The next afternoon, during the alchemy elective, the classroom sat in that familiar hush. The instructor was late, and no one dared to fill the silence. Ruvian leaned back slightly in his seat, gaze flickering across the shelves of herbs and half-labeled vials.

Instructor Howard still hadn’t shown up. His thoughts wandered, pulled toward something he’d remembered. A peculiar affliction whispered about in footnotes: the inexplicable fatigue that sometimes gripped a mage and scholars without warning.

‘Vague symptoms of weakness, sluggishness, or a creeping drowsiness that no rest could cure. In that novel, I think it had no name, or proper diagnosis yet.’

But Ruvian knew the truth. Lethveil Bloom.

A flower commonly used in restorative tonics, praised for its vitality-enhancing properties. On its own, harmless, helpful even. But beneath its vibrant petals hid a trap that no one in this timeline had yet uncovered.

When the bloom came into contact with a secretion from a certain insect, it created a subtle reaction. A change invisible to the naked eye. The mana it released after that was tainted, imperceptibly so, yet potent enough to slowly corrode a mage from the inside.

“A poison disguised as medicine,” Ruvian mumbled quietly to himself. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs nοvelfire.net

No one in this era knew about it yet.

According to the novel’s future, it would take years before a scholar from Wellencrest finally connected the dots. Until then, those afflicted would keep pushing through the haze, blaming themselves for their faltering magic, their wearied minds.

It sounds the same but very different from Lirenthia leaves, which he had learned about a few days ago.

Ruvian leaned back in his chair, fingers absently tracing the edge of his desk. To most, it was just an unfortunate coincidence. But to him, it was a pattern that he could take advantage of in the future.

The classroom doors parted with a low creak, and Professor Howard entered at last. A man carved from sleepless nights, with streaks of silver threaded through his dark hair. The scent of tonic fumes clung faintly to his robes.

His eyes swept over the room, as though cataloging each student like an equation. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he began his lecture. “We begin today with the fundamentals of alchemy. Some of you may come with prior knowledge. Others… with only vague curiosity.”

“Either way, you’ll learn this much: alchemy is not mere science, and not quite magic. It is the study of how matter listens when mana speaks.” What followed was, by most standards, a rudimentary lecture. The structure of reagents. The role of catalysts. The fragile balance of mana flow within reactive compounds.

Ruvian listened, nodding at intervals, committing what needed to be remembered. But most of his mind drifted beneath the surface, pulling threads from what the professor didn’t say.

Once the lecture drew to a close, the murmurs of restless students began to fill the air. One by one, they filtered out.

Ruvian remained seated for a moment longer, eyes distant. Then he rose.

“Corwin. Come with me.”

The boy blinked, halfway through packing his notes, but stood without protest. Curiosity had a strange pull on him, especially when it came from Ruvian.

They crossed the room toward Professor Howard, who was methodically extinguishing the last of the projection glyphs.

“Professor, do you offer personal teaching?” Ruvian said calmly.

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Howard looked up, one brow arching in quiet surprise. “That depends,” he replied slowly, voice tinged with measured caution.

“Alchemy doesn’t draw many these days. Most prefer their magic loud and visible. But if a student shows genuine interest… I don’t turn them away.”

Ruvian gave a small nod, then, without warning, he placed a steady hand on Corwin’s shoulder and pushed him gently forward.

“He’s interested.” (+150PP)

Corwin stumbled, caught between confusion and betrayal.

“Wait—what?”

The professor’s expression barely shifted, but there was the faintest glimmer of amusement behind his eyes. “…Oh, so you wish to study alchemy in greater depth?”

“I—uh…” Corwin floundered, his voice catching in his throat as he threw Ruvian a sharp glare.

Ruvian simply met it with his usual calm stare, a faint shadow of a shrug in his posture, as if to say: Why not?

Howard chuckled, low and genuine. “A rare interest. Most young scholars chase blades and magic. Few bother with the quiet art of transmutation.”

“Are you certain?”

Corwin opened his mouth, then hesitated.

The professor’s tone wasn’t mocking, but respectful. Curious, even. And there was something about that pause, about the way Ruvian had stepped back and left the decision entirely in his hands.

“I…” Corwin began, then paused again.

“…Yeah,” he said, more firmly this time.

“I want to learn.” (+200PP)

“Very well,” Professor Howard said, folding his arms behind his back.

“As it happens, I was just preparing to conduct a series of experiments involving Orvess Extract. I could use an assistant.”

Ruvian took a single step back, his part in the arrangement already complete.

“Sounds like a good start,” he said simply.

Corwin turned toward him with a look that could only be described as betrayal incarnate.

But Ruvian didn’t bother acknowledging it. He was already walking away, uninterested in whatever flustered protest was about to follow.

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***

[Calyra’s POV]

As the lecture came to a close, Calyra remained seated, her fingers rhythmically drumming against the worn cover of her notebook. Her eyes followed Julian as he exited, the door shut behind him.

A rustle nearby drew her attention.

She turned just slightly, catching the figure of Silvena hunched over her desk, hurriedly shoving books and loose parchment into her bag. The motion was uncharacteristic and sloppy.

“That’s not like her,” Calyra murmured to no one in particular.

Silvena usually lingered after lectures as though time itself answered to her schedule. Sometimes she’d loiter near Calyra, tossing out half-meant questions.

But not today. Today, her movements held an urgency. As if she wanted to vanish, but without being noticed. Which, ironically, only made her more visible.

“Where are you going?” Calyra asked as she approached her.

Silvena’s hands paused, just for a fraction of a second. Barely a breath. But Calyra caught it. The slight hitch, almost imperceptible break in rhythm before her fingers resumed, folding parchment with that same feigned ease.

“I have something to take care of,” Silvena said lightly.

Calyra tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t have any electives today?”

There was no hesitation in Silvena’s response. She slung her bag over one shoulder in a fluid motion. “I don’t,” she replied evenly. “What about you?”

‘Huh? Did she just deflect my question?’

Still, Calyra wasn’t the type to chase shadows. If Silvena had something she didn’t want to share, then so be it. Everyone had their own corners of silence.

“I don’t have any electives either,” Calyra said, voice softening as she let the moment pass. “I’m heading to the library.”

Silvena offered a noncommittal hum in return, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Then, almost as an afterthought, deliberate in its casualness, Calyra said, “…I had planned to meet someone.”

That got a reaction from Silvena.

Silvena faltered mid-step. Her foot lingered before touching the ground. When she turned, her eyes were slightly widened, quickly masked by a smile.

“Well, well. Look at you. Socializing. My Calyra has grown up,” she drawled, amusement threading through her voice.

Calyra didn’t so much as blink. “You know that I’m older than you, right?”

Silvena let out an exaggerated sigh and reached out with a theatrical pity. Her hand landed lightly on Calyra’s shoulder, fingers brushing with mock sympathy.

“Must be exhausting, being old,” she said, solemn as a priest and twice as insincere.

She didn’t wait for her childhood friend to reply. In the next breath, she turned and strolled off, already humming some faint, melodic tune—something playful and airy, like she’d never been anything but carefree.

Calyra watched her go, expression unbothered.

And yet… something about it annoyed her. ‘What got into her today?’ she wondered, brows drawing together ever so slightly. ‘And why is she being so suspicious?’

She paused her thoughts.

‘No, she’s always suspicious... and weird. If she ever acted normal, I’d be more concerned.’

Calyra exhaled quietly and let the thought drift. Without another glance back, she adjusted her bag and made her way toward the library.

PP= 1980

ME= 270