“This is where it becomes difficult.” Lines of text displayed across the manaboard, laying bare the transformation sequence of Lirenthia.

One moment, it served as a restorative compound—mild and stable in its effect. Then, with prolonged exposure to sulfur or the slow burn of oxidation, it shifted into a far more treacherous reaction.

A hemotoxin.

Not immediately fatal, but enough to ruin a bloodstream if left unchecked. Below that, neat columns listed possible neutralizers: Goldroot Extract, Whitevine Essence, and Diluted Ether Sap. All common names, but the way they were presented made them feel like keys to more intricate things.

“The greatest obstacle for this is not knowledge. It’s time.” Professor Howard said, not needing to raise his voice now that the room had gone completely still. He turned back toward the table, rolling a potted Lirenthia plant across the surface calmly.

The plant looked unremarkable. Its silver-green leaves shimmered faintly under the alchemical lamps, slender and soft, curling slightly at the tips.

He plucked one with deliberate care, holding it aloft for all to see. “In its untouched form, Lirenthia is inert. Harmless. You could eat it raw and feel nothing more than a bitter aftertaste.” He dipped the leaf into a dish of water, and the liquid remained still and colorless. “But when it exceeds its activation point…”

He reached for another vial and unscrewed the top slowly. The liquid inside was cloudy, slightly viscous, with a scent that even from a distance seemed wrong somehow. He let a few careful drops fall onto the submerged leaf.

At first, it looked like nothing changed. Then the edges of the leaf began to wither. A red hue crept along its veins, almost like blood diffusing through capillaries.

Within seconds, it looked nothing like the leaf he had first plucked.

“It becomes a mild hemotoxin. Slows the blood. Shuts down smaller vessels. In larger doses, internal hemorrhaging. Painless, if that’s any comfort.”

The students shifted. Some leaned in, trying to catch every detail. Others sat rigid, their earlier boredom stripped away. Those who never cared for plants were paying attention now.

Ruvian tapped a finger against his chin, watching the change without much surprise. He had seen worse reactions in alchemical tests.

Still, it was fascinating how little it took something meant to heal could flip into something that killed. Meanwhile, Corwin’s attention was absolute, eyes narrowed with analysis. (+20PP)

Professor Howard didn’t waste time. He reached for a second flask, filled with a golden solution that shimmered softly under the light.

“This is an experimental stabilizer. Still in trial stages. Designed not to prevent the transformation, but to reverse it after the fact,” he said, raising the vial slightly.

He laid a strip of parchment across a clean glass plate. The fibers were treated for reaction sensitivity, already faintly glowing from previous use.

He dripped the altered Lirenthia onto it. The result was immediate—an ugly dark stain blossomed across the surface like ink spilled in a hurry, spreading with sharp, invasive fingers.

“Now,” he said, almost quietly, “we test the counteragent.” He made one drop of the golden liquid. The golden liquid struck the stain and, within a heartbeat, the parchment began to brighten.

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The blot retracted, pulling inward as though being reeled back through time. It didn’t vanish entirely, but the light returned.

The parchment, once marked, now sat clean again.

Silence followed as they’d just seen something they didn’t expect.

Professor Howard let the moment linger as he slowly set the vials down. Then, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked over the class. “However, what succeeds on parchment or under the measured calm of a laboratory does not always carry over so neatly into the unpredictable depths of a living body.”

“The body is not a passive vessel. Digestion, metabolism, and the countless trace elements floating unseen in one’s system—each of these can warp or stall an alchemical reaction in ways even seasoned scholars fail to anticipate.”

“You may have the perfect antidote, the correct stabilizer, the cleanest catalyst, but if the timing falters by a breath, or the dose differs by a grain, then the intended cure turns back on itself, twisting into a slower, more insidious toxin.”

Ruvian shifted slightly in his seat, resting his elbow on the table and glancing toward Corwin without turning his head. The boy didn’t look shaken. He wasn’t wearing the mask of someone impressed by spectacle or stung by reprimand. If anything, he looked like someone who hadn’t heard enough and wanted to know more. Eyes narrowed just slightly, brow faintly furrowed, he was still thinking about his own question through the professor’s answer.

Ruvian’s lips curved, just faintly, at the corners. Curiosity like that was difficult to come by. And dangerous too, in the right hands.

But if Corwin keeps following those ways, bold enough to ask, sharp enough to understand, and steady enough to try again after the first failure…

Then in time, he wouldn’t just be a decent alchemist.

He’d be a terrifying one.

***

As the lecture came to an end, scholars leaned over desks to exchange notes, others clustered near the door, already speculating about practical uses for the lesson’s final demonstration. Even those who typically treated Herbology like an afterthought now carried their notebooks with more appreciation.

Corwin was among them. He walked beside Ruvian through the wide, torch-lit corridors of the academy. His hands moved animatedly as he recapped the lecture, his words tumbling over each other in barely contained excitement. (+20PP)

“That was incredible. The idea that a single herb could act as both remedy and toxin depending on the sequence and timing… It makes me wonder how many others are like that. What else have we misunderstood?”

“And the counteragents—if we could isolate the reactions and reproduce them reliably, it wouldn’t just change medicine, it could reshape entire combat doctrines!”

Midway through his rambling, Corwin suddenly caught himself. His excitement faded into embarrassment, and he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze.

“—I must sound ridiculous,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ruvian, who had been listening with an amused smirk, simply reached out and patted Corwin’s shoulder. The touch was firm, closer to approval.

“I told you, Alchemy and Herbology suit you. You just didn’t believe me back then.” (+10PP)

Ruvian said, his voice tinged with dry satisfaction.

Corwin let out a small, sheepish laugh. He stared ahead for a moment, letting the hallway stretch in front of him, then exhaled slowly, as if letting go of something unspoken.

“Yeah… I guess I was being stubborn. It was fun,” he admitted. His voice softened on the last word, and for a second, he looked younger somehow, like someone seeing the shape of their future for the first time.

Then his gaze sharpened. He drew in a breath, steadied himself, and said the words aloud. “I think I want to pursue alchemy seriously.” (+50PP)

Ruvian stopped walking. He turned, watching Corwin in full now, his expression devoid of its usual dry amusement.

Just an appraising look, serious yet thoughtful.

After a beat, Ruvian exhaled. “Then be prepared. It won’t be easy.”

Corwin blinked at the sudden shift in tone.

“The world doesn’t hand out rewards just because you care. The thing is, passion fades and skill isn’t always enough. You’ll be doubted, probably ignored, maybe even mocked. There will be setbacks, some worse than others. And there will be days… when you’ll want to give up.”

Corwin absorbed the words without questioning. He looked down for a moment, as though weighing them.

Then, slowly, he looked back up again, his eyes burning with resolve. And before he could say anything else, Ruvian spoke once more.

“But if it’s you, Corwin,” he said, not smiling, not joking. “I think you’ll make it.” (+50PP)

Corwin found himself puzzled, but he said nothing. He just nodded and the smile that followed wasn’t sheepish anymore.

“…T-thanks, Ruvian. That's very… motivating.”

“Well, you don’t have to thank me yet,” Ruvian said as he turned toward the staircase.

“Do that after you prove me right.”

PP = 2270

ME = 195