Had Vetra said anything? He dragged her words back through his memory, each one sounding thinner the more he replayed them. That had been the promise. Nothing about a master.
But she had assumed he had one.
He breathed slow and shallow, his throat dry. If he admitted he had no master, what then? Disqualification? Worse?
“You think my application is a joke?” he asked, his voice cracking before he could steady it.
His hands were wet with sweat. He couldn’t keep them still. They scrabbled into his satchel, closed around the crumpled paper bag, and pulled it free. The smell of fried sugar filled the office — absurdly ordinary in the suffocating silence. He tore a donut in half, the sugar crust breaking with a faint snap, and shoved a piece into his mouth.
The man’s mouth tightened. He said nothing.
Rem chewed slowly, buying seconds, forcing his jaw to move instead of his tongue. The moment stretched like drawn glass, fragile and ready to shatter. He swallowed, reached for another piece, tore it apart. His fingertips came away sticky, dusted white. How would Eva handle this? He wondered.
“Explain,” he tried to channel her confidence, his voice clear and direct. His heart refused to slow.
The man’s eyes narrowed, then dropped. He leaned back, expression souring, as though the silence itself had worn him down.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.” His voice was clipped, reluctant. “Your master prefers to remain anonymous. It’s not unheard of.”
He fixed on Rem, staring as though weighing a coin in his hand. Something hardened behind his eyes.
“I don’t know what he’s playing at,” he said at last, “but it was cruel to send you here with a new formula. Alchemy is an art that takes years of dedication, of mastery. You don’t cut corners without bleeding for it.”
He leaned forward, the silver badge catching the light. His finger tapped the exam table, each word landing like a hammer.
“Skipping ranks will cause problems. Resentment. Expectations.”
The pause lingered, heavy as smoke. Then his voice thinned into something almost mocking.
“Publicly they may celebrate you. Privately, they will revel in your failures. That is the gift your master has given you.”
White words appeared before Rem, his eyes lost focus as he read them.
Your application for the Alchemist Guild has been approved. The Alchemy Guild interface has been enabled.
Alchemical Prodigy
All Alchemy-related skill progression increased by 15%.
This title is visible in your official guild record.
Rem’s mouth went dry. Fifteen percent — a real advantage, the kind of edge others dreamed about. He could learn faster, climb quicker.
But the last line stuck like a barb. Visible. Everyone in Babylon would see it stamped on his record. He’d just been warned what that meant — the cheers, the envy, the whispered bets on when he’d fall.
His fingers tightened on the crumpled bag in his lap. Sugar dust smeared across his palm. He should have felt triumphant. Instead, he felt exposed.
Rem brushed his hands off, under the table.
“I see what you mean.” Rem frowned at the notification.
“Welcome to the Alchemist Guild,” the man stood, all formality now. “Contributor, Rembrandt De Vries”
More notices flared across his vision.
A bronze badge shimmered into being on his shirt. Cool, heavy. His fingers traced the etched surface, the weight of it sinking into him.
The examiner cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “That concludes your evaluation. Come.”
He guided Rem back through the narrow hallways, the scent of chalk and simmering glass trailing after them, until the doors opened into the common hall. Heads turned. Conversations dropped. Eyes caught on the bronze badge now fixed to his chest, and whispers surrounded him.
Rem kept his gaze low, shouldered through the weight of stares, and pushed out into the courtyard.
The air was cooler here, touched with the sharp tang of herbs from the guild gardens. Benches lined the flagstones, their edges worn smooth by centuries of apprentices waiting their turn. He sank onto one, set the crumpled bag beside him, and drew out the last of his donuts.
Sugar clung to his fingers as he chewed, staring past the arcades of the Alchemy Court toward the sweep of the city beyond. Bronze badge on his chest. Sweet grit on his tongue. The whole of Babylon stretched below, watching.
When he was done with his donuts and staring in wonder at the mythical city, he summoned his guild interface for the first time.
[Alchemy Guild Interface]
Member:
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Rank:Standing:
Privileges Unlocked:
- Granted system access to a private laboratory.
- Right to accept apprentices under personal seal.
- Authorized entry to the Archive of Failed Formulas.
Insignia:
- Type:
- Properties:
- Usage:
? Serves as key-token for laboratory access and archive entry.
? Authorizes reagent purchases and apprentice registrations under bearer’s seal.
? Transmits status verification on demand, visible in public guild records.- Note:
- Properties:
Previous Tiers
- Rank IV.
- Rank III.
- Ranks I–II.
- Rank III.
Guild Banking (Universal Provision)
- Entitlement.
- Deductions.
Transactional Fees and Taxes. i. presents their Guild Insignia as primary identification; or
ii. utilizes a guild-rate account to finalize payment.
(b) Dues and Levies.- Preferential Terms.
- Interface Access.
- Deductions.
Guild Pricing Protection (Universal Provision)
All members of the Alchemy Guild, irrespective of rank, shall be entitled to receive compensation for recognized alchemical work in accordance with the official Guild schedule of prices and fees. Members shall further be entitled to resell approved creations solely at the rates established by the Guild. Any deviation from such schedule, whether by overpricing, underpricing, or unauthorized private sale, shall constitute a breach of Guild law and subject the member to disciplinary action, up to and including forfeiture of rank and privileges.
He read the details, slowing when a line caught at him. Twice he went back, his eyes snagging on the words. That was the one. He closed the interface, the glow fading from his vision, and lifted his gaze.
Babylon stretched before him — towers of stone, copper roofs burnished by centuries, arches carved with forgotten saints and gods. Tiered ziggurats stood shoulder to shoulder with domed mosques, gothic spires tangled with aqueducts that leapt like bridges through the air. Every style of the old world pressed together, jostling, as though the Union had stolen every citadel of Earth’s past and bound them into a single, endless city.
He stood, caught between awe and disbelief.
Then movement broke the spell. A man, crossing from one high tower to another — not borne by machine, but drifting through the air itself. He moved slowly at first, as though testing the wind, then surged faster, vanishing into the shadow of the next citadel wall.
Rem’s breath stuck in his throat.
The flood had opened. Now he saw them everywhere. People walking faster than any runner had a right to, others gliding inches above the cobblestones, robes trailing behind them like banners. Thin metal platforms bore passengers skyward. And there — streaks and blurs slicing through the market avenues so swiftly he almost missed them, flashes of movement like ghosts between heartbeats.
His hand clenched the bench. The thought struck him hard and cold: if one of those streaks collided with him, a Level 3 with essence barely filling his veins, the difference alone would tear him apart.
Rem’s heart hammered as he rose from the bench. He walked as though the ground might break beneath him, shoulders drawn tight, arms close, a small figure in a city of giants.
He retraced his path toward the archway, the carved stones of the Alchemy Court rising like watchmen overhead. Not long ago he’d stood here carefree, able to marvel at the view. Now sweat clung to him, each step weighted with dread. The thought of returning for reagents or gear felt less like an errand and more like a death sentence.
He slipped beneath the arch, and the thunder of Babylon’s courtyards fell away to a hush.
Select Location
- Storage Locker
- Alchemy Laboratory
- Challenge 3 (27 passes)
- Zwolle (origin)
He chose Zwolle. In an instant he was back in Oldetown, the clamor replaced by the familiar press of voices, the smokey tang of street braziers, the uneven rhythm of cart wheels on stone. Safe. He drew a long breath, shaky in his chest, and made his way to the plaza’s edge. A worn bench waited there, facing the arch. He sat, letting his pulse slow, watching.
It was midday, the square alive with the usual churn of townsfolk. Yet he caught it—glances lingering, not all but some. Eyes flicking to his chest, then away. He looked down and saw the bronze insignia gleaming, still displayed. Heat flushed his neck. With a thought he dismissed it, and the badge shimmered out of sight, gone as though it had never been.
Rem laughed under his breath, sudden and breathless. The accomplishment struck him all at once, not as words on a screen but as truth. He was a member of the Alchemist Guild. A real, system-recognized crafter.
He rose and made his way back to the arch. A brief pause, a steadying breath, and he stepped forward. This time he held the thought firm: his alchemy laboratory. The prompt never came. Instead, he walked cleanly through, as though the stone itself had opened for him, and emerged into a chamber unlike anything he’d known.
The room was hewn from block and brick, its walls thick and cool, the stone veined with age. Heavy beams of dark wood braced the ceiling, dark-grained and oiled, smelling faintly of resin. A broad bench stretched the length of one wall, smooth and unmarked, its surface waiting for the first stain of acid, the first spill of tincture. Brass devices and glass retorts gleamed in orderly ranks, each resting in iron brackets set into the stone. A set of scales balanced delicately at the center, weights arrayed like coins around it.
Opposite the bench, a small growing area rose under a trellised frame. Planters of earth and gravel sat ready, irrigation channels cut into the floor, a soft alchemical glow already coaxing seedlings from the soil.
It was no vast hall, but neither was it small. Twice the size of his storage locker, yet infinitely more. A place that smelled of stone dust and fresh wood, waiting for fire and tincture to make it truly his.
Rem stood in the doorway, the weight of the badge gone from his chest but not from his thoughts. Its promise hung in the air. His lab. His craft. His beginning.
He forced himself to breathe, to think. By his reckoning he had enough hours to set the place in order—shift his gear from the locker, transplant the lilies into the grow beds, scrub the dust from the stone. With luck, he could free the locker entirely and still slip in a few challenge runs before nightfall.
The thought steadied him. Work was familiar. Work he could trust.
He rolled up his sleeves, crossed the threshold, and set his hands to it.
[SYSTEM BROADCAST — ROYALROAD — STATUS REPORT: CHANNEL 77-Δ]
Engagement Baseline Metrics
? Preference Flag Activations: 193
? Evaluation Entries (REV-A): 12
? Appraisal Marks Logged: 144
? Textual Consumption Throughput: 64,930
Delta-Class Adjustments Since Prior Synchronization
? +34 preference flags instantiated.
? +2 evaluation entries appended to Ledger REV-A.
? +23 appraisal marks integrated.
? +16,146 consumption events processed through Channel RR-01.
Variance conforms to projected throughput windows (Matrix §B.3). No destabilizing signal detected.
Review Impact Analysis
? Two evaluation entries exhibited statistically significant influence on downstream engagement behavior.
? Identified sources: Quietcanary, Xeno998
? Both entries generated measurable shifts in interaction probability, affecting subscriber accretion rates and appraisal-mark variance.
Content increased visibility weighting and elevated exploratory traffic within a 24-hour window. Positive sentiment amplified signal retention, while critical elements increased comparative analysis behaviors without reducing net throughput. Combined effect registered as a 4.2 percent improvement in insight distribution per Matrix §B.3.
See COMPETITIVE RANKING FILE RS-Δ/14.