A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Marta:

The scent of fresh dough and warm spices filled the air as she kneaded the bread with practiced hands. Dawn had barely broken over the village, painting the bakery windows with soft golden light. This was the rhythm of her life, the steady push and pull of dough beneath her fingers, the familiar crackle of the fire, and the quiet conversations that floated through the bakery before the village awoke.

A knock at the back door broke her concentration. Right on time. Those two were nothing if not punctual when it came to food.

Opening the door revealed two familiar faces, one eager and bright-eyed despite the early hour, the other still fighting off sleep with half-closed eyes. Kaelid bounced on his heels while Rannek stifled a yawn.

"Morning," the sleepy one mumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"You look terrible," she said flatly. "Did you stay up all night again?"

A sheepish grin spread across his face. "Maybe. The stars were particularly bright."

Kaelid rolled his eyes. "He was writing poetry again. Bad poetry."

"It wasn't bad!"

"It rhymed 'moon' with 'soon' three times."

She couldn't help but laugh as she ushered them inside. These two had been fixtures in her life for as long as she could remember, the charmer and the dreamer. One with an easy smile that could win over the crustiest elder in the village, the other with eyes that seemed to see things the rest of them missed.

They walked together toward the west side of the village, their baskets considerably lighter now. As they approached the Miller homestead, they found Elisa Miller on her knees among the sprouting vegetables, one hand pressed against her swollen belly.

She quickened her pace. "Elisa, you shouldn't be kneeling in the dirt in your condition."

The pregnant woman looked up, her face flushed from exertion. She rose with practiced difficulty, balancing the considerable weight at her front.

"The weeds don't care if I'm carrying or not," Elisa brushed dirt from her apron. "Besides, the midwife says movement is good. Keeps the baby strong."

"How are you sleeping these days?"

"Barely at all," Elisa laughed, the sound edged with exhaustion. "This one kicks like a mule all night. Different from my first. Cora barely stirred until she was born."

Beyond the garden, Rannek stood chatting with the Miller daughter. She was laughing at something he'd said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger while her father stood nearby, arms crossed but expression softened.

"Charming another poor girl, I see," Marta muttered.

Kaelid sighed. "He can't help it. People just... like him."

The rest of the morning passed in a pleasant blur of warm bread and friendly faces. By the time they returned to the bakery, the sun was high in the sky, and their baskets were empty.

"We should go," Kaelid said, glancing at the position of the sun. "We promised we'd help with... something else this afternoon."

There it was again, that vague reference to their mysterious activities.

"Something else?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Very specific."

Rannek grinned, his charm back in full force. "Very important village business. Top secret."

"I'm sure," she said dryly. "Well, don't let me keep you from your 'very important business.'"

"Hey," she called before they left.

They turned back, questioning looks on their faces.

"Whatever you're up to... just be careful, alright? The forest can be dangerous."

Something flickered in their eyes, surprise, perhaps, that she'd guessed at least part of their secret.

"We're always careful," Rannek assured her, his usual lighthearted tone replaced with something more sincere.

Kaelid nodded. "We have a... friend who looks out for us."

A friend? In the forest? That was new...

Before she could question them further, they were gone, the bakery door swinging shut behind them. She watched through the window as they hurried down the street, heads bent close together in conversation.

A forest friend. Scratches on their arms. Perfect synchronization when startled. The pieces were there, but she couldn't quite fit them together.

"They're good boys," her mother said, coming to stand beside her at the window.

"They're hiding something," she replied.

Her mother smiled knowingly. "Everyone has secrets, Marta. Even you."

She turned to look at her mother, surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said, handing her a broom, "that sometimes the kindest thing we can do for those we care about is to let them keep their secrets until they're ready to share them."

She took the broom, mulling over her mother's words as she began to sweep. Her mother was right, of course. Whatever those two were up to in the forest with their mysterious "friend," they'd tell her when they were ready. Or they wouldn't.

Either way, she'd be here, baking bread, playing the occasional prank, and watching over them in her own way. And if their secret ever put them in danger? Well, she'd be ready with more than just flour next time.

Kaelid:

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The days fell into a pattern that summer, chores in the morning, carefully crafted excuses in the afternoon, and precious hours spent in the forest clearing with Blob. Each visit brought new discoveries, new conversations, new understanding between the boys and their extraordinary friend.

Blob's mastery of language had progressed at an astonishing rate. Within a week, its speech had evolved from halting, fragmented phrases to nearly fluent sentences, though its grammar remained somewhat unusual and it still occasionally struggled with abstract concepts.

Today, they had brought something new to share, a map of the village and surrounding area that he had carefully copied from the larger one in the school. It showed the basic layout of their home, the river cutting through the center, the forest to the east, the fields to the west, and the cluster of buildings that made up the village proper.

"This is where we live," spreading the crude map on the ground before Blob. "This is our village, and here is where my house is. Rannek lives here, a little further north."

Blob flowed closer, its form stretching slightly to better observe the map. "Your fixed-structure gathering," it said, using the term it had coined for human settlements. "Many individuals in small space."

"Yes, about two hundred people live in our village," Rannek confirmed. "It's not large compared to towns or cities, but it's home."

"Why cluster together?" Blob asked. "More efficient to spread, access more resources."

The question made him pause. It was something he had never really considered. "I guess it's for protection," he said after a moment's thought. "And to help each other. It's easier to build things and share work when people are close together."

"Also for company," Rannek added. "Humans don't like to be alone too much. We need to talk to others, to be part of a group."

The slime hovered a tendril over the map. "Like slimes when merged, together but separate. Individual within collective."

"How does your core stone work?" Kaelid asked, curious about this concept Blob had mentioned before but never fully explained. "Is it like our brains, but just... different?"

Blob pulsed thoughtfully. "Not like brain. More... efficient. Less energy needed. Thoughts are patterns, connections between memories. Core stone creates and stores patterns."

"But how does it actually think?" Rannek pressed. "Our brains use... well, I don't really know how they work either, but they're made of flesh not rock."

"Core stone processes thought through crystal structure," Blob explained. "Energy flows through patterns. New patterns form with new information. Old patterns strengthen with repetition. This is learning."

"So when we teach you words, your core stone creates new patterns to connect the sounds with their meanings?"

"Yes. And connects to existing patterns. Words for similar things link together. Creates... categories. Hierarchies. Web of meaning."

It was these conversations that he treasured most, glimpses into a form of consciousness so different from his own, yet recognizable in its curiosity, its desire to learn and understand.

"Can you tell us more about merging?" he asked. "How does it work? Do you become one mind, or stay separate?"

Blob rippled, searching for the right words. "One, but remember being separate. When merged, we are one. Each core stone maintains... self-pattern, identity. But all connect, share thoughts, memories, experiences. Large awareness emerges from connection. If a self would have wanted to leave and wander, then the colony would choose to split itself with that set of core stones. Once split, separate minds again."

"So you're still you, but also part of something bigger?" Rannek attempted to clarify.

"Yes. Like your village is many individuals, but also one community. But closer. More direct. No need for words or gestures. Pure thought-exchange."

He tried to imagine it, the experience of maintaining his own identity while simultaneously sharing consciousness with others. It was both fascinating and slightly unsettling, challenging his fundamental understanding of what it meant to be a person.

"Are there others like you nearby?" he asked suddenly. "Other slimes you could merge with if you wanted to?"

The ripples stopped for a moment on Blob's form, before resuming slower, almost sad. "No others close. This one is... solitary. By choice and necessity. Safer this way, since the time of conflict."

The war. Always, their conversations circled back to it eventually, the eastern campaigns that had brought humans and slimes into contact, that had turned potential understanding into fear and violence.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, feeling a strange guilt for actions he had no part in. "It must be lonely, being the only one of your kind here."

Blob's form shifted slightly. "Loneliness is... less important than safety. And this one has... adapted. Found interest in observation, in learning. And now, in teaching. Has become [Curious-Teaching]"

The simple statement touched something in Kaelid's heart, the recognition that Blob had been watching, learning, surviving in solitude long before they had stumbled upon its clearing. That their friendship, as meaningful as it had become to the boys, was perhaps even more significant to a being that had known only isolation for so long.

"Well, you're not alone anymore," Rannek said firmly. "You have us now. And we're not going anywhere."

Blob pulsed in what they had come to recognize as its equivalent of a smile. "This one... appreciates that. Friendship is... unexpected gift."

As the afternoon light began to fade, he felt the familiar reluctance to leave. Each departure was a small wrench, a return to a world that suddenly seemed narrower, more limited than it had before they'd met Blob.

"We have to go," he said regretfully. "But we'll be back tomorrow, if we can."

"This one understands," Blob replied. "Time moves differently for your kind. Obligations must be met."

As they prepared to leave, he paused. "Blob, do you ever leave the clearing? I mean, could you come closer to the village if you wanted to? Not into it, obviously, but maybe to the edge of the forest where we could meet more easily?"

Blob's form stilled, its surface becoming unusually smooth. "This one... has. But risk increases with proximity to fixed-structure gathering. Some humans would... react poorly to this one's presence. Always in secret. Always safe."

"You mean they'd be afraid," Rannek translated. "Like the soldiers during the war."

"Yes. Fear leads to... unfortunate actions. Better to maintain distance. Safer for all."

He nodded, understanding the wisdom in Blob's caution even as he wished things could be different. "You're right. It's just that sometimes it's hard for us to get away, to come all the way to the clearing without someone noticing or asking questions."

"Patience," Blob said gently. "This one has waited many cycles for understanding. Can wait longer when necessary."

The simple statement was both reassuring and slightly sad, a reminder of the vast difference in their experience of time, in their perspectives on life and its rhythms.

"We'll come as often as we can, and we'll be careful. No one will find out about you unless we decide together that it's safe to tell them."

As they made their way back through the forest, Kaelid found himself thinking about trust, about how extraordinary it was that this being, so different from themselves, had chosen to believe in their good intentions, to share its knowledge and its very existence with them despite the painful history between their kinds.

"Do you ever wonder," he asked Rannek as they neared the river, "what would happen if everyone knew about Blob? If they could see what we've seen, learn what we've learned?"

Rannek was silent for a moment. "Some would understand," he said finally. "My mother might. Maybe yours too. But others..." He shook his head. "Uncle Doran, Huntsman Tannin, the older veterans, they have too many memories of the war, too much fear and anger still inside them. They wouldn't see Blob. They'd just see an enemy."

He nodded, knowing his friend was right. The village was not ready for the truth, might never be ready, given the scars left by the eastern campaigns. For now, at least, their friendship with Blob had to remain a secret, a precious knowledge shared only between the three of them.

"Maybe someday," he said, more to himself than to Rannek. "Maybe when we're older, when people listen to us more, we can help them understand."

They crossed the river as the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, their minds full of the day's conversations, of glimpses into a consciousness so different from their own yet recognizable in its curiosity, its desire for connection, its fundamental personhood despite its alien form.

And as they parted ways at the edge of the village, he knew with absolute certainty that they were part of something extraordinary, a bridge between worlds, a friendship that transcended the boundaries of species, of form, of the very nature of consciousness itself.

It was worth any risk, any deception, any effort to maintain and protect. Because in Blob, they had found not just a fascinating curiosity or an alien intelligence, but a friend, a being who saw them, understood them, and chose to trust them despite every reason history had given it to fear.

And that, he was beginning to realize, was perhaps the rarest and most precious gift of all.