After several days of dodging Marlowe's melodramatic advances and trying to avoid causing any more chaos, Elyas thought he had finally figured out how to survive life at Arcanis Academy. He had learned to keep his head down, avoid using magic unless absolutely necessary, and above all, never make eye contact with Marlowe when he had a lute in his hand. But, as luck would have it, things were about to take yet another chaotic turn.
It all started with a seemingly simple potion-making class.
Elyas had signed up for Professor Grimbald's "Introduction to Potions" class, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could manage not to blow something up for once. After all, potions didn't involve casting complicated spells. It was just mixing ingredients. Easy, right?
Professor Grimbald, however, was not someone you wanted to cross. He was an alchemist with a reputation for being as sour as a lemon dipped in vinegar and pickled for a decade. He had no patience for students who deviated from his carefully laid-out instructions. The man looked like he hadn't smiled since the invention of fire.
"Listen carefully, class," Professor Grimbald barked, pacing in front of his cauldron like a military commander preparing his troops for battle. "This is a basic healing potion. Follow the instructions to the letter, and under no circumstances should you deviate from the recipe. Do I make myself clear?"
The class nodded in unison, except for Elyas, who was already starting to panic. Potions seemed simple enough in theory, but with his luck, a basic healing potion could easily turn into an explosive concoction. And Grimbald was not someone he wanted to accidentally blow up.
Elyas tried his best to focus, clutching the recipe sheet in one hand and eyeing the cauldron warily. It was just a few simple steps: crushed sage, powdered dragonthorn, and some phoenix feather ash. Easy, right? Nothing could go wrong if he just followed the instructions.
Or so he thought.
As he began adding the ingredients, he realized with a growing sense of dread that his memory had once again failed him halfway through the recipe. His mind had wandered. He couldn't remember whether he had already added the phoenix feather ash or not. His eyes darted around the table in search of a solution.
Then, in a moment of panic-induced genius—or perhaps utter stupidity—Elyas grabbed a jar of something that looked kind of like the dragonthorn powder he was supposed to use. He didn't bother to check the label, mostly because he couldn't bear to risk Grimbald's wrath by taking too long.
Unfortunately, what he added wasn't dragonthorn powder. It was love-petal dust—a key ingredient in love potions, not healing potions. But Elyas, in his panic, didn't realize it. He stirred the mixture, hoping for the best.
It started innocently enough. The potion bubbled, a little more than it probably should have, but nothing exploded. Elyas exhaled, feeling a sense of cautious relief. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the first time something didn't go horribly wrong.
That is, until he felt a warm gust of air wrap around him like an invisible hug.
He looked around, confused. Nothing seemed out of place at first, but then he noticed it—the entire class was staring at him. Not in the usual, What did you do wrong this time, Elyas? kind of way, but in a disturbingly affectionate, I think you're the greatest thing to ever exist kind of way.
Marlowe, seated in the back, was the first to break the silence.
"Elyas," Marlowe sighed dreamily, his eyes sparkling with adoration, "you're glowing. Absolutely radiant. I must—no, I shall—write you another song. Right now."
Elyas blinked. "Glowing? I—I don't think—"
Before he could finish his sentence, several other students began to edge closer to him, their eyes shining with newfound affection.
"Elyas," said one girl who had never spoken to him before, "you're just... so wonderful. Can we have lunch together? Every day?"
"You're the most perfect person I've ever met," another student swooned. "I want to be near you... always."
Elyas's heart dropped into his stomach. He had no idea what was happening, but it was bad. Very bad.
Then he saw Professor Grimbald. The usually cold, emotionless alchemist was gazing at Elyas with a peculiar softness, his stern expression replaced with something resembling... admiration?
"Young Elyas," Professor Grimbald said softly, his voice uncharacteristically warm, "your potion... it's truly magnificent. A work of genius. You're a prodigy."
A prodigy? Elyas thought. I'm the furthest thing from a prodigy!
That's when it hit him.
He hadn't made a healing potion. He had made a love potion. And not just any love potion—one that affected an entire classroom full of people.
Panic set in as Elyas looked around at the growing number of students slowly inching closer to him, their faces filled with adoration. His only thought was: I need to get out of here. Fast.
"Elyas," Professor Grimbald said, his voice unusually soft, "perhaps you could... stay after class for a chat? I'd like to get to know you better. Maybe... discuss your future?"
That was it. Elyas snapped.
"I've gotta go!" he squeaked, bolting for the door.
In his haste, Elyas knocked over two cauldrons, sending their contents splattering across the floor. He stumbled into the hallway, but the love potion's effects were spreading like wildfire. As he ran, more and more students caught the scent of the lingering potion. Soon, a crowd of adoring followers was chasing him down the hall.
"Elyas! Wait for us!" one student called out, waving frantically.
"You're amazing! Let's hang out!" another one shouted.
Elyas's heart raced as he tore through the corridors, desperately trying to escape his newfound fan club. He ducked into the library, but even there, students began appearing from behind bookshelves, their eyes filled with unsettling affection.
"This is a disaster," Elyas muttered to himself, panting as he hid behind a large stack of books.
Just then, a familiar voice drifted into the library, accompanied by the soft strumming of a lute.
"Oh, Elyas, my muse, my love, my eternal flame," Marlowe sang as he entered the library, clearly still under the influence of the potion. "Where are you, my sweet? Let me serenade you with all the songs of my heart!"
Elyas peeked out from behind the books, horrified. Marlowe was here, and worse yet, he had backup. A growing crowd of students was forming behind him, all equally infatuated and ready to join in the serenading.
Desperate, Elyas whispered a hasty counterspell. "Please work, please work, please work," he chanted under his breath.
The spell fizzled out with a sad little puff of smoke, leaving Elyas staring at his still-enchanted pursuers. "Of course it didn't work," he groaned. "Why would it work?"
He tried to think of a plan, but his mind was racing too fast. All he could do was run—again.
With a final burst of energy, Elyas sprinted for the door. He ran through the courtyard, down the steps, and out into the open grounds of the academy, hoping that somehow, somehow, the fresh air might clear the potion's lingering effects.
But as the adoring crowd continued to chase him across the academy grounds, Elyas realized something: maybe he was never going to blend in at Arcanis. Maybe this was just his life now—endlessly fleeing from disaster to disaster, with an accidental love-struck mob trailing behind him.
Somehow, it wasn't all that surprising.