One wrong move could blow his hand off.

The cauldron bubbled and surged, its surface a swirl of angry red. Within it were three high-grade poisons, a pint of Vordor’s spittle, and Keshani grass—all wrapped up in a fine layer of mana. All under Hu Feixao’s pinpoint-precise control.

He was brewing the Heart-Quickening Draught, coveted by warriors of all stripes for its astounding invigorative properties. A valuable but devilishly hard elixir.

It was also Hu’s specialty. He’d spent half his life brewing it; he knew it better than the backs and fronts of his hands. He guided the cauldron’s energies with his mind, [Imbue]ing it in a nuanced pattern— Stir, one, two, three, hold… at this point, it was familiar as muscle memory.

Which was why he could afford to brew with only half his focus.

The rest of his attention was spent on preparing a delightful bowl of Nobu mushroom soup, which was nearing fully boiled on his stove. The Nobu had been a gift of the tribe Chieftain; as the only alchemist in Rust tribe, Hu occupied a cozy niche of prestige and comfort. He loved eating, and drinking, and collecting pretty things. He loved it especially when rich, powerful men gave them to him, which they did quite often.

In a corner of his mind went the pattern—Stir, one, two, three, hold…

Cackling with glee, he picked his way across his debris-ridden shop. Well, not debris—Spirit-beast horns, a crystal globe or two, a few choice mind-enhancing plants, well-inked plates, scrying glasses… all stuff he’d dragged in like a dragon with its hoard, but couldn’t quite bear to relinquish.

It was a pain to navigate, though. A few careful steps took him across the room to where his cooking-pot sat.

Stir, one, two—ooh! A little wisp of tangy aroma drifted over the top and his thoughts evaporated. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes; the scent was like sunshine in a smell. It made a lake of his mouth, and he licked his lips. Perfect. It’s ready!

With a steady hand, he slowly poured it into a bowl…

There was a clank-clank sound in the distance—at the door, some customer had come in. “Welcome, dear patron!” he said, his eyes still fixed on his soup. The words poured out, rote, unthinking. “Help yourself to any of our offerings on the front shelves. Twenty-percent off fasting pills!” Oh, those mushrooms looked positively divine. All gray and succulent and mushy…

In the back of his mind, a long-entrenched instinct sounded an alarm. There was something he was supposed to be doing, it said, but he couldn’t remember what. He frowned. It’d come to him, he decided. Mushrooms first. He rubbed his hands, eyes glittering.

“My sis sent me to get an Elixir of Minor Healing,” said a young voice. Grr. Customers, always intruding on his fun!

“Second aisle over,” he murmured absently. He picked up his spoon.

A beat. “Um,” said the voice. “Is that elixir supposed to look like that?”

Hu’s frown deepened. “Child! Can’t you see I’m—“

Then he remembered what that long-entrenched instinct was for. His head snapped up, and he blanched.

The red within the cauldron had deepened to a fuming sangria; bubbles burst up as though over the surface of a magma pool. A sound somewhere between “HRNGG!” and “AAH!” Came out of his throat; he leapt for the cauldron, grabbed his ladle, spun it twice, but still it didn’t settle. Gritting his teeth, he reached in with his qi, casting the [Imbue] spell with all his might, and tried to hold down the burgeoning explosion. But the energies within were a cresting wave, eager to make a disaster zone of his shop. Undeniable.

His eyes watered a little. His grasp was slipping by the second; he could only hope to contain the blast. Every alchemist worth his salt had faced a cauldron explosion at least once. He’d live—albeit with a few big scrapes—but his heart ached at the thought.

His poor mushrooms! There’s no way they’d survive the blast.

He blinked. Oh, right. There was a kid here, too, wasn’t there? The customer. Scrawny, small… his eyes widened. First level of the Origin realm?! Oh, no…

His control hung on the brink. Any slight misstep might worsen the explosion tenfold; right now, even a droplet of sweat falling in would spell utter disaster. The only thing he could do was open his mouth, eyes bloodshot, to scream a warning to the boy—

Then the boy tripped.

And fell, flailing his arms.

And hit a forty-year ginseng perched onto the counter. A vortex of qi hidden in one vegetable.

Which fell into the cauldron with a happy plonk!

It was a little like throwing a spark into an oil-soaked house.

Hu saw it all happen with his jaw detached from his mouth. His heart sank into his designer fur boots. It seemed to go in slow-motion for him. There was just enough time between the ginseng’s toppling to its plunking into the potion for him to imagine the inscription on his gravestone.

Here lies Hu Feixao, revered alchemist of the Rust Tribe. Killed in a freak accident. He loved mushrooms far too much.

He scrunched his eyes shut and ducked for cover. The sound that came out of his mouth next went a little like—

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHH!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhha… a…. Ah?”

He opened his eyes. He didn’t feel very dead.

The boy looked at him like his head was screwed on backwards. “Ah?” He croaked again, and probed the cauldron.

The Heart-Quickening Draught was, somehow, perfectly stable. He gulped. How? That ginseng… but of course! Its yin properties must’ve counterbalanced the yang in the brew! A stroke of mind-bending luck.

“Ha…” said Hu, exhaling slowly. He rose slowly from his knees. “C-careful where you’re flailing! That…” He pointed a shaky finger at the boy. His thoughts seemed to pass like water through his grasp. “That could’ve…Ha…”

“Are you okay?” said the boy, looking concerned.

Still shaking, Hu stood upright. “Er—yes!” He wiped the sweat off his brow. “Of course! Why, ah, shouldn’t I be?”

“You were screaming?”

Hu choked on his spit. “That? Err…” He threw up his best poker face. “To a layman’s eyes it may look strange, m-hmm. But it is merely a part of the brewing process! I was yelling the elixir into submission—err—‘One Shout Stirs the Heavens,’ it’s called…very advanced technique…bah!”

He waved a dismissive hand, then used that same hand to wipe a second layer of sweat off of him. “I shan’t bore you with my ramblings. How may I help you?”

He grinned, exposing three missing teeth. One of his hands was still trembling.

“Right… well, I’d like this elixir of minor healing.”

The boy held up a flask of blue liquid. “How much?”

“Hmm…” Hu puffed himself up so that his hefty belly strained against his overalls. He slapped it proudly. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous! It’s yours, free of charge.”

The boy’s face brightened. “Err—just you, mind you!” Hu was quick to add. “Don’t go around spreading that old Hu’s giving out free elixir.”

The boy bowed deep. “Many thanks, master Hu.”

Now, Hu wasn’t a master. He barely deserved a mister. But he didn’t bother correcting the boy—he quite liked the ring of it…

The boy made to leave. But he paused with one foot out the door, a curious look in his eyes.

“Say, Master Hu?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been studying one of my sis’ elixir tomes. Could you answer a question I got?”

The boy looked at him with big doe-eyes. How cute! The bumpkin knew how to read.

“Of course,” smiled Hu.

“That elixir is the Heart-Quickening draught, right?”

Hu’s smile widened. “Sharp eye, boy. Indeed it is! My specialty. What of it?”

“Those vials next to the Cauldron, the ones with the labels on ‘em—they’re poisons, aren’t they?”

Hu nodded. “Very good! Adder’s tears, Queen-cobra venom, Sand-viper venom. All very difficult to use. The Queen-cobra and the Adder neutralize each other, see, and the Sand-viper adds texture.”

“The Queen-cobra and Adder cancel each other out?”

“Quite so.”

“…do they do anything else?”

“No.”

The boy blinked. “…Then why use ‘em at all?”

Hu wagged a finger at the boy and gave him a patient, grandfatherly smile. “Hum! Common beginner’s mistake. You cannot simply add or remove ingredients from an age-old formula willy-nilly! There is a great deal of complex maths involved—what are the ingredients’ energies? How do they interact with each other? How do those interactions interact? It all must balance, you see.”

The boy cocked his head. “…have you tried taking them out and running the numbers again?”

“Well, no, but—“ he paused, a mild irritation rising. “This is an age-old formula! It has been passed down for generations, perfected by alchemists of the highest caliber. I have given half my life to it! If it were possible to improve on it—take out the two most prohibitive ingredients, no less—wouldn’t I know?”

His spittle sprayed out on the last word. The boy cringed a little. “Forgive my impudence, Master. A thousand thanks.” He bowed out.

Hu’s eye twitched. His smile tightened just a little and his stomach rumbled more than a little. “Hmph!”

Hoisting up his trousers, he hopped back over to his mushroom soup. The cauldron was in stasis. No bubbling, no emergencies, no distractions. Finally he could enjoy himself.

He took two sips of it. Chewed on a mushroom. Chewed on a thought, and chewed some more. Took another sip. Kept thinking.

“Oh, hells…” he growled.

Shoving the bowl aside half-finished, he snatched out a piece of parchment, a pen, and started scribbling.

Sand-viper venom—poison aspect, 184 kJi…

X Keshani grass—holy + grass aspect, 225 kJi…

He frowned, number-crunched, frowned some more, added a zero, crossed out two lines…

Half an hour later, he leapt out of his seat with a shout. “By the saints!”

He glanced around wildly. Then he dashed out of the entrance, his face beet-red, but the boy was long gone.

***

That was weird.

Alchemy was necessary to Dorian’s plan, but he was having a few second thoughts about apprenticing himself to that man.

But as a whole, he was quite happy. In that brief encounter he’d managed to shoplift the rest of the ingredients he needed. Classic shoplifter’s trick—buy a cheap item as cover to avoid suspicion, then steal the expensive stuff. In his knapsack were three herbs and a flask. Good for a full antidote brew.

The sun had peaked in the sky as Dorian hopped along a path back to the tent, whistling. Things were off to a great start.

“Hey!” shouted a gravelly voice. Dorian froze.

To his right, coming over a dune, was a raggedy troupe of boys. They moved like a flock of birds, tallest in front, smallest in the back. The tallest and ugliest of them—the ringleader—was Kuruk, his brain helpfully supplied.

The son of the most powerful hunter in Rust Tribe, Kuruk was practically a prince in these parts. He was the one who’d broken Io’s six ribs. His lackeys had done most of the grave-digging.

Dorian’s memories of the whole ordeal got a little hazy, but it had something to do with Kuruk’s courting Kaya, getting shot down, and taking it out on him. This was only the latest in a long string of beatdowns. Usually, they went something like: Kuruk instigated, Io ran his mouth, they fought, Kuruk beat him up. And repeat.

He suspected Io’s ‘please-stick-my-head-into-a-latrine’ aura had something to do with it. In a tribe that valued martial strength above all, being a runty weakling made you fair game.

“So you made it out alive, Cry-O?” jeered Kuruk. Dorian winced. That… was a sad attempt at an insult. Really awful. “How did the sand taste?” His boys laughed, as though he’d said something funny.

Excellent. Kuruk was just about as dumb as he remembered.

The little shard of Io left in Dorian begged him to lash out. Throw a punch. Show them who’s boss.

But…maybe there was another way to play this. A way that wouldn’t earn him a needless—and powerful—enemy.

Dorian stepped up, opened his mouth.

And bowed deeply.

“Kuruk! I have seen the error of my ways. Forgive me!”

Kuruk paused. “Huh?”

He looked up, his eyes shimmering with tears. “While I was stuck in that sand dune, I saw the truth!”

He bowed again. “I was rude to you for so long because I was jealous. Jealous that I was a spineless fool. That I was not as big as you. That I was not as strong. That I was not as handsome. That women would never pine for me as they pine for you!” He whimpered. “But in that sand dune, I realized that jealousy wouldn’t make me like you, because how could I ever be?”

Standing up straight, he smiled guilelessly. “So…I won't fight with you anymore. I’m not worthy!”

Kuruk’s big unibrow bent in a confused V.

“…Huh?”

Time Elapsed: 9 hours