Trafalgar stood quietly as Selara moved about her laboratory with manic energy, her long platinum hair bouncing wildly with each step.
"Alchemy isn't just a class," she said suddenly, her emerald eyes flashing as she perched her odd goggles down over her face. The lenses glowed faintly with runes as she inspected the mythril shard. "It's… a way of living. A philosophy."
Trafalgar raised a brow, half amused. "You sound like you've been waiting your whole life to say that."
Selara chuckled, unconcerned by his jab. "In a way, I have. When I was little, I was always mixing things I shouldn't—crushed flowers, bits of metal, anything I could get my hands on. The moment my core awakened, my path was decided. [Alchemist]. It wasn't chosen by fate. It was me, reflected back."
She twirled the shard of mythril between her fingers, the emerald glint of her eyes nearly feverish. "This class rewards obsession. And obsession, boy, I have in abundance."
