My head hurts. It’s 2:57 am. Everything is quiet here, but my head is noisy. can hear the hum of the air processor, scrubbing the local atmosphere while everyone sleeps. not important.
Traded my credits for an alchemy primer. Veyra looked at me strange. Who cares. needed it. lack basic understanding, making stupid mistakes. Like bringing a new formula for guild application. Stupid. Embarrassing. That mistake might draw the wrong attention. One thing am sure of after Babylon, am an ant. need to mix in with other ants to avoid being stepped on.
Anyway. Read the whole thing last night. Took maybe an hour? Read it again, slower. was missing something. My eyes ache.
Made some terrible assumptions. That word looks odd when written down. Assumptions.
Alchemy is nothing like primitive earth medicine. Nothing. Not plants and powders and clever grinding. Thought it was. Wasn’t. It’s essence. Everything is essence. Literally everything. Essence like… energy, but not dumb energy. Energy with opinions. With inclinations. Intent.
tried to explain it to myself: slow-essence resists change. That was my first example, but it’s wrong. It doesn’t really explain it. Maybe it’s more like flavors? Or like how people naturally take the shortest path to wherever they are going? That’s closer.
Light essence. That one’s easy. It wants to shine. You don’t even pay a cost for that — it’s practically free because it loves to do it. Wants to. Same as fire wants to burn. These essences have desires. Small ones, but still.
Alchemy is taking those aspected essences and pushing them into combinations that tolerate each other. Like arranging people into teams. Some never speak, some become best friends, some stab each other over stupid stuff. Example. Basic healing potion. Carrier-essence, absorption-essence, anti-necrotic-essence, vitality-essence. All shoved in together but somehow stable enough that when you drink it the body becomes the middleman, until the body digests it and the whole thing collapses.
In theory water doesn’t matter. Water’s just the lazy man’s carrier. Any essence with the right inclination could work. That’s wild. Means alchemy doesn’t have to be liquids at all. Primer lists pills, creams, salves, whole baths, and briefly touches on stones — the pinnacle of alchemy. Permanent body alterations? Less than a paragraph about it.
So yes, lots to think about. Which is why instead of sleeping, read my new formula. Recovery potion. Dumb name. Now have recovery and restoration — perfect trap for the sleep-deprived.
Recovery potion restores exhausted strength. Muscles, but also mental strain. Knew soon as I saw it. Perfect for Challenge Three. endurance grind.
Only problem: time. Not ingredients. Brewing takes nearly a day. Try to rush it and the whole thing comes apart. Like bread that collapses in the oven. Bread. When did I last eat bread? Doesn’t matter.
Point. To make enough recovery potions for Madarox’s defenders, need weeks. Don’t have weeks.
Fell asleep on that thought, brain whirring. Dreamed. Something clicked. Or half-clicked. Don’t even remember the dream, only the pressure in my chest. Woke, fixated. The idea was just… there.
Now it’s 3:12. Never been to Oldetown at night. Wonder if the lanterns are still lit or if Union patrols shut them down. Wonder if any merchants are open this late? Black market? … you know because it’s night out. Dumb joke.
Doesn’t matter. have to go. have to know.
Day 9, Challenge Level 3, 3:45 am
Oldetowne at night. Different. Quite like it. Different sounds. Lanterns, torches. Smoke thick in some alleys, smells like oil, or meat fat. Quieter. Many shops shuttered. Same stalls as day, but hushed.
Few places for food. A few bars still loud, men shouting, laughter like glass breaking. Wonder how they can drink at this hour, then again—different lives, different clocks.
Found roasted hand-ground coffee. Surprised me. Rich smell, bitter edge. Perfect for experiments. Might move all trials to night. Fewer eyes. No one watching. Peaceful. Or lonely. Can’t tell which.
Day 9, Challenge Level 3, 4:54 am
it worked.
hands shaking from nerves or caffeine.
coffee full. again.
Terrified. Not sure what to do. Will try to sleep.
Rem woke only when his alarm reached phase three of its so-called gentle wake-up program, which was anything but gentle. Killman Folklore Badjuice screamed Riddle Me This into the quiet—strings sawing, percussion snapping, the lyrics a half-mad chant that clawed at his lethargic mind. He flung the covers back, lurched upright, and jumped out of bed. Silence dropped as the alarm mercifully relented.
He yawned, stretching out the fog in his chest. Then froze.
The desk.
The cup.
Coffee. Black, unbroken surface. Full. Waiting.
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His pulse surged, loud in his ears. He glanced around the room, as if some intruder might still be hiding in the corners, crouched where the morning light hadn’t reached. Empty. But that didn’t calm him. If anything, the emptiness confirmed it. The cup hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t dissolved with sleep like so many other fragments of last night.
It sat there as though time itself had respected it. Unspoiled. Untouched.
Rem swallowed, throat dry. Every instinct said ignore it—dress, get out—but his eyes couldn’t leave the dark liquid, the faint reflection of his own face twisted across its surface.
Not a dream.
Which meant—he had a real problem.
He checked the time. Late. He sprinted into action. Covers pulled taut with a snap. Clothes changed. Satchel slung over. He nearly stepped out empty-handed, returning only to grab the cup that stared at him—a dark, accusing eye. A quick stop in the kitchen for some ice and he was gone.
He was halfway to the Academy and halfway through downing the evidence of his crime when he ran into Eva Smit. She spotted him first, lifting a hand in a sharp wave that cut through the morning haze. Her hair caught the light—a flare of copper against the pale stone of the Academy’s outer wall.
Rem nearly flinched. He gulped the last of the coffee, the ice clinking against the ceramic as he tilted the cup too far, too fast. Bitter liquid cooled his throat. His stomach rebelled, but he forced it down, forcing normalcy with it. Evidence erased. Nothing to see here.
Did she change her hair?
“Rem!” Eva jogged the last few steps, breath clouding in the chill. “You don’t look good. Again.”
Her grin softened the jab, but the words lodged sharp in his chest. Again. She’d noticed. People were always noticing.
“I’m fine.” The words felt brittle in his mouth. He shifted the satchel higher on his shoulder, tried to summon a smile, but his face refused. Awkwardly, he stuffed the empty cup into his jacket pocket.
Eva’s eyes narrowed, quick and perceptive. She had that way of looking right through the scaffolding he built around himself, as if she could see the thoughts he’d buried behind his forehead. “You’re not fine.”
“Define fine.” He forced a laugh, thin and hollow. “Listen. I know we… disagree about things.” His mind tried to shove away the night before—the cup, the thing waiting for him back in the lab. He needed to say something else, something safer. “But I found out some things that are important, and I don’t want to keep them from you. Stuff that could help.”
Eva shot him a sidelong look. “You’re stalling. Out with it.”
Rem hesitated, words sticking like gristle in his throat. “I… had a fight. With the Headmaster. He wanted me expelled.”
“Expelled?”
“Kicked out of the Academy,” Rem admitted, forcing the words through. “Until he realized… until he realized I’m—” He paused. His hand tightened on the cup in his pocket.
“You’re what?”
“I’m an alchemist,” he said at last. Let it hang there. She was bound to see his name on potions for sale soon anyway.
Eva blinked, then barked a short laugh. “An alchemist? That explains some things. Wait—what does that have to do with the Academy?”
“The Trials—they’re not just games. They’re evaluations. The Headmaster said they’re using the data to build teams for a cross-academy trial they’re planning.”
That stopped her. For a second she just stared, wide-eyed. “You’re serious.”
He nodded once.
Eva’s grin came then, fierce and bright, excitement kindling behind her eyes. “That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I told you, literally, the next time I saw you,” Rem muttered, defensive.
“You know you can call me anytime, Rem.” She bumped his arm, sharp. “This is big. Huge.”
Rem rubbed his arm where she’d hit him. She didn’t know her own strength. “Apparently alchemists are rare. He changed his mind about expelling me once he found out.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, knuckles tight around the rim of the empty cup. He didn’t want to think about it, but the ceramic felt heavier now.
Eva bumped her shoulder against his. “Still. A cross-academy competition? That means a chance to actually prove we’re better than the others. That’s not nothing.”
Her voice was light, but Rem couldn’t match her brightness. “Just don’t play into their hands too easily. Show what you want them to see, not what you are.”
She studied him for a moment, lips pressed thin. Then she nodded once. “Alright. I can tell the others about this, right?”
“Just sorta keep it between friends. The Headmaster—I don’t know if he wants the whole school clued into his schemes.”
“Does this mean you’re going to start actually taking the Trials seriously?” she asked, eyes bright, almost glowing with the idea.
“Nope. Banned.” Rem’s smile was thin, all edge. “Apparently I was dragging down the school average.”
Eva laughed, loud and unguarded, but it struck him sideways. He tried to echo her, a dry chuckle slipping out, but the sound caught in his throat. It wasn’t that funny. Nothing about any of this was funny.
The cup shifted in his jacket pocket as they walked, bumping against his ribs with each step. Too heavy for what it was. He gripped the fabric tight, pretending it was nothing, pretending he was just another student hurrying to class. But he could still taste the bitterness on his tongue, still feel the warped reflection waiting in the dark surface.
Eva chattered on about the competition, her excitement filling the silence he couldn’t, while Rem only half-heard her. The rest of him was listening for footsteps that weren’t there.
Wed. Trial day. For most anyway. Rem stood in line, dread swelling heavy in his gut. One foot in front of the other. Normally he wanted it over with, but now he wished the line would stretch forever. Too soon the arch rose before him. His pulse hammered as he stepped through.
Select Destination
- Storage Locker
- Alchemy Laboratory
- Challenge 3 (27 passes remaining)
- Babylon
He chose the laboratory.
The workshop breathed awake around him, air thick with yesterday’s fumes. Glassware gleamed faintly, some fogged with residue. A copper coil caught the light. A pestle lay gritty with dried powder, as if the work had paused mid-motion and never resumed.
He moved as though each step might rouse something sleeping. His breath shallow. Hands clammy. Nothing seemed out of place at first — only the familiar clutter, the ordinary chaos of the bench.
Then he saw it.
A vial resting on a pad of blue velvet. Plain glass at a glance, but the longer his eyes lingered the more it shifted, shimmered. As if light itself bent twice before leaving it. Not glowing — not exactly — but carrying a hush, a weight, a gravity all its own.
The air seemed to hold still. His chest tightened. He let the identification whisper through:
Vial of Duplication
Level 3
Duplicates any substance contained within when agitated.
Rank: Rare
It was real. A miracle. A transgression. His ultimate cheat. His way of breaking everything. His downfall.
He let out a long breath.
“Now what am I going to do with you?” he whispered, voice thinner than he meant.
It wasn’t a dream. Not a hallucination, not fatigue. The vial sat heavy in the silence, waiting, as if it knew.
And now he had to live with it.