My first memories are not of my mother's face, or the warmth of a fire, but of the cold. A bone-deep, all-consuming cold. I was a bundle wrapped in cloth, a tiny life floating on a river, a small ship set adrift in a sea of snow and ice. The river roared below the cliff where my life began, a sound that echoes in my bones even now. I don't consciously remember the biting wind or the snow tearing at my swaddling, but the instincts of my survival—the primal fear of cold and the desperate clinging to warmth—tell me of that day more vividly than any recounted story.
They told me one of us was a savior, and the other was an anomaly. My twin brother, Lyra, had been chosen, destined to bring prosperity and power to a village that followed an ancient, brutal prophecy. They called it the "Splitting of the Soul," a ritual that was meant to decide our fate. They placed a polished stone in Lyra's hand, and it hummed with a soft, bright light. Then, an elder took my hand, placing a similar stone in my palm. Mine pulsed with a faint, uncertain glow, almost like it was shy. It was enough for them to cast me out. The law was absolute. The savior must be protected, the anomaly abandoned.
I was not thrown away in anger, but in a cold, terrible sadness. My mother, I know, was a victim of their belief as much as I was. A choice was given to her: me or the village. She made her choice, but not without one final act. As she cast me into the churning river, she pressed a small, smooth pebble into my tiny hand. "Drex," she whispered, her voice a ghost in the wind. "My little stone. This is a piece of my heart. It will guide you. It will find you friends where others see only monsters."
My journey was a blur of darkness and light, of freezing water and a quiet, persistent hum. The little green stone in my hand, my mother's last gift, pulsed with a gentle warmth, warding off the most bitter chill. It was the only thing that kept me from freezing, a tiny beacon of life in a world of endless white. I floated for what must have been days, my bundle battered by rocks and ice. I had no control, no choice. I was simply a vessel, carried by the whim of a river that had been a witness to my exile.
Then, the river calmed. I felt the slow, gentle movement of the current as it carried me into a dark place, a cave hidden behind a waterfall. The sound of the rushing water was muted, a constant, soothing rhythm. The air was warmer here, a damp, earthy warmth that smelled of moss and life. The little green stone in my hand pulsed with a stronger light than ever before, its warmth attracting something.
I didn't open my eyes, but I felt a soft, gelatinous touch on my skin. A warm ripple moved over my body, a gentle pressure. My bundle of cloth was unraveled, and I was lifted, not by hands, but by a thousand tiny, shifting surfaces. The creatures that found me were not human. They were slimes, and my mother's words, a prophecy in themselves, began to come true. They were my first friends. They were my family. I was raised in that cave, surrounded by the soft, glowing bodies of creatures the outside world would have called mindless monsters.
My earliest years were spent in a world of soft colors and quiet hums. I didn't learn to walk on a smooth floor but on the backs of my slimes. I learned to speak not in words, but through the Interface, a magical connection that transcended language. The slimes taught me what they knew. They showed me the world through their eyes, a world of beautiful, powerful mana. They showed me the other monsters in the forest, who, like them, were simply living their lives. And they showed me the greedy, violent acts of the humans who occasionally wandered into our territory, hunting for treasure. It was through these experiences that I learned to distrust humanity, a lesson ingrained not in my mind, but in the very core of my being.
We made a home. A beautiful forest sanctuary rich in ancient trees and powerful mana. In time, my slimes' constant presence and the magic they exuded, combined with the power of my mother's stone, began to change the very ground beneath us. The mana crystallized, and the Gemstone Grove was born. It was our greatest secret, a monument to our family, our survival, and our peace.
For years, we lived in this haven. I grew from a helpless infant into a young man, and my slimes, from tiny creatures to powerful protectors. I had no need for a sword. I was a strategist, and my army of friends was all the weapon I needed. We were a quiet, powerful family, hidden from the world. But as with all good things, the greed of the world found its way in. A clatter of armored boots. The whispers of a fabled grove. The same hunger that had cast me out years ago had come to disturb my peace. It was a cycle I was no longer willing to tolerate.