The second day of school began under the pale gray skies that often accompanied autumn mornings in the city. Sunny arrived at the gates just as the school bell chimed, its deep toll echoing through the cobblestone streets. He adjusted his satchel, the leather straps creaking slightly, and stepped through the gates with a mixture of apprehension and resolve.
Today, he intended to explore the library during the midday break. The idea had come to him during Professor Wexley's lesson the day before, as the older man spoke of foundational texts in alchemy that Sunny had never seen or read. The library, according to Edmund, was one of the finest in the region—filled with texts on everything from natural philosophy to engineering and, of course, alchemy.
The morning lessons passed quickly, with Sunny focusing intently on the lectures. By the time the midday bell rang, signaling the start of the break, he was already halfway to the library, his satchel bumping against his side as he hurried through the halls.
The library was as grand as Edmund had described. Its high ceilings were adorned with ornate plasterwork, and tall windows let in streams of light that illuminated the rows upon rows of shelves. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, mingling with the faint rustle of pages as students quietly perused the collection.
Sunny wandered through the aisles, his fingers trailing along the spines of books bound in faded leather and embossed with gold lettering. The alchemy section was located in a secluded corner, away from the main study area. Sunny's eyes scanned the titles, his heart quickening as he recognized some of the names from his father's own collection at home: Principia Alchemica, The Philosopher's Fire, On the Transmutation of Base Metals.
He pulled a book from the shelf, its cover worn but sturdy, and opened it to reveal dense, handwritten notes interspersed with diagrams. As he became engrossed in the text, he barely noticed the sound of footsteps approaching.
"You're looking at The Codex of Aetherial Transmutations," a voice said softly, breaking the quiet of the library.
Startled, Sunny glanced up to see a boy about his age standing a few feet away. He had tousled brown hair that fell just above his eyes and a curious expression that bordered on mischief. His uniform was slightly askew—his cravat loosened and his jacket unbuttoned—which gave him an air of casual disregard for the strict decorum of the school.
"I… Yes, I am," Sunny replied, closing the book slightly and holding it against his chest. "It's fascinating. The way it explains the relationship between elemental energies and physical matter is…" He paused, suddenly aware that he might sound overly eager. "Well, it's interesting."
The boy grinned. "You don't have to downplay it. Wexley always says alchemy is equal parts science and art—though most people here just think it's an outdated form of chemistry." He stepped closer, his hand outstretched. "Elliot Varden. My father's an industrialist, but I'd much rather spend my time here than in a factory."
"Sunny Willhem," he replied, shaking Elliot's hand. "My father is…an alchemist."
"Is,' you say?" Elliot's tone was curious but not prying. "That explains the interest in texts like this. Most students steer clear of these—they'd rather read about the latest steam engines or economic theories."
Sunny smiled faintly, feeling a small connection spark between them. "Alchemy is more than just formulas to me. My father taught me that it's about understanding the world at its most fundamental level. He said it's about finding the balance between what is and what could be."
Elliot raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That's quite the philosophy. Most people I know just think of it as trying to turn lead into gold."
"Most people are wrong," Sunny said, his voice firmer than he intended. He glanced at Elliot, unsure if his boldness had offended him, but the other boy just chuckled.
"You've got fire, Willhem. I like that." Elliot nodded toward the book in Sunny's hands. "You should borrow it. Wexley's lectures will make a lot more sense with that as a reference. Just be warned—it's not an easy read. The author was notorious for using cryptic language."
"I'll manage," Sunny said, slipping the book into his satchel. "Thank you."
The two boys lingered in the alchemy section, discussing their favorite subjects. Elliot, as it turned out, had a surprising amount of knowledge for someone who claimed to be uninterested in following in his father's industrial footsteps. He spoke passionately about the potential intersections of alchemy and engineering, imagining a future where the two disciplines could be combined to create machines powered by refined elements.
"Alchemy has always been about transformation," Elliot said, leaning against one of the shelves. "But what if it could also transform industry? Imagine machines that don't rely on coal or steam but instead draw power from the very essence of nature itself."
Sunny listened intently, his mind racing with possibilities. He had never thought about alchemy in such practical terms before—his father had always treated it as a deeply personal pursuit, almost spiritual in its reverence for the natural world. But Elliot's vision was different, and it intrigued him.
"You're full of ideas," Sunny said, a note of admiration in his voice.
"And you're full of questions," Elliot replied, grinning. "We'll make a good pair."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the break. Sunny and Elliot parted ways, agreeing to meet again in the library the following day. As Sunny returned to his classroom, his satchel heavier with the borrowed book, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The library, he realized, was not just a place for knowledge—it was a place for connection, for discovery.
Sitting at his desk as the afternoon lesson began, Sunny's thoughts wandered back to the conversation with Elliot. For the first time since arriving at the school, he felt like he had found something—someone—that made this new chapter of his life less daunting.
And as the professor's voice droned on about the history of natural philosophy, Sunny's mind drifted to the book in his satchel, to the mysteries it held, and to the possibilities that now seemed just within reach.