Aki

The Alchemy district was divided into nine regions, each delineated by expertise and climate. From west to east came summer, spring, and winter, their weather controlled by some grand Vapor matrix that allowed for the fostering of various beasts and forms of plant life—a pivotal resource in the training of Alchemists. From the north to the south came novice, intermediate, and advanced, each holding progressively more valuable and dangerous forms of life. At the base, spanning the entire western border of the district, was the central laboratory, a large building of dark-brown stone.

We’d come half a turn early to a room in the eight-story building at the center of the summer-novice region, taking front and center from among the row of stout worktables. Soon after our arrival, a frazzled man stumbled into the room, followed by a more sober woman carrying a small chest.

“Well, what do we have here?” the man asked, his plump face swollen further by the type of silly smile reserved for young children and decadent Alchemists. “A ten? In my class? Other than Malorey?”

The woman behind him looked surprised. “A ten, Master? Are you certain?”

“Of course, my young apprentice,” Master Royce said, rubbing at the tangled mess of thinning hair atop his head. “Set between the measly three and four beside him, he is all but blinding.”

The apprentice walked to the assessor’s worktable, setting down the box she carried. “A cast-off?”

Royce ambled towards me, placed his elbows across the worktable, leaned forward, and gazed into my eyes as though it were a window into my soul. “Maybe. Could just as well be a bastard. What says you, Aki? Are you a cast-off or a bastard?”

I felt the urge to look away but resisted. “Neither, Master Royce.”

“You know both your parents?” he asked. Drunk as he looked, his mind and speech were clear of impediment, a keen intellect piercing through his addled, bloodshot eyes.

“Yes,” I said.

“And neither is God, Fiora, or Seculor?”

“Neither is of House Silas.”

He smiled as if to say ‘No need to worry, I’ll not dig deeper into your secrets’. “Well then, welcome to my class. I look forward to having another pinnacle student this year.” He turned to his apprentice, nearly falling when his elbow slipped. A quick palm to the table bought back his balance. “You may leave, Melina. There’s much to prepare for tonight's experiments.”

The tall, young, buxom woman bowed and left the room, throwing furtive glancing at me as she did.

Master Royce pushed off my worktable, staggered to the front, and opened the box his apprentice had left behind. He took out a blank scroll, a fine quill with purple-dyed feathers, and a crystal inkwell. After scribbling down a few lines, he turned to the door, half-closed eyes glued to the entrance.

Students began to filter into the room. Each prompted Royce to make another note, all but confirming what he was recording on the scroll. When the last of the students entered, apparent from the one remaining open seat, Royce reached back into the small chest and took out a small glass flask filled with a purple concoction. He removed the cork stopper and downed the content in one. Immediately his sluggish sway vanished and he turned his piercing eyes to the class, seeming a different man.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Master Royce. Without further ado, let us begin this introductory class into alchemy.” He slipped out of his purple robe and draped it across his seat, revealing a slim build discordant with his rotund face. “So, who would like to summarize the two Alchemist classifications for us?”

Hands rose across the room, all of them seeking to ingratiate themselves with the assessor. Royce ignored the eager hands, coming to stand before my worktable for the second time. “Care to try at an answer?”

I looked up at him. “Alchemy classifications are a little different from the other four. While they are—in truth if not in practice—equal, the classifications are considered tiered, with herbalists often deemed the lesser of the two.

“Herbalists are masters of extracting and distilling floral or bestial abilities from materials into alchemical solutions, temporarily granting these abilities to whatever or whoever consumes them.

“As for Arcanists, they are weavers of insentient souls, which is to say they mine the abilities of lesser souls of rudimentary existence or whose consciousnesses have been detached. It is said they obtain far more potent and lasting extractions, some of which are rumored to be capable of bestowing permanent effects.”

Royce nodded, pleased with my answer. “A more than satisfactory answer. It is, however, missing a few pertinent details and one particularly important clarification.” He stepped onto his toes, craning his head upwards to see over the flock of students. “Maloray, if you are done hiding, would you be so kind as to complete the answer?”

I turned to see a slight girl at the back of the class stand, irritation written across her face. “I hope you’ll not use me to correct your students at every turn, nephew.”

Royce smiled, unconcerned by the lack of respect. During tutelage, the relationship between teacher and student superseded that of Fiora and Seculor. Her decision to refer to him as ‘nephew’, particularly in the presence of his students, was a clear disregard for his position as the arbiter of the class.

Maloray turned to me, aloof and indifferent. “You made three omissions. One, Herbalists can combine abilities from different sources. Arcanists cannot. Two, insentient souls include unbodied souls who remain aware but are unable to manifest, process, or action their awareness due to a lack of a medium by which to do so—though I should also mention that such souls are considerably harder to extract from. Three, even the best concoctions the Arcanists can proffer are not permanent. All such creations tend to degrade over time. It is only that some have lasted longer than the lifespan of their recipients that the misconception of their permanency has spread.

“In regards to the important clarification my nephew mentioned, I believe it to be your general disregard for Herbalist. Nothing you said was overtly inaccurate, yet it was clear you hold a lower estimation of the class.”

I raised a hand. “More so misinformed than—”

“I did not venture to guess as to the why,” she said.

I nodded. “Yes, which is why I said it was ‘more so’, meaning to clarify that it would be more accurately described as misinformed than as low.”

Dako snickered beside me. He always enjoyed my verbal jousts when he was lucky enough not to be on the other end.

Maloray frowned. “Both can be true. They are not mutually exclusive.”

“Yes, but one can be more true than the other.”

Maloray looked away in thought before returning her gaze to me, some of her arrogance muted. “Perhaps, but if you are misinformed, how can you know how far you’ve misjudged the matter?”

“I don’t. What I do know is that my estimation has always been higher than what I was taught to believe. And though my answer was solely comprised of what I’ve been told, it did not include all I’ve estimated.”

Maloray shrugged. “Maybe so, but still irrelevant to my more germane point. Your summarisation understated the true value of the Herbalist classification.”

“My thanks,” I said, “for conceding to my clarification and enlightening me on the subject.”

“I made no such admission.”

“Stop your bickering, children,” Royce said, grinning at Malorey. He made a point of letting her know our wrangling amused him. “You’ll both have time enough to continue your verbose sparring in the years to come. For now—”

“I think not,” Maloray said.

“I suspect he’ll be your peer throughout your stay at The Academy,” Royce said, surprising many of my class.

Malorey’s eyes narrowed. “Unlikely.”

Our assessor shrugged. “He’s no less gifted.”

Her eyes widened. An awkward look on her, as though her face was uncomfortable with the expression. “Impos—”

“Enough,” Royce said, losing the good-humored smile he’d been wearing. “I shall not indulge you further, student. Now, as I was saying, I think the two of you have summarised the basic definitions well enough. Let us delve a little further into their particulars…”

Though their methods were vastly different, like Master Ackhart, Master Royce was a capable teacher. While Ackhart deconstructed concepts into fundamental principles, erecting his explanations in a way that grew in complexity by introducing baser elements and combining them into theories, Royce entertained, grasping at whatever took his fancy, the utter passion he had for what he was teaching infecting his audience as he chewed and blended topics into mouthfuls we could swallow.

“We were told there would be a test of harmony?” a Root asked, delaying our departure.

Royce placed his writing tools back into their box, rolled up the parchment he’d scribbled on at the start, tucked the scroll between his arm and chest, and said, “Yes, that is true.”

The boy who’d asked the question was nonplused, unsure of whether to reformulate his query or take the answer he was given.

“The tests have been carried out,” Royce said. “Where you're seated in my next class will tell you all you need to know about your results.”

Before any more questions could be asked of him, he closed his box and strode from the room.

“Care to tell us how?” Sil asked. She had waited until most of the students had departed.

“Yes,” Dako said. “One is impressive. Two is…well, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

“We’ll discuss it in private, preferably back in your Sil’s room,” I said. “And yes, I mean discuss. Both of you will likely know more than I.”

“Are you saying there’ll be some input on your part?” Sil asked.

“Some.”

“Including parts of your past that might be relevant.”

“However much eludes or is permitted by my discretion.”

She sighed and looked towards the last of the students leaving. “I thought as much. But the tale of an unheard-of Fiora with pinnacle harmony would’ve been deliciously interesting.”

Dako laughed, standing and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I both liked and disliked it when he did that, my heart and body disagreeing on the matter.

“And what exactly is funny about his frustratingly enigmatic past?” Sil asked.

Dako placed a palm on my chest. “The alternative would’ve been disappointing. If all it took to solve that mystery was this mystery, I would’ve felt cheated.”

“Oh,” I said. “So the only reason you walk the path is to—"

“Ha,” he barked. “Don’t waste your breath. I’ll not be tricked off the path and onto a road of guilt.”

“Rather poetic of you, I think,” Sil said. “But for Merkusian sake, could one of you explain to me what this godling’s shite of a path you two keep blabbering about is?”

Our laughter ceased near the door. Malorey stood, waiting. She was impressive. I’d never known another who could infuse so much conceit in the simple act of standing.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“About what?” I asked, though I already knew what.

“About whose bastard or cast-off you are.”

“Does it matter?”

“If my nephew is right and you possess a level of harmony to the alchemical arts that rivals my own, yes, it most certainly does.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m due for a question of my own,” she said. “Tell me who your parents are?”

“I see no reason to indulge your curiosity. Please move aside.”

She crossed her arms and set her jaw as if the very act would convince me to capitulate. I just waited.

“You know who I am?” she asked.

“Know? No, I can't say I do.”

“Of me then?”

“A little, I guess.”

“Then what is it you want?”

“From you? To move aside.”

Dako snorted a laugh. He and Sil stood behind me. They would only intervene if this came to blows of the physical sort, though I think their presence alone did some intervening in that regard, their figures looming behind me like an unspoken warning. Good thing too, since Dako’s laughter was acting to the contrary.

“I’m a three-weave Alchemist in all but name,” Malorey proclaimed.

“And?” I asked.

“And you want something.”

“I do?”

“From an Alchemist of my caliber, Yes. Tell me what it is?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, a thought creeping in to pull back the cordial barb at the tip of my tongue. “Three questions to one.”

She considered for a moment, then nodded.

“And I’ll not give you names.”

She frowned. “Fine. Have—”

“And a favor?”

She grumbled. “Only if it will bring me no trouble or inconvenience.”

“Sure.”

“Very well. Have—”

“And we begin anew, my questions coming first.”

She glanced over my shoulders as if weighing whether or not harming me was worth the risks involved. “No lies.”

“No deliberate lies,” I amended.

She sighed. “Proceed.”

“Alright. Walk with us.”

We headed out, Malorey beside me, Sil and Dako trailing close behind. Floral scents welcomed us as we stepped onto the dirt paths of the summer-novice field, gardens of vibrant vegetation organized about us—enough to smother the faint scent of dung drifting over from the far-off pens.

“How come today is the first I’ve seen of you?” I asked.

Malorey shrugged. “I took my exams early.”

“And you passed?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Well enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it's my turn for a question,” she said, smirking. “Are either of your parents Fioras of House Silas?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I get three questions to every one of yours,” I said. She tsked. “When you say you passed well enough, is that to say you’re eligible for all the classifications?”

“I am a pure Alchemist, meaning my dual classifications are in herbalism and the arcane. I did enough to pass but not enough to qualify for the others.”

“I see. Why is it you’ve not taken the Alchemy tests?”

“I have.”

“Then why were you in class today?”

“Boredom. Until I’ve graduated to the second, I do not have the right to use intermediate facilities, nor am I conferred the privilege of leaving the Academy grounds. In the end, I deemed novice pursuits more pointless than assessing my nephew’s teachings. Which house are you most related to?”

“Lorail, if I had to guess.”

She stopped in her tracks. Dako almost ran into her. He grumbled but made no further complaint.

“House Lorail does share cross-harmony with House Silas, but a pinnacle is…” Malorey muttered, the rest of her words too soft to hear.

“Why were you not part of the caravan from the capital?” I asked, continuing to walk the beaten path. She broke from her thoughts and hastened to catch up.

“Neither were Silani and Dakomir,” she said.

“Fair point. I’d not considered them.”

“Ahh,” said Dako, hands mockingly pressed to his chest as though my words had formed an arrow and pierced his heart. “What a mighty blow.”

I guffawed. “I should say I’d not considered asking. I’m not so shamelessly daring as to ask questions when I have so many secrets.”

“Ah,” Dako said. “It’s a miracle. I’m healed.”

Sil giggled under her breath. “You could ask. Should even. Not that we’ll answer, but asking is fine. We do.”

“Mm, so you’re a Branch with secrets,” Malorey said. “Not exactly a rarity.”

“I'm not,” I said.

“A rarety? I beg to differ.”

“No, a Branch.”

“But you said—” Again, Malorey stilled. This time, Dako griped a warning. She waved him an apology and promptly resumed her stride, a thoughtful look on her face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

When she came back to herself, it was with anger, hot and barely contained. “You’re lying. Or you’ve lied. The only truth I can take away from this farce is knowing you are likely of House Lorail.”

Abruptly, she turned to leave. Nonplussed, I reached for her. I shouldn’t have. The contact broke whatever barrier restrained her violence. She twisted and lunged for my throat. I felt a breeze come from over my shoulder. Dako’s arm snaked out. It was a close thing. Too close. The sharp tips of her fingers were mere inches from laying open my throat. Despite the locks on our sensus, wisps of dark hair like that of a woodland creature covered her hand, the nails sharp and jagged and claw-like. Her eyes flashed orange and she hissed.

Dako stepped past me and shoved her back. She rolled with the force, spinning back into a crouch, her movements nimble and agile.

“Try that again and I’ll end you,” Dako said. If you went by how he’d said, you’d never recognize it as a threat, so calm and casual was his delivery.

Malorey rolled her shoulders. Dako planted his feet, waiting. Sil came to stand by his side, quiet and assured.

“Wait!” I said. “There’s no need to come to blows. Besides, have you three forgotten where we are?”

The district plaza—the large, cobbled, open space before the main Alchemy building—stretched out around us, the traffic of students who’d just finished class bustling about. A few had slowed to watch our brief skirmish.

“Malorey,” I said, “I’ll not say I’m above lying—because I’m not—but as far as I’m aware, I’ve not told you a single lie. Tell me why you think I have.”

She hissed again. It sounded far more human. The hair on the back of her hand had disappeared and her eyes were blue once more. “You expect me to believe you’re a Root.”

“A Mud turned Heartwood,” I corrected.

She turned and walked away without another word. This time, I was wise enough not to try and stop her.

“Being both a pinnacle Alchemist and Architect can only mean you are pinnacle Soulsmith,” Sil explained.

“Which would mean you’re of House Lorail then,” Dako said, sitting on my bed beside Sil. “And a Fiora to boot. I can see why you’d prefer to keep that to yourself.”

“But that doesn’t answer my question, true or not,” I said.

“Well, maybe, but it does ask mine,” Sil said, smiling. I don’t know if she knew what her smiles did to me. The way she used them said she did.

A silence stretched towards an awkward moment before Dako saved us. “I’ve never heard of a Fiora holding pinnacle though. High scores in adjacent arts are common enough, but…”

“It could mean you are a god,” said Sil. “They say The Five have pinnacle in the arts of the others, and that their skill in their own, transcending beyond mortal comprehension, cannot be measured.”

“Imagine there being another lesser god,” Dako said. “That hasn’t happened since Prince Knite was born. But other than the Kolokasians and their Old Oak ascension, which doesn’t count, only the King knows how to bring about new lesser Gods.”

“Let’s stop the jests and be serious.” I waved away their comments, trying to hide my nervousness. The conversation was getting into dangerous fields. “Is it possible the tests were wrong?”

“Unlikely,” Sil said. “The Academy is meticulous. They would not let their prestige be sullied by such carelessness.”

Dako nodded. “Agreed.”

“Are you going to keep denying your a Soulsmith,” Sil asked.

“Nor will I deny the opposite.”