Professor Lurgs raised the gramroot along with a delicate cluster of ovelpetals, their colors shifting from deep violet to soft lavender. She lifted them high above her head, ensuring the entire class had a clear view of the remarkable ingredients. Without warning, the woman plunged them into the bubbling cauldron sitting before her. The moment they hit the surface, a violent hiss erupted, sending steamy water splattering over the cauldron’s lip, and it filled the air with an earthy, aromatic fragrance that tickled the nose.

  The mixture inside the enormous bowl simmered with vigor, the vibrant hues swirling together like a tempest trapped in glass. The heat radiating from the pot enveloped the classroom, draping it in a foggy veil that blurred the edges of desks. Elaine, as well as the rest of her classmates, leaned in closer, eyes wide with anticipation. Yet, Professor Lurgs remained unfazed, her expression as calm and focused as ever, even as the hot liquid splashed upward, trickling down to her shoulders and sprinkling onto her bare skin.

  "Potion-making, my dears," the professor said, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, "is a fine art that requires both skill and intuition. It all began in the Early Centuries when humanity was first struck with the revelation of how to brew elixirs using the exquisite assets that Aeris has provided. This monumental discovery kickstarted a new age for mankind, one where the boundaries of healing and transformation were expanded beyond imagination. Each potion and elixir possesses unique properties, capable of healing wounds, purifying tainted waters, or even bestowing enhanced abilities upon the drinker. However, as with magic, there exists a darker and more sinister side to the art of potion-making. In the shadowy corners of society, rogue sorcerers and unscrupulous vendors in the Black Market concoct potions with malicious intent—drugs designed to harm, to corrupt, and even to take life. Yet, despite these perversions, it is crucial to remember that true potion-making is a sacred craft that should never be used for malevolent purposes. Potions are gifts, woven from the very essence of nature itself, unique in their ability to bridge the gap between the mundane and the magical. They are meant to elevate the human experience, regardless of whether one is a skilled sorcerer wielding immense power or a humble dullard seeking simple remedies. In essence, potion making is an art form that invites anyone—man or beast, wise or simple—to explore and celebrate the marvelous possibilities within our world's seemingly ordinary elements."

  Elaine smiled quietly to herself. There was something endearing about the way she often adjusted her round spectacles, as if each time she did so, she was seeing the world with fresh curiosity. Elaine imagined that her mother and the professor would form a delightful bond, effortlessly engaging in spirited conversations that could stretch for hours about the marvelous intricacies and secret techniques of potion-making.

  From the moment Elaine was old enough to grasp a spoon, her education in the world of potions had begun in earnest within the cozy confines of her family’s shop. The aromatic blend of herbs and spices, combined with the comforting clatter of glass vials and cauldrons, created an atmosphere that felt like home to her. Her parents had nurtured her passion for potion-making, hoping that one day she would embrace their family legacy and take over the business that had been passed down through generations.

  However, despite her deep-rooted connection to the art of potion-making, Elaine found herself less than thrilled about attending this particular class. Perhaps it was the strong resemblance to her family's shop that made her feel as though she had already absorbed all the knowledge there was to gain. The thought lingered in her mind: what new revelations could a classroom possibly offer that she hadn’t already learned while carefully assisting her parents behind the counter, mixing ingredients, and perfecting recipes?

  Well, apparently, there was a great deal she hadn't learned. For instance, Professor Lurgs had firmly taught them that it was unwise to mix ingredients sourced from different countries, especially those hailing from separate continents. Unless these ingredients underwent comprehensive testing and rigorous monitoring, the resultant potion could prove to be far more catastrophic than originally intended. She also unearthed a surprising practice among some potion-makers, particularly those affiliated with the larger potioncraft companies situated in the bustling, high-end cities, where they were utilizing specific spells to enhance their products.

  She had often pondered why her family had never considered investing in magic to elevate the potency of the potions they sold. According to Professor Lurgs, there existed a strict division between magic and potion-making—two domains that, while related, should never intermingle. It was undeniably true that potions could induce extraordinary effects and enchantments upon those who ingested them—with some potion ingredients naturally possessing magical properties of their own. However, a true potion-maker, one worth their salt, would never entertain the notion of casting spells over their brews. The reasons were manifold: the unpredictable nature of magic, the countless variables involved, and the endless possibilities that could arise from mixing the two elements simply rendered such practices too risky and uncertain for their discerning craft.

  "Don't believe everything you hear from the tightwigs in the Capital or the goblins overseeing their enterprises," Professor Lurgs huffed, wagging a wooden spoon at them. "They use spells to craft their potions not to improve their quality but to cut back on costs, manpower, and time. That's all it is. This might be a sorcerer training institution but if I ever catch any of you waving your wand in my class, I'll automatically fail you. Understand, dearies?"

  Even when she was clearly troubled, Professor Lurgs couldn't fully embrace a scowl. Instead, she settled for an unpleasant frown. It didn’t quite make her appear intimidating, though; here she was, threatening to fail her students, yet her tone carried a soft, almost soothing cadence, reminiscent of a well-meaning grandmother lightly admonishing her grandchildren for a misstep. Professor Lurgs had gracefully crossed well past the halfway point of her life, but a captivating beauty intertwined with the wisdom of her years radiated through the age lines on her face.

  Her tan skin glowed with warmth, and her dark brown hair, streaked with elegant gray, was neatly tied into a bun atop her head. Curly strands framed her round cheeks, softening her features, while her glasses perched delicately on her nose, magnifying her striking green eyes that squinted slightly as if caught between concern and curiosity. She wore a crisp, white cotton long-sleeved shirt, comfortably tailored yet professional, paired with trousers that flowed seamlessly into practical shoes meant for long hours on her feet. Draped over her attire was a well-worn apron that fell to her knees, a patchwork of deep pockets and pouches, each one bursting with an array of eclectic items. From a vial of shimmering, multi-colored liquid to intricate, bizarre apparatuses whose names Elaine couldn’t even begin to guess, the apron seemed like a treasure trove of Professor Lurgs' countless experiments and preparations.

  Due to the high concentration of colorful fumes emanating from the various potions being concocted, all of the tall, diamond-shaped windows in the classroom were flung wide open to allow for fresh air circulation. While potion smoke wasn't toxic to humans, prolonged exposure could lead to mild dizziness or a sore throat, so ventilation was a necessary precaution. The classroom itself was modest in size, especially when compared to some of the larger lecture halls she had encountered during her time at the academy. There were three rows of sturdy wooden tables, each capable of accommodating up to four students at a time. Elaine found herself seated between Fearne, whose ponytail bounced as she whispered excitedly about the day’s potion, and a quiet student named Simon, who was intently focused on his work.

  Before Elaine lay an elaborate display of vials artfully arranged on multi-shelved racks. Meanwhile, surrounding the classroom was an assortment of clear glass containers filled with floral and earthy ingredients organized on tall shelves fixed against the stone wall—Elaine could see dried lavender, crushed sage, and bits of root from where they were kept inside the containers, all contributing to the aromatic atmosphere. A mortar and pestle carved from a coarse granite sat within reach while, to her left, a petite cauldron sat poised for use. Additionally, embedded into the surface of her table was an unusually rectangular heater that seemed more advanced than the traditional candle or flame setups she had seen before. While it couldn't exactly be classified as arcanetech, it intrigued her with its functionality. Curiously, Elaine leaned forward and peered beneath the edge of the table, discovering a small control panel outfitted with a set of dials and switches. She surmised that these controls likely regulated the temperature of the heater, allowing her to adjust the warmth precisely according to the potion’s brewing requirements.

  At the front of the class, Professor Lurgs peered into the enormous cauldron, the mixture's smoke partially fogging her glasses. "Now then, students," she said, "you and your partner will use the ingredients I have provided to recreate the Dulcin Elixir. Follow the instructions on the board carefully. A single mistake could compromise the concoction entirely. After fifteen minutes, I will come around and assess your product. Well then, off you go."

  Dulcin Elixir, huh? Elaine thought to herself. She recognized that name from her studies, where it was mentioned as a relatively harmless potion, known more for its whimsical charm than any significant effects. While the elixir was designed to enhance one’s breath, leaving it with an impeccable and refreshing aroma for up to five days, she had always found the heavy, mint-flavored scent off-putting. Sometimes, it tickled her nose. As Elaine glanced at the chaotic scribbles and equations on the chalkboard behind Professor Lurgs, she couldn’t help but smile slightly, reassured by her memory of the potion's composition. It wouldn’t be a difficult recipe to recreate, even with its peculiarities. She turned her head slightly to her right, where Simon sat, his expression fixed in a calculated grimace. He was poring over the thick, leather-bound potion textbook, its pages yellowed with age, while fidgeting with an agraciaroot. "Two teaspoons of moon powder," he muttered to himself. "Yes, these measurements need to be exact. And perhaps we should make two elixirs, just in case our first attempt fails."

  Elaine wagged a finger at him. "Err, Simon?"

  "But these calico leaves, hmm, yes, they possess a peculiar tendency to neutralize any given potion's effects if they aren't crushed beforehand," Simon muttered, his voice laced with contemplation as he absentmindedly shuffled his notes. "If we add them to our mixture without ensuring they’ve been properly prepared, it could diminish the elixir's potency significantly. We must excavate its rawest potential—extract every ounce of magic it holds." As he pondered this, a furrow appeared on his brow. "But I wonder how the professor will grade our work. Will it be based solely on the quality of the potion, or will she also consider how we followed the detailed instructions? It’s crucial we balance both aspects to avoid any disastrous results."

  "Si...Simon?"

  "Bah, that should hardly matter. But the riverside mushrooms are known to amplify the effects of a regular healing or enhancement potion. I wonder if they would also bring out the best in this product. It could be why the professor included them in our batch of available ingredients. Then again, they aren't anywhere mentioned in the instructions or the textbook. Hmm? It might be that this is a trick. Would she also reward students for their ingenuity? Or rather—"

  "Simon!" Elaine shouted. That got the boy's attention. He shot a glance at her, plainly startled by his wide-eyed expression. "We'd better start. We're on a time crunch, and even the simplest potions take a while to settle properly."

  Simon pushed his glasses up his nose. "R...Right, of course. Let us proceed."

  From what she had observed of him thus far, Simon Fringe was a pure-hearted academic with an unrivaled inquisitiveness that could rival the most curious of cats. This insatiable thirst for knowledge, while endearing, also served as his greatest fault. If left to his own devices, Simon would likely spend the entire class muttering to himself, lost in thought, and completely neglecting the assignment at hand. Elaine sighed at the prospect; if it ever came to that, she would have to take the lead to redirect his focus. "All right, the ingredients come first," she reminded herself. Fortunately, the Dulcin Elixir recipe was mercifully straightforward, a relief considering the complexities of some potions she had tackled. She recalled with fondness the countless times she had watched her mother skillfully produce high-quality batches of elixir, her hands steady and movements practiced.

  With a measured approach, she filled the miniature cauldron halfway with clear, cool water, watching as it settled with a gentle ripple. Next, she carefully added three generous handfuls of glimmering moon powder. The powder was a delicate blend that sparkled like tiny stars, each grain infused with the magic of the night sky. Following that, she reached for a small jar containing troll ginger, its sharp scent filling her nose as she sprinkled a pinch into the mix. Finally, she added a dusting of lavender, its floral fragrance wafting through the classroom, reminiscent of peaceful evenings in blooming gardens. The careful combination of these ingredients would ensure the elixir would impart the desired sweetness to any person's breath, a small, delightful enchantment woven into their potion-making. "Simon," Elaine said, sliding a wooden board over to him, "could you chop those agraciaroots for me, please? We'll need them to counteract the intensity of the ovelpetals."

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Understood," he nodded, starting at the cluster of spindly roots with a cleaver. "I have to say, Elaine, you seem to know what you're doing. I'm impressed. Have you worked at an elixir's store before? Study under a professional, perhaps?"

  "Actually," Elaine said, stirring the concoction with a spoon, "my parents own a potion shop. I've been tutored by them for as long as I can remember. I guess you can say I have a knack for this sort of thing. Casting spells might not be my forte, at least not yet. But making potions is something I can handle."

  "A potion shop, you say? Fascinating," he complimented. "I suppose the adage is true. You countryfolk really are full of surprises. I'll be counting on you, then."

  Bemused, Elaine smiled at him. Was that meant to be a compliment...?

  "Speaking personally, I've always had a larger interest in the actualities and nuances of...well, anything that succeeded in catching my interest," he laughed. "I'm not exactly what you might call a "hands-on" kind of person. More so, I find pleasure in studying how or why something acts and behaves as they do."

  "And yet you want to be a Professional Sorcerer?" Elaine asked.

  Simon groaned. "You have my parents to thank for that. If I had it my way, I'd be attending a Reacher university right now. Nothing beats popping open a good textbook if only to absorb the histories and teachings of the masters of their craft. But I'd be short-sighted if I were not to recognize the importance of my attendance here."

  "A Professional Sorcerer, even amongst noble bloodlines, is a big deal," Elaine said. "I reckon your parents are eager to have one of their own, huh?"

  Simon crashed the cleaver's blade into the chopping board with a heavy slam! "I'm the portal to a new realm. A ticket to a better life, if you can believe it. I'm of fourth cule, even so, my parents aren't satisfied. I doubt they will ever be, not until they climb to at least the second. I'm their best means of doing so."

  Elaine frowned. "To me, it sounds like they're just using you."

  "No, no..." Simon countered. "It'd be disingenuous on my part to proclaim that their intentions won't ultimately be beneficial to my own interests. It's the status they seek, and after they've obtained it, I'll be free to act on my own accord. That's how House Fringe has always operated. Each of us has a part to play. Once I help achieve their dreams, I will only be free to chase my own."

  None of it made much sense to her. Elaine had always thought that parents should act in the best interest of their children, nurturing their growth and happiness. Yet among the nobles, it seemed the opposite was often true—a cold disregard for the well-being of their offspring in favor of ambition and power plays. She released a heavy sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation settling in her chest. Maybe she would never fully grasp their motivations, but at least she wasn’t compelled to embrace their values. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she refocused on the task at hand. Simon handed her a small bowl filled with his chopped-up roots—jagged pieces that were a bit too chunky for her liking, but she decided they would suffice. With careful precision, Elaine slid them into the bubbling concoction they were preparing, the fragrant aroma wafting up to greet her senses.

  As she placed the mixture over the rectangular heating panel at the edge of the table, she turned a dial with a soft click, activating the heater. A rush of warm air billowed from the cauldron, grazing her skin with heat. Elaine leaned in closer, watching the liquid inside begin to change. The once-clear water transformed into a swirling purplish hue, the color deepening with every passing moment as the combination of ingredients began to work its magic.

  "Don't get too close, Simon," Elaine warned, tugging him on his arm. "A potion burn is no joke."

  "Hallocks! All right, as you say," Simon said, hopping in his seat. "And I gather that you're speaking from past experience?"

  "Yup."

  "...Right, of course," said Simon, awkwardly. "Is that everything, then?"

  "Not yet. We just have to add the..." Elaine trailed off, her brow furrowing in confusion. Where was it? There should have been synthos bark among their ingredients. The unique properties of that particular tree bark were essential; it had the remarkable ability to coalesce the elixir's fragrance in a person's throat, creating a lingering, soothing effect that made the elixir's impacts last much longer than ordinary concoctions. But now, as she scanned the array of jars and bottles before her, it was conspicuously absent. Could it have been a mistake on the part of the professor? She had seen Fearne holding a few pieces of synthos bark in her hands earlier. So where was their supply?

  "Five minutes left, class," Professor Lurgs announced at the front of the classroom.

  "Th...This is bad..." Elaine gulped, hands gripping the edge of the table.

  "How do you mean?"

  "The potion cannot be completed without synthos bark. If we present it in its current state, we'll fail for sure," Elaine explained frantically. "We have to tell the professor. She might give us some bark if we explain what happened."

  "Hmm. I am not too certain about that."

  "What?" Elaine asked, disbelief contaminating her voice. "Why wouldn't she?"

  "I've noticed," Simon said, "a few of our classmates hadn't been provided this...synthos bark when the professor distributed the ingredients at the start of the lesson. This isn't a mistake, Elaine. This is by design."

  Elaine inhaled sharply. "You don't think...A hidden test?"

  "Yes, more than likely," Simon nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. "Our Professor Marsh did mention that we were to make a good first impression on our professors. This could be what he was referring to. Professor Lurgs, she's testing us. This isn't just about reproducing a potion. She's interested to see how we'd react when confronted with...complications."

  If nothing else, Elaine would credit Simon for his acuteness. She had indeed wondered why Professor Lurgs wasn't making a more significant effort to monitor the class. She couldn't be sure that they all knew how to create a potion properly or if any of them would make mistakes. This was why she assigned them the simple Dulcin Elixir. But accidents were common, especially as long as potion-making was involved. Even still, their professor remained at the head of the class, an observative statue with a smile. So that's it, Elaine thought. Professor Lurgs was interested in how they'd react to unpredictability, the curse of magic and potions alike. She couldn't make it overly apparent by omitting a synthos bark from all of them. That way, everyone would have noticed her intentional foul play. Elaine imagined that the professor excluded a different ingredient for every other student pairing, maybe so that nobody's elixir would be exactly the same. But what were they to do now that they'd been robbed of the most crucial ingredient?

  "Say, Elaine?" inquired Simon. "Is it possible to replace the synthos with something else instead?"

  "Yes," Elaine exhaled. "That's the only option we have, I'm afraid. However, based on our limited components, I'm not entirely sure which we should use."

  Simon readjusted his glasses again. "Well, let's tackle this from a different perspective."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "According to the text," Simon said, nodding at the textbook strewn open in front of him, "synthos bark is extracted from the synthos elderwood trees that grow in the Western Groves near Heller Shire. I have to ask, could ingredients originating from neighboring regions also share properties similar to one another? At least, to a certain extent."

  "It's possible," Elaine confirmed, crossing her arms. Her mother had resorted to doing so whenever their inventory had run dry on a particular item. However, she advised her never to do so if it could be helped. Ingredients were chosen for a specific reason, each with a varying after-effect. Some were deadly.

  "Based on that logic," Simon continued, "it limits our choices to..."

  "Dyson bark," Elaine deduced.

  Both of them stared intently at the scattered wooden shards strewn across a display tray. The fragments were remnants of the dyson tree, a rare species of elderwood known for its deep, intricate patterns and ethereal qualities and a distant relative of the more commonly used synthos wood. As they examined the pieces, Elaine couldn’t help but wonder if they could serve as a suitable surrogate. Potions could be capricious and treacherous when ingredients were mismatched, a lesson deeply engrained from years of practice.

  Elaine recalled her mother’s voice echoing in her mind, cautioning her against reckless experimentation. She repeated the words to herself, feeling the weight of their significance settle heavily in her gut. This was a dangerous idea; the storm brewing in her heart reminded her that she and Simon were pinning their hopes on this risky venture. Taking a steadying breath, she reached out, her fingers brushing the rough texture of a strip of bark, its surface still imbued with the fresh scent of earth and leaves. Simon, mirroring her movements, selected another shard, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  In unison, they dropped the pieces of bark into the bubbling concoction simmering in the cauldron. Instantly, a violent pillar of water erupted from the mixture like a geyser, spraying droplets that glinted in the dim light and nearly splattered across Elaine’s face. A steady stream of silvery smoke billowed upwards, curling towards the rooftop and filling the air with an aromatic if somewhat pungent, scent. Elaine summoned every ounce of courage she had to gaze into the swirling depths of the elixir. Despite her anticipation of chaos—explosions or fiery bursts—she couldn’t shake the fervent hope that this would work.

  "Was it...a success?" Simon asked nervously.

  "It's stabilizing." Elaine deactivated the heater by sliding a dial. "We'll never know until we try it out."

  "Ah, then allow me," Professor Lurgs said, appearing behind them and startling Elaine. With a confident motion, she dipped a vial into the cauldron, where the thick purple liquid roiled. As she withdrew the vial, she swirled its contents thoughtfully, observing the hues before bringing it to her lips. Elaine's heart raced as she watched, her hands gripping the edge of the table with white-knuckled intensity. "Hmm, this is interesting," Professor Lurgs murmured, the corners of her mouth hinting at a satisfied grin.

  "Interesting in a good way?" Elaine said, chuckling anxiously to herself.

  "I see; you used dyson, didn't you? I recognize that vanilla flavor anywhere."

  "We did, ma'am," Simon answered. "We used it as a substitute for the synthos bark."

  Professor Lurgs smiled at them. "How imaginative!" She breathed into her palm and cupped it around her nose, inhaling with a puff. "The fragrance is a bit dense, but despite that, you've done a marvelous job. Color me impressed."

  "You really mean it?" Elaine beamed.

  "Yes, I can tell it was made with care," Professor Lurgs complimented. "I didn't expect any less from a Harwood. I wouldn't be surprised if you had potion fluid running through your veins."

  "Wait, miss, you know my family?" Elaine asked, more than surprised.

  "Well, not technically," Professor Lurgs smiled, winking at her. "Back in my younger days, I was good friends with Delilah. Though I must admit, she wasn't so revered for her aptitude for potioncraft as she was for her Spellcasting. Ah, it's been so long..."

  "Delilah...?" uttered Elaine. So she was acquainted with my aunt, was she? I guess this means she used to work for the Arcanum as well.

  "In any case," Professor Lurgs continued, "the two of you pass. I hate pulling stunts like this during the first week of classes, but some other professors say that I'm not as tough on my students as I should be. Nonetheless, the fact that you prepared it despite my meddling shows me that not all of you are completely lost in the clouds."

  "Thank you, ma'am!" Elaine happily exclaimed.

  "I'm thrilled to learn that we have met your standards, Professor Lurgs," Simon says, bowing his head at her. The woman smiled at them both and then proceeded to check on the rest of her class. It seemed that Fearne had already finished her concoction. She was fanning herself, wearing a shivering expression covered in dots of sweat. Her partner was trying his best to calm her down. Hopefully, they had passed as well.

  "I suppose we can take it as a personal victory that we've succeeded at winning over our professor's favor," Simon scoffed. He then extended his hand toward her. "Aeris has fortuned me with a suitable partner. I look forward to working with you, Elaine Harwood."

  Elaine chuckled at his unnecessary formality, but she accepted his gesture all the same. "Yeah, same here."

  *

  * *

  The campus sprawled before Elaine, and she felt increasingly adept at navigating its labyrinthine halls. The chatter of students nearby offered a comforting sense of familiarity, easing her worries that she might have strayed too far from her classes. As she walked down the corridor, she cast a quick glance at the hefty textbook cradled in her arms. The spine was worn from previous readings, and it was bursting with densely packed pages, each filled with complicated diagrams and high-concept theories. Was a first-year like her really expected to learn all of this content in just a single school year? Had the curriculum for Transformation Studies been designed with only the most academically prepared in mind? With images from the syllabus spiraling in her thoughts, she braced herself for what promised to be a demanding yet transformative semester.

  Letting out a weary sigh, Elaine stuffed the heavy textbook back into her satchel—its weight shifted uncomfortably on her shoulder, forcing her to lean slightly to her left as she navigated the hallway. She rounded a corner, her heart quickening as she approached the sturdy wooden doors of the classroom at the end of the corridor. To her dismay, there was Fearne, sitting crumpled on the floor amidst a chaotic scatter of textbooks and loose sheets of paper that had spilled out of her satchel, which lay abandoned to the side, its contents haphazardly strewn across the stone floor. Elaine's eyes widened in shock, concern flooding her mind. Three students hovered over her, their uniforms perfectly pressed and fitted. The trio stood with their arms crossed, casting down disdainful glances, their cruel laughter ringing in the air like an unwanted echo. Each sneer and mocking remark ignited a smoldering rage within Elaine, a fierce tempest that burned like wildfire, leaving no room for hesitation in her heart.

  "Hey!" Elaine shouted, grabbing their attention and turning their heads toward her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"