was different. They’d never seen the cracks in the mask or the flicker in his eyes when a memory too modern slipped through. He’d grown into his role, let the years smooth his rough edges. It was almost easy, now.

He got dressed quickly, thick socks and old breeches, linen shirt that smelled faintly of soap and grass. Lilly, still half-asleep, kicked at her blanket with a whimper. He paused to tuck it under her chin, something automatic, then crept down the narrow stairs and into the warm bustle of the kitchen.

Breakfast was simple, eggs and porridge and the good brown bread his mother baked every week. Harlan clapped him on the back, handed him a chipped mug of goat’s milk, and grinned his lopsided grin. “Best get to it, boy.” He didn’t need to say more. The list of chores was as familiar as his own heartbeat: gather eggs, muck the stable, mend the fence where the storm had torn it loose.

The air outside was sweet and sharp, the sky just starting to glow pink at the edges. He worked quietly, hands moving by habit—feeding chickens, carrying hay, whistling softly to the barn cats that slithered around his ankles. He could see Marta in the window, flour-dusted and humming, Lilly now up and stumbling toward the pump for her own chores. The world felt safe, contained, a clockwork of family and routine.

That’s when he saw it: something glimmering in the damp grass by the pasture gate, half-hidden in clover and wildflowers. Not a stone, not a frog, but a wobbling, translucent blob—soft blue, like the sky reflected in a raindrop. He stared, heart jolting, a flash of impossible déjà vu hitting so hard his knees went weak.

The slime was small, no bigger than a loaf of bread, jiggling with curious life. It had no face, just a gentle undulation as it nosed about the grass. James approached slowly, breath quick. No one else seemed to notice. The cows grazed, unbothered, chickens scratched in the dirt. It shimmered, pulsing faintly.

He knelt in the grass, hesitant, and reached out a hand. As his fingers brushed the slime’s cool, yielding surface, the world seemed to shudder—a quiet electric buzz running up his arm, prickling his skin. In that instant, a window popped open in his vision:

[You have tamed: Blue Slime. Tamer skill acquired.]

Text, crisp and clean, hanging in the air for only him to see. He jerked back, breath catching, but the slime quivered and settled happily by his knee, as if waiting for instruction.

No one in the yard so much as glanced his way. Only James could see the screen, just like in the stories he’d read back in that other life—glowing, unreal, a game system layered over the farm’s golden dawn. He blinked, and another message flickered.

[Status: Blue Slime (Name?)]

His heart pounded. He swallowed hard, his mind spinning out—was he finally losing it? Had five years of pretending finally snapped something vital? But the slime seemed real enough. He poked it again, gentle, and it made a delighted little ripple, almost like a purr.

[Blue Slime affection increased!]

It was hard not to laugh. He pressed a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. If Harlan saw him playing in the grass like a toddler, he’d get a boot to the rear and a lecture about wasting daylight.

The slime pressed against his palm, cool and strange, leaving his skin faintly damp. He glanced around, paranoia flaring, but the yard was unchanged. Only he could see the system screens, their crisp lines fading as soon as he looked away. The world pressed in: the distant bark of a dog, Lilly’s shriek as a goose chased her, the rhythmic thud of Marta kneading dough.

James exhaled, slow and careful, and let himself grin. For the first time in years, the old excitement—wonder, possibility—lit up the dull ache of his routine. The farm was the same, his family unchanged, but something new had crept in, soft as dawn and just as bright.

James watched the blue slime with a peculiar fondness, already plotting what it might mean for his daily grind. The idea of an army of slimes—obedient, tireless, more clever than they looked—was ridiculous, but undeniably tempting. He’d spent years shoveling shit, hauling pails, and patching fences. Maybe, just maybe, the universe was about to throw him a bone. He stared at the slime, mind racing, and wondered aloud, “Wouldn’t mind a few more of you around.”

As if in response, the slime twitched in his hands, little body vibrating with an intelligence he hadn’t noticed before. Then, with a suddenness that made him flinch, it bounced off his palms, landed with a wet plop on the grass, and took off at a determined hop toward the forest’s shadowed edge.