He knew he wasn’t dead because of the pain.

It was a pain he’d felt a thousand times before, which didn’t make it any easier to bear. Groaning, he turned on his side, feeling like his entire existence had been pressed flat, then rolled up like a mat.

Overtaxed spirit. A horrid side-effect of overzealous brewing. He moaned again. His thoughts squirmed away from him. He tried to think but it just didn’t work; nothing seemed solid. It felt like trying to chew with all his teeth missing.

Then there was that mounting pain in his gut, reassuringly real. Wait. Poison. Poison!

He was lying on sand. He tried sitting up. Didn’t work. He tried looking around, but he only got a kaleidoscope of shifting hues before a whiplash of pain, a molten line in his mind, struck him down again.

A sound. A deep voice, warbled voice: “Drink.” Two fingers pried open his mouth. He tasted the glass mouth of a bottle, then a slimy, fast-flowing liquid that tasted like expired mint. He swallowed by reflex.

Suddenly, he could think again. Sort of. Better, at least. The liquid felt like a slap in the face.

The shapes around him were all still fuzzy, but they suggested some sort of storage space. A hoarder’s paradise, with all sorts of muddled trinkets lying about. There was a desk, shelves… maybe a store? He squinted more. Everything seemed eerily familiar.

Directly in front of him stood the most plump sofa he’d ever seen.

Then the sofa spoke.

“Hello!”

“Ah!” Dorian hunched in; it felt like cymbals were clashing in his ears.

A few more blinks cleared his eyes at last. In front of him stood the smiling form of Hu the Alchemist.

What? Groggily, he tried to piece things together. The brew… losing control… forcing the finish… then pain, lots of pain. And a weird, gritty feeling in his nose. Huh.

And now he was here. In Hu’s shop. He must’ve been dragged in.

So he did manage to get Hu’s attention after all—just not as he’d have preferred. He groaned. Not by far.

“Good evening,” said Hu. “You’re alive! Huzzah!”

Then he crossed his arms.

“What you pulled out there was very dangerous, boy! If I wasn’t there to save the day, who knows what would’ve happened to you? Hmph!”

“…Wha?”

Absently, Hu twirled a flask in his hand. Within swirled a blue-white liquid—a sample of Dorian’s antidote brew! His eyes widened.

“Well. What do I call you?” said Hu, oblivious.

“I’m Io,” Dorian said absently. His eyes darted around, a sinking feeling in his chest.

But to his relief the bulk of the antidote lay on the main reception desk, untouched.

Seconds later, he registered that Hu was saying something. He dragged himself back to attention. It felt like he was thinking through mud.

“…came running out as soon as I felt the fluctuations. That’s when I saw your elixir about to explode. ‘Not on my watch!’ I roared. Then I dashed in, took control of the brew, wrestled it down, and carried you all the way back here!” Hu puffed out his chest. “You were lucky. Lucky indeed!”

He eyed Dorian expectantly. It took a beat for Dorian to realize what he was supposed to do.

“Master Hu!” He cried, eyes watering. He scrambled up to his knees, then kowtowed. “This one was foolish! This one is not worthy!”

He chuckled in satisfaction, preening. “Oh, it’s nothing much.”

Then he leaned in. “What I’m more interested in… is this.” One finger tapped the flask, and the potion within flared out bright with qi.

“You stumbled upon a curious little brew,” he said. His eyes twinkled. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

He waggled it in front of Dorian’s eyes. “How did a common tribesboy make this strange thing, I wondered? What was it? For the past few hours I ran my own experiments. Know what I found?”

A nervous jolt ran through Dorian. He still felt hazy, hungover. How much did he give away? Was he, in his last, semi-conscious moments, forced to resort to some higher-level technique to save the brew? He couldn’t remember. Did Hu suspect foul play?

There was a very fine line to walk between extraordinary wunderkind and demon-possessed freak. It wouldn’t be the first time he ended up on the wrong end of a lynching.

Hu didn’t seem the type to out him, but if he uncovered anything suspicious—anything a few centuries ahead of Ylterra’s modern alchemy… Dorian stilled. This could be bad. At the least he’d have some serious explaining to do.

Ugh. In his old plan, he’d have finished off the elixir before Hu got his grubby hands within ten yards of it!

What could Hu have done? Dorian ran through the plausible options. Structural analysis? Titration? His brain hurt. Does this realm have access to microscopy? Distillation?

“I stuck my finger in it and tasted it!” proclaimed Hu.

“…”

“It didn’t taste like anything,” Hu frowned. “That was when I knew something was wrong.”

“….”

“Then I tried setting it on fire!”

“…”

“That didn’t work either.”

I... might have been overly worried.

“Usually one or the other reveals what the potion is,” frowned Hu. “But this time, I found nothing. Nothing at all! Unbelievable!” He set the flask down. Then, abruptly, he slammed his hands down on the desk. His face changed in an instant—his frown deepened, a great shift of the folds of his dumpling face. He was probably trying to appear menacing, but he didn’t quite have the countenance to pull it off. It just made him look a little sniffly.

“Where did you find this recipe?!” Hu roared. “Answer me!” He roared it like he was a very incompetent actor doing an impersonation of a very incompetent interrogator.

“I dunno!” cried Dorian. He backed up, trying to drag out the alibi he’d prepped from the sludge of his memories. “It was in my sis’s alchemy tome! Some bits didn’t make sense, so I changed a few little things, but that’s all!”

“Few—little—things?” Hu’s bushy brows made a big V.

“It wasn’t supposed to go that way,” Dorian continued, morose. “I dunno what happened. Nothing blew up all the other times I tried it…”

“All—the—others?” Hu’s voice was rising half an octave each word.

Dorian nodded quickly. “Yeah, all the other brews,” he said, blinking innocently.

“What do you mean,” breathed Hu, “all the others? You’ve been brewing other elixirs?!”

Now he rounded on Dorian, drawing himself all the way up, looming. A long shadow fell over Dorian’s whole body, swallowing him, and he gulped. He still felt like he was made of glass. If someone of Hu’s prodigious size were to trip over fall on him right now… it might mean the end.

“Where did you get a cauldron?” spluttered Hu. “A ladle?!”

“Wha?” Dorian scratched his head. “I didn’t have that stuff. I just did it in my head.”

“In your head…?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Free-brew, like the book said.”

Hu breathed in once, deeply. Hu breathed out once, slowly. “You’ve been free-brewing,” he rasped. “By yourself?!”

“Yea?” said Dorian, blushing. “I stepped into Origin a few months ago, and Alchemy always seemed really fun! I blew up a few things at first, but it got easier after a few tries…”

“And you…picked up free-brewing,” said Hu. His eyes looked far away. Dazed. “You taught yourself from a book. Just like that.”

Dorian shrugged. “I dunno. It felt kinda natural. I was always good at juggling as a kid. It’s not that different, is it?”

Hu’s voice still had that mystified quality. “…no, not that different, no…” he whispered dumbly. He looked like he’d been whacked over the head by a blunt object.

Juggling was ‘not that different’ from free-brewing in the same way basic addition was ‘not that different’ from multivariable calculus.

Now, Dorian’s timelines didn’t quite match up. If Hu started digging into conversation with Kaya and found out Dorian had only just unlocked his qi, the whole ruse would blow. But at the moment Dorian was so far out of it he wasn’t even sure what day it was. He went with it.

The only lucky thing about Dorian’s setup this time around was that, ironically, the original Io hadn’t awakened his qi.

A longtime mediocrity suddenly ascending to genius stardom? Suspicious.

A qi-less newbie suddenly awakening great qi-related talents? Rare, but plausible.

Hu had progressed from chewing on Dorian’s words to digesting them, now. He looked like he was coming around.

At last—“Well, what’s this hokey, then?” he said, his voice horse. He tapped the glass.

Dorian shot Hu a confused look. “It’s a Minor Fengxi Antidote, Master Hu.”

“Minor—“ Hu growled. “I know what a Minor Fengxi Antidote is, boy. This gloop isn’t it!”

“Well…” Dorian scratched his head again sheepishly. “I fixed it up a bit. The recipe was a little off. I thought I’d replace water with devilroot’s extract, that’s all.”

Hu’s face was a question mark. “Eh?!”

“It’s just matching the aspects and energies, right? It felt right.” Dorian shrugged again. “My ma was a gatherer. She taught me and my sis all about Spirit herbs. She cooked with ‘em a lot. It’s not that different, is it?”

“…no, not that different, no…” Hu was looking at Dorian very funny. Cooking was ‘not that different’ from Alchemy in the same way that juggling was ‘not that different’ from free-brewing.

Hu rippled into a frown, like a stone had been thrown into the pond of his face.

Dorian’s head, meanwhile, was pounding up a storm. This story felt a little harder to hold onto. He always made for a better planner than an improviser; on-the-spot whims had a tendency to blow up in his face. And this yarn had a lot more loose strings than he was happy with.

He groaned. This whole plan had been designed to nab an apprenticeship. How did it go so astray? Dorian needed a new plan. A new angle. A rousing speech that’d not only erase Hu’s doubts, but also inspire him to offer Dorian an apprenticeship on the spot. This time, he’d need to dig deep. He recalled speechwriting skills honed across decades of study; he drew on the rhetorical flourish that’d won him elections in billion-person empires.

A stirring speech appeared fully-formed in his mind. Eyes shining, he opened his mouth, ready to dazzle.

Then Hu pointed a finger at him, looking very serious. In a voice fit for imperial decree, he said, “That’s it! I hereby claim you as my apprentice!”

Dorian choked on his own spit.

After a second—“What?!”

“Apprentice,” said Hu happily. He rapped Dorian on the head. “Still a few ingredients short of a recipe, aren’t you?”

“Me? Your apprentice?” repeated Dorian, dumbfounded. His confusion wasn’t faked.

“This is a good thing, boy,” said Hu. Now he was returning to a frown. “It’s one of the most sought-after positions in the tribe! And I’ve given it to you.”

He handed Dorian the antidote flask. “This is the part where you say ‘Thank you, Master Hu!’ and burst into tears.”

He looked at Dorian expectantly. A beat.

“Thank you, Master Hu!” said Dorian. His eyes welled up with tears. “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy!”

Internally, he was baffled. Isn’t this a little too… sudden? Too easy?

“Better,” said Hu, nodding smugly. “As my apprentice, I expect you here tomorrow afternoon. Nay, every afternoon, noon ‘till dusk! I see promise in you, young Io. For an hour, I shall train you in the most revered art in the land.”

“What about for the rest of the time?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Hu, waving a hand. “Minor tasks. Sweeping, cooking, manning the reception desk, preparing my ingredients, assisting me, cleaning…”

Dorian perked up. A job? An unexpected revenue stream? Alongside reputation, money was critical to any prodigy. And while money had limited uses in the small premises of Rust Tribe, when the Tribe docked at various Oases, he’d have chances to trade for all sorts of treasures. He scarcely believed his luck.

“How much does it pay?” he asked, excited.

A pause.

“P-pay?” Hu gasped. All color drained form his face. A full-body shudder went through him. He staggered back, a hand over his heart. It was like Dorian had shot him with a literal arrow. He breathed in and out slowly.

“Oh! Never mention that—that word—again,” he gasped. “Taint our new, wholesome relationship with something as crass as money?” He shuddered again, this time doubly as much. “I could never do that to you, my tiny friend!”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, away with that ugly topic! Back to your duties…”

“…”

“You’ll also look over some of my recipe books, and give your cute little suggestions,” said Hu, patting him on the head.

Oh. Is that what changed his mind?

Dorian hesitated. He should add a caveat, shouldn’t he? He’d rather not be forced to comb every one of Hu’s recipe books, doing grunt fixes…

“I don’t know about that, sir,” he bit, shuffling nervously. “It’s all by instinct. What if it’s a fluke? What if I’m wrong, or—“

“Nonsense! You’ve got a gift, kid,” grinned Hu. “The Dweller grants some of us strange talents. I once heard of a fellow who could tell whether it’d rain by the smell of his stools!”

He slapped Dorian on the back. “If you get a gift, don’t question it! If I squinted at every gift I got, I wouldn’t have half these things.”

That… explains a lot.

Rolling his eyes internally, Dorian resigned himself to the paperwork.

“We’ll have a grand old time, you and I!” Hu looked at Dorian like he was an egg halfway through cooking.

Which was how, less than a day in, Dorian fulfilled his first two preliminary objectives.

The solution to his third objective, meanwhile—to not die of poison—literally lay in his palm.

Today went smoothly, all told, even with his alchemical mishaps, he thought. Surprisingly smoothly. Almost too smoothly.

Which was, of course, when a long, high, wailing shriek pierced the air, a single note which cut like a dagger across the Rust Tribe’s slumbering calm.

Dorian sat ramrod-straight. Hu’s words choked in his throat.

That sound was ingrained like a callus into Io’s memories.

It was the very same sound he’d heard the night his mother died to a Sandwolf horde, a sound that—if he was lucky—he wouldn’t hear for years on end. A sound which came from the hollowed-out horn of a Roc, never blown lightly, always taken seriously.

It was the Rust Tribe’s highest-level alarm, and it meant only one thing.

Evacuate. Immediately.

Time Elapsed: 20 hours.