I spent a month in Igrande, which seemed quiet and uneventful. There was little to do but watch the city and its surroundings, and I was in no hurry to explore them. I found shelter with an old man who lived just outside the city walls, on the quiet outskirts. His little hut stood in the lap of nature, far from the bustling city. In exchange for his hospitality, I gave him a purse of gold coins-more than enough to keep him living comfortably.
The ruler of Igrand, Lord Valdaric, was a cautious ruler known for his shrewdness and the art of diplomacy. His rule brought both prosperity and fear to the city-state, and from what I understand, many of his decisions seem to have been influenced by his alchemist advisor Artein, a man shrouded in mystery. Artein's name echoed in muffled conversations throughout the city. It was said that he could change the course of a battle, fate itself with a single gesture.
But meeting Artein would not be easy. He stayed close to Valdaric's court, almost always near the ruler. For the moment, I will have to postpone the matter until better times.
I had to focus on something much more important-the red stone I had created. I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't as perfect as the one I had taken from the alchemist I had killed.
It allowed me to perform alchemical transformations without having to draw a circle. All I had to do was mentally visualize the circle-its structure, its intricate lines-and the stone resonated with that mental image, bringing it to life.
But was that enough?
I went back to what I knew best. Grave digging.
Under the cover of night, I visited old burial grounds, testing the power of stone. At first, the results were crude - flesh and bone joined into imperfect shapes, the essence of life distorted but still functioning. But I began to notice something - the stone, while functional, lacked all the strength of the original. Yes, I could make transmutations, but they lacked the consistency and strength of those made with the original stone. Still, I wondered, how long would it last? How many times could I use it before it used up its properties?
During one of my tests, I focused on reconstructing a skeleton hand, combining it with animal remains to create something new. The stone glowed faintly in my palm, and as I visualized the circle structure, the transformation began. The bones shifted, fused, and became a hybrid of beast with human bone, resembling an exo-skeleton. But something was wrong. The energy in the stone wavered like a flickering candle trying to keep lit.
I need more souls. The thought came unsolicited, but it was true. The power of the stone came from the essence of those I had sacrificed, but it was far from perfect. It was more of a hastily made thing, from the materials at hand.
Days passed and my experiments continued, though I was careful not to overuse the red stone for fear it might deplete too quickly. I worked carefully, taking my time, trying to prolong its power as long as possible.
But something happened - something I had always tried to avoid, but had foolishly made the mistake of assuming I could avoid the situation.
It was the old man I was staying with. Perhaps it was greed, or stupidity, or even some mistaken belief. Whatever it was that drove him to turn me over to the authorities, telling them wild stories of me digging up graves, performing dark rituals, and creating monsters.
What I didn't realize was that this old fool had been watching me all this time, hiding his suspicions until he saw fit to act. It was ridiculous. How could I have failed to notice him? I was usually cautious, but it seemed my obsession with the stone had made me blind to the dangers around me.
And here I was, in a damp, dilapidated cell that smelled of mold and excreta, of all those who had apparently been here before me. My hands were bound, and the stone hidden in my shoe was still within my reach, but just barely.
I heard footsteps approaching.
Two guards entered, rough-looking men in rumpled armor. One of them, a stocky man with a thick beard, struck the bars with his baton.
- It's you," he growled, squinting his eyes at me. "Grave robber, ritualist ... creator of monsters," he said more of an assertion than a question.
I remained silent, leaning against the cold wall. There was no point in denying it. They had already made up their minds.
"Nothing to say, huh?" The second guard, taller and thinner, grinned. - Your old man buddy said you play with bodies, digging up the dead. Is that true?
The fact that I wasn't answering made them very annoyed. The stocky, first man spat on the ground and turned to leave, but the tall guard lingered a moment longer, more curiosity than anger in his gaze.
"What were you really trying to do?" - He asked, quieter now. "What were you trying to accomplish?"
I thought for a moment, weighing my words. - Alchemy. - I answered, hoping those words would reach the right people. Trying to use this situation to my advantage.
The tall guard frowned, as if he wanted to ask something else, but the stocky one bellowed from the corridor, "Let's go! Leave him to rot."
Throwing one last glance at me, the skinny guard turned and walked away.
A week passed, maybe more - it was hard to keep track of time in the semi-dark, forgotten cell. The cold, damp air had become familiar, and the faint sound of footsteps along the corridor usually meant the same routine: guards distributing rations, muttering curses to their superiors.
But this time the footsteps were different.
The door creaked open, and the man I had been expecting appeared in the dim light of the torches. He was taller than I had expected, with a lean, angular figure and an expression of habitual immobility, like a man who weighs every movement, every breath. His face was pale, almost unnaturally so, with sharp, piercing eyes that glowed with a faint amber hue. His silver hair was neatly slicked back, a stark contrast to the dark, layered clothes he wore - clothes that looked more ceremonial than functional. His thin lips barely moved and his expression remained impenetrable.
At first he said nothing. He just stood there, scrutinizing me. It seemed like his gaze could peel away the layers, revealing all the secrets I was trying to hide. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. His voice was soft, but there was an unsettling authority in it.
- I'm Artane," he said, never taking his eyes off me for a second. - And who are you?
- Dorian," I said the first thing that came to mind.
- You've caused quite a stir, Dorian," he said, almost cheerfully. - I've heard rumors about your... activities. Graves, rituals, creatures. You drew unwanted attention. And here I am.
I shrugged. "People are easily frightened by what they don't understand. That doesn't make me who they think I am."
"Perhaps," Artein said thoughtfully, folding his hands in front of him, "Or perhaps you are someone worse. But tell me, where did you come from? What makes a man like you dig up the dead and perform rituals in the dark night?
- From the north. I traveled up and down - on long roads with caravans, gathering knowledge wherever I could. Alchemy, especially, fascinated me. Crumbs of information, a little practice. Every place I visited expanded my understanding of the craft.
Artein squinted, sensing something else behind that. "And what brings you to Igrand, Dorian?"
"I heard rumors," I answered simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "About an alchemist who became an advisor to the ruler. A man who had power and knowledge that even kings revered. How could I turn down the opportunity to learn more about this craft, from those who had already achieved something. That he was even able to attract the attention of a ruler who made him one of his advisors."
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded slightly. "And alchemy? How much do you really know?"
"Enough," I said, deliberately trying to sound vague. "Enough to experiment. Enough to understand the basics. But I don't claim to be a master. I'm still in the process of... learning."
"Studying?" Artein's lips curved into a slight smile. "Self-taught alchemists are rare. And even rarer are those who can live as long as you do, practicing things better left untouched. The knowledge you seek - do you know its price?"
- Everything has a price," I said, meeting his gaze calmly. - The only question is how much you are willing to pay.
Artain laughed softly, and the muffled sound echoed through the hall. - Wise words for such a reckless man.
I waited until there was silence between us for a moment before I continued. - And now what? You've come all this way. I'm sure you didn't come just to ask questions.
He stepped closer, studying me as if weighing his next move. - No, of course not. I came because your actions intrigued me. Perhaps the rumors are exaggerated, but there's something about you, Dorian. Just as you came hoping to gain the knowledge I possess, I have come for the knowledge you may possess.
I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you want to know?"
- Your methods and practices. Your experience. And most importantly," Artein's eyes darkened, "are you really as useful as you make yourself out to be, or are you just another fool playing with forces he doesn't understand?
I laughed softly. - If I was just another fool, I wouldn't be here.
Artein smiled again with a thin, calculating smile. - 'Indeed you would. But let me ask you something else, Dorian. What do you think of money and power?
- I am not interested in either of them, I can be associated with a madman, hungry for the knowledge that lurks, in this world. And the more knowledge I can get and learn, the better, and everything else is not essential for me. Power and money are just tools, but knowledge? Knowledge is eternal. I want to plumb the depths of alchemy, push its boundaries and see how far it can go.
- What if I told you I could offer you that knowledge? But in return, you'd have to prove yourself... faithful. Both to me and to Igrande.
- What kind of loyalty are we talking about? - I asked.
Artain's smile grew wider. "In time, you will know. In the meantime, rest assured, your fate is no longer in the hands of these guards."
With those words, he turned and walked away, his robe dragging behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts... and the possibilities that had just opened up before me.
As I was escorted through the palace halls, the young man - Rahit - stepped confidently ahead of me, his silence broken only by occasional directions on how to navigate the maze of corridors. He was thin, barely out of his teens, and had a sharp, almost nervous energy. His dark eyes darted around, as if he had only recently become accustomed to his surroundings.
He led me to a large wooden door at the far end of the narrow corridor. When he pushed it open, the air was filled with the smell of parchment, herbs, and burning oils. The laboratory itself was spacious, but it was littered with all sorts of alchemical tools: vials, beakers, mortars and pestles, and strange symbols painted on every conceivable surface. Along the walls were shelves filled with folio books
- This is where Master Artain does his research," Rahit said, and his voice finally broke the silence. He pointed to the center of the room, where a half-finished transmutation circle lay on a large table.
Before I could continue looking around the room, Rahit's gaze returned to me. - Master asked me to brief you on what we're doing here, and more importantly, what he expects of you.
I nodded, keeping a neutral expression on my face, as if the scope of Artain's laboratory didn't bother me.
- First, Master Artain wishes to know all about your understanding of alchemy. He's particularly interested in the transmutations you've performed," Rakhit continued, gesturing for me to sit down.
Soon Artain joined us, too, so that he could hear everything from me firsthand.
- Well," I began slowly, "I've always been interested in alchemy. I'm self-taught, so much of what I know is gleaned from bits and pieces of knowledge I've heard while traveling. It's a discipline that requires a delicate balance between theory and practice. And, as with most things, the only way to truly learn is to experiment.
As I spoke, Rahit was furiously scribbling something down, not even bothering to look up, and Artein was only listening for now.
"You say you're self-taught," he said with a note of skepticism in his voice. - 'And yet you've done transmutations. What kind of transmutations?
I was silent for a moment, thinking carefully about my answer. - Simple ones, mostly. Turning metals into various forms, binding small elements together. Nothing as complex as what I suspect is going on in this room," I added, pointing to the dissected creature on the table.
"And the graves? The corpses?"
I couldn't say too much, not yet. Nor could I say too little.
"I've been studying theory," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Alchemy, as you know, is closely related to life and death - it transforms one into the other, manipulates the forces that control the forces of nature. So, I've been trying to find out if it's possible to... well, whether the dead could be used as material for alchemical transformations.
Rachit scrambled his quill again, writing down every word. - And what were the results? - Artein asked.
I leaned back slightly, as if showing indecision, as if I wasn't proud of my answer. - Mostly failures. I was too inexperienced. But I had managed to turn some bodies into rudimentary beings - beings that could move, but nothing more. They were unstable.
- And the creatures? - There was a deeper interest in his tone. - What kind of creatures were they?
I kept a nonchalant expression on my face, keeping my eyes on him. - A sort of hybrid of a mishmash of animal components. But they all died quickly. I was unable to stabilize the creation process, and most of my attempts only ended in failure. It was... crude, like sewing flesh together without realizing what the thread was or whether the parts you were trying to attach to another part would function.
"Are you aware that this borders on dangerous heresy?" Asked Rahit in a quiet but harsh voice. Artein cast a warning glance at him, and Rahit lowered his head shamefacedly.
"Alchemy has always been dangerous. The line between creation and destruction is thin. I was just... was curious how thin that line was." I shrugged carelessly. "I've heard stories. There are rumors of stones that grant immense power to an alchemist. But those are just tales I heard while traveling with the caravan."
Artein flinched at what he heard, but continued in a calm manner. "There is always some truth in myths and luxuries, Dorian. And it is that truth that we seek here." And with those words he left that room. As if putting an end to the matter.
Rahit stood up, gathering his notes. - Artein does not tolerate disobedience or deceit. If you know more than you reveal...you should hope he doesn't find out, or you will regret it bitterly.
It was a delicate game, and one wrong move could cost me everything I had planned here. But right now, I would play the role of a curious student waiting for the right moment.