The art of alchemy had always fascinated Hong Tang Kiro. Having no mana to use himself, it almost felt like poetic justice that his concoctions provided the mystical energy to others. The slow bubbling of a cauldron soothed him, and nothing would compare to the medicinal scent of a freshly made pill.

Even the unbearable heat of midsummer’s harvest could be made enjoyable with a couple drops of frostfrond extract. Of course, that ‘unbearable heat’ only applied to those of the lower ranks. Real mystics wouldn’t flinch at anything less than a bonfire.

He sighed. There was no point in tinking about it now, not when he was in the middle of concocting. He turned his attention back to the vial, focusing intently on the clear red liquid. A plume of flame blossomed from the top, followed closely by a spray of sparks. He shielded his eyes, shaking the bottle with tongs. The liquid brightened, a frosty blue awakening within the redness. Perfect. If all went right, then in just a moment...

There it was. White light washed over the room, and a familiar pressure permeated the air as he stoppered the now-clear liquid. Success!

He straightened himself, stretching his stiff legs. Fatigue clouded his mind, but he willed himself awake. This elixir would be the key to his future. Stowing it away in a chest made of blood-red wood, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. There was rumor among the Suns that accomplished mystics could see all sources of mana for miles. Even though he had never seen anything of the sort, it was better safe than sorry, and he would be hard-pressed to find a space for his elixirs safer than the crimson chest.

He pulled open the shutters, looking out to see the rising sun. Saint’s skies, he’d spent the entire night on alchemy! He needed to get to the harvest. Grabbing his bag of herbs, he dashed out the door.

Thankfully, he arrived to the chuckles of Supervisor Meng. The old man was a mystic of the 3rd Level, coming from the Torch class. He was a talented alchemist himself ad in many a way more of a parental figure than Kiro’s mother had ever been. Some Suns found his constant joking annoying, but Kiro thought it provided a much-needed break from their bland lives.

“Ah, little alchemist! Why so late? Spent all night concocting the next greatest elixir?”

Kiro laughed. He was closer than he thought.

“No, honored Torch. Just some salves for my sister. She detests bothering healers for small injuries, but I can’t stand seeing her walk around with all those cuts and scrapes.”

“I see. That twin of yours sure gets into a lot of duels, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, supervisor. It’s my mother’s teachings. She believes battle to be the only way to hone oneself.”

“Ah, of course. No matter the reason, though, you must be tired. Are you sure you can complete the harvest today?”

“Of course, honored supervisor. The clan requires every pair of hands it can get during the summer harvest. Besides, I chewed some sparkleaf stems on the way here, so I feel fine.”

“Alright, but be sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight, you hear me? Sparkleaf might make you feel fresher than a spring rain, but your body still needs to recover, even if your mind doesn’t realize it. In fact, I’m going to cancel your visit to the gardens today.”

“With all due respect, Supervisor, I won’t collapse because of an extra hour’s work.”

“Kiro, I promise you that I will take you to the gardens after the harvest tomorrow, but only if you show up having had a full night’s sleep. Your body can only handle so much before it breaks down.”

“Yes, Supervisor.”

With that, he got to work. The rhythmic motions of the harvest entranced him, helping to offset the aching of his muscles. By noon, he was once more celebrating his annual tradition of envy for the more well-muscled Suns. While he had superior endurance than his bigger counterparts, he couldn’t compete in terms of sheer power, leading to a drop in his production every harvest. And, because he couldn’t reliably cut the stalks on his own, he had to join a harvest group.

Kiro grabbed the left scissor, putting all his energy into pushing the heavy metal together. Another Sun, even scrawnier than he was, operated the right. When they heard the satisfying click on the blades coming together, a third Sun grabbed the free stalks to put in their basket. They worked fairly efficiently, but Kiro couldn’t help but lament the loss every time one of his companions had to rest.

By the end of the harvest, the effects of the sparkleaf had worn off. His eyelids felt as heavy as the scissor he was holding, and when he went to collect his wages, all he got was a measly half spirit stone. That was barely enough for tomorrow's dinner! He angrily stuffed the stones into his bag, berating himself for not working harder. Supervisor Meng, seeing his disappointment, gave him a sympathetic glance.

“Tomorrow, little alchemist. Go get some sleep.”