The art of alchemy had always fascinated Hong Tang Kiro. With a single pill, even the weakest of children could go toe to toe with a mighty warrior. With a gulp of elixir, even the harshest of wounds could turn from certain death to a minor inconvenience. And with the proper dose of poison, entire armies of accomplished mystics could be felled with a single strike.

Alchemy was indisputable proof that even those forbidden from cultivation could harness the powers of heaven and earth, and with this new elixir...

Well, he'd find out.

He turned his attention to the vial in front of him, focusing on the transparent red liquid. This was one of the first recipes he had ever learned — two parts ground crimson lotus and one part dayspore, dissolved together in water just shy of boiling. The Hong Clan called it the Breath of Heavenly Fire, but it was just an apprentice-level solution that bolstered cultivation speed.

He wiped sweaty palms onto his stained alchemical robe, squinting in the dim glow of his burner’s flame. At one point, he had had the light of the setting sun to illuminate his work, but that time had long since passed, and while he could have activated the runes on his lantern, right now he was too close to a breakthrough to care.

Carefully, he poured in five pasted leaves of frostfrond, turning up the burner a quarter of a notch. This was the last variable he had to isolate — four leaves had been too little to completely react with the fire mana, and six had been too much. Hopefully, this would be just right.

A plume of azure fire blossomed from the top, and he shielded his eyes, frantically swirling the bottle with a pair of wrought iron tongs. A frosty blue awakened within the sea of red, and the liquid brightened with newfound light.

Stable!

A grin spread on his face, but he shook the excitement away. He wasn't done quite yet. All the individual steps had gone as planned, but as years of alchemy had taught him, chaos had a million ways to disrupt even the most controlled of environments.

Still, he wouldn’t know until he tried. With a quick prayer to the Saints, he dumped in three spoonfuls of powdered crystal.

A second passed. Then two. Then three.

Had he failed again?

Finally, an excruciating four seconds later, the crystal fulfilled its role as catalyst, disintegrating as the two colors fused into a shining, coherent white. A slight pressure permeated the air, and as he stoppered the vial, he couldn’t help but wish that he was anything but a Sun. To a mystic’s spiritual sense, that reaction must have been beautiful.

He shot to his feet, wearily pumping his arms in celebration. After what must have been hundreds of tries, in this bottle, he had combined two completely ordinary things to form something extraordinary.

When they were still children, Seira had once tried to force an advancement onto his core, and he still had the scars where the stream of energy had wildly combusted. Without control over his spirit, it was impossible for him to safely take in any injected mana, and without any injected mana, it was impossible for him to gain control over his spirit.

This elixir was extraordinary, but not because it was especially potent, or because it contained any particularly rare ingredients. In fact, when consumed by any normal mystics, it would prove to be quite weak. No, what was extraordinary was that despite being aspected with fire mana, it was calm.

Perhaps calm enough to make it to his core without damaging it.

Fatigue threatened to collapse his legs out from under him, but he willed himself awake for one last task. This elixir would be the key to his future — it wouldn't do to lose it after all this hard work. As carefully as his foggy mind would allow, he stowed it away in a locked chest made of blood-red wood. Then, with what little energy he had left, he scribbled the recipe onto a piece of loose parchment, yawning as he finally shuffled off to bed.

At last, he was done. He flopped himself onto the worn bamboo, ignoring the overwhelming smell of medicinal herbs emanating from his clothes. There would be a lot of cleaning to do tomorrow, but that was just how it was when enlightenment struck. He closed his eyes, relaxing for the first time this night. He couldn't wait to tell Seira, but for now —

He cracked open an eyelid. Surely, that couldn't have been...

Kiro cursed. The first rays of the rising sun streamed through his shutters, landing on his face as if to mock him. Had he really spent the entire night concocting that single elixir?

He shook himself.

The harvests. He needed to get to the harvests. He grabbed a handful of sparkleaf from his bag of herbs, popping it in his mouth as he rushed out the door.

* * *

“You useless piece of filth!”

A stream of liquid fire materialized at the edge of Kiro’s vision, arcing downwards with a trail of brilliant orange light. On instinct, he brought his hands up to defend himself, but the whip tore through his sleeves, scorching thin, painful lines on his forearms.

Not this again.

“You dare arrive tardy to the harvests? You are a disgrace to the clan!” A gray-haired woman stepped out in front of him, scorn staining her wrinkled expression as she leveled the conjured weapon for another strike. Supervisor Ba.

He bowed low to the ground, gritting his teeth as another searing blow struck his shoulder. Of course it had to be her. He should have known better than to wear his alchemical robes today — now he’d need to get a new set.

The acrid smell of burnt fabric assaulted his nostrils, and he gingerly put a finger to his new burns. At least they didn’t feel too bad.

“Well? Have you nothing to say, Sun-ranked scum?” The supervisor spat at him, and he looked up, wishing for the thousandth time that he had any other symbol marked onto his hand.

"I shame you with my presence, honored Torch. I will make amends for my insolent oversight." This was the fourth day in a row that she had found some trivial excuse to flay him, and despite the application of his best salves, yesterday’s wounds still flared an angry red. He put on his most apologetic expression, praying to the heavens that she would leave him be.

It looked as if the heavens weren't listening.

The woman’s eyes flashed with greed, and a cruel grin crossed her face as she raised the flaming whip once more. “Yes, you will! To make up for your constant disregard for order, I expect you to contribute with your earnings. Ten spirit stones each time!”

There was an audible gasp amongst the other Suns, but none of his fellow farmers stepped forwards to aid him. They knew their place in the clan. They were the lowest of the low, forbidden from even practicing the mystic arts, meaning that even a lowly Torch had absolute control over their lives.

He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching into his bag and dropping the shimmering blue shards to the ground. At least she would have to stoop down to get them herself.

Supervisor Ba growled. “Blatant disrespect!”

The whip came down on him once more, and this time he couldn’t get his arms up fast enough. He winced, and the flames lashed his chest, leaving a trail of inflamed skin and charred cloth across his torso.

Heavens.

“You dare show anything but regret for your despicable actions? Every second that you waste, you cost the clan, and yet you still have the audacity to spit in the face of my mercy.”

She harrumphed, and another Sun rushed over to collect the stones, avoiding Kiro’s gaze as he carefully handed them to the supervisor.

“I expect a bare minimum of a thousand more spirit stones, deposited at my doorstep by sunset. And you’d best supply much more if you wish to save face.”

He clenched his jaw, caution warring with rage as he tried to keep silent despite the pain. He didn’t even have a thousand spirit stones to give.

“Well?”

The hot rays of the rising sun beat upon his skin, further exasperating his burns and making it harder to think straight. This was all because of his mother. Hong Tang Leila loved reminding the lower ranks of her superiority, and Supervisor Ba was just her latest victim.

Still, that didn’t make the old woman any less threatening. The reasonable choice was to just accept the loss, to throw away all of his life’s savings and beg for mercy. If he didn’t, who knew how much damage she would do to him.

But if he gave up those spirit stones, where would that leave him? A servant among servants, working himself to the bone just to pay off his supposed ‘debt’? Alchemy was expensive, and if the supervisor got her way, she would make sure that he would never have enough funds to ever concoct again. Sure, letting her do so was the honorable choice, the choice that would save him face. But as a Sun, he didn’t have any face to lose.

“No,” he spat.

“What did you say to me, boy?”

“No.” he snarled, jumping to his feet. “I will not give up my hard-earned spirit stones just to satisfy your twisted sense of power! I don’t care how many times my mother has wronged you, or how much you seek revenge on my bloodline! I am not my mother — that she has made abundantly clear.”

The supervisor seethed. “That... that was your last traitorous word.”

She ran a hand down the length of the whip, and a pressing force emanated from her, weighing down on his limbs like sacks of grain. Her aura.

Kiro prepared himself, heart pounding. This could be the end of everything he held dear, yet he didn’t at all regret his decision.

Unlike the rest of the Suns, he was an alchemist. Whatever injuries Hong Ba Shou would inflict upon him, he could heal, so long as he had an inch of life left within him. More than that, though, her reign would finally be over. Permanently injuring a source of labor was considered an imprisonable offense.

This was it. The supervisor cracked her conjured weapon, and he met her with a vicious glare. He would not let her terrorize him any longer. He readied himself for the strike, defiance coursing through his veins, and a sense of cold acceptance settled over him.

Whatever happened, he was ready.

Supervisor Ba stared at him, and her aura seemed to get even heavier, as if even her spirit had grown cautious of him.

Then… she fell to her knees, pressing her head to the ground. “This humble Torch greets the Brave.”

What?

A cloaked woman appeared in front of him, and the rest of the Suns bowed in reverence. Her robes were torn, and dirt seemed to cake every inch of her bruised skin, but as she lifted a hand to pull down her tattered hood, there was no question as to her noble status.

Seira.

She glanced at him, and he looked back, grinning. Long strands of red stained her head of matted black hair, cascading down to reveal a pair of brilliant ruby eyes. He would have recognized those eyes anywhere, that vibrant scarlet gaze that could cut through crowds like a lamp in the dark.

After all, they were the same as his own.

His sister cloaked herself in a shroud of fire, looking down onto the trembling supervisor. “It seems as if you were attempting to strike down my brother, Torch. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Slowly, deliberately, she walked forwards, the very picture of a battle-worn Saint. And for once, Supervisor Ba didn’t utter a word. The old woman simply pushed herself even deeper into the ground, whimpering like a kicked dog.

“I will be reporting this to your superiors, Ba. I, Hong Tang Seira, heir to the esteemed Tang Family and Brave of the Hong Clan, have witnessed all that I must.”

A moment of silence passed, and Seira snuffed out her flames, revealing that not an inch of her robes had been burnt. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned to Kiro, her deathly glare melting away into a carefree grin.

“I’ll meet you at your house, K?”

He smiled.