Silver Star Academy's Alchemical Workshop was a roaring, smoke-choked iron behemoth. It was a space defined by immense industrial noise and barely contained Aetheric energy. Massive Brass Pipes snaked through the air. Brass distillers, driven by vast Cogwork mechanisms, rotated slowly, venting steam heavy with the bitter, chalky scent of Starlit Moss and crushed Aetheric Ore, which gathered into a thin, white fog beneath the vaulted ceiling. In the fire pits, charcoal flames licked at crucibles, smelting the transparent Basic Aetheric Solution with milky white Coagulant into a faintly shimmering, volatile mixture. The air was tight with the smell of ozone and scorch—the metallic, nerve-jangling aroma characteristic of violent Aetheric Transmutation.
Hundreds of Tier-One Apprentices, unified by their regulation gray work aprons, moved through the din. The chaotic symphony of industry—the ceaseless hammering, the pipeline hissing, and the sharp, clipped instructions from Mentor Valerius—was a constant, deafening pressure, demanding a measured, almost military cadence to their every breath.
This was the first practical session for the Basic Healing Salve. For all novices, the procedure was simple to the point of being mechanical: weigh the prescribed Starlit Moss powder, Basic Aetheric Solution, and Coagulant according to the manual; heat the mixture to a simmer; stir evenly for five minutes; and cool in a copper mold. The finished product should be a pale green ointment, only effective against minor scratches—a feat requiring minimal technical skill but serving as an exacting test of a newcomer's patience and meticulousness.
Elara Thorne stood at a cold, stone workbench in a far corner. Her fingers unconsciously traced the twisted scar on her palm—the mark left by the shrapnel when her first attempt at Concealment Dust exploded in Cinder Town. Now hardened, the scar had become her Medium—a sensitive focal point through which she could sense and channel energy flow. She did not rush to the scales. Instead, she produced a polished Silver Probe—a piece of scrap metal salvaged from Old Ash . Delicately, she ran the probe through the Starlit Moss powder, sifting out every minute Coal Slag Particles that her eye could detect. Her earliest failure had taught her that impurity was chaos; she dared not take any step lightly now.
Her movements were slow but unnervingly steady. First, she retrieved a small, dark smear of Shadow Ember Moss from the lining of her tunic. She had gathered it the previous evening from the damp, shaded crevices of a workshop pipe—the ideal environment for the plant to retain its hidden vitality. She gently pressed the Shadow Ember Moss; her palm scar responded with a familiar, faint Tingling Pain. This ritual, which required no blood, leveraged the scar's residual energy to prime the material for superior fusion. She then added her carefully prepared quantities of Shadow Lichen—bartered from Silas—and Rust Powder—scraped from an abandoned steam line, its storage time strictly controlled to prevent Corrupting Spores. When introducing the Basic Aetheric Solution, she switched to a smooth Animal Bone Rod, a cleaned rabbit bone she had polished herself. Natural materials, she knew, guided energy more purely than metal. With a gentle turn of her wrist, she stirred the solution exactly seven times, each rotation calibrated to the perfect degree of force.
Around her, whispers of failure arose: "Why has my ointment clumped?" "Too much Aetheric Solution! The color is turning gray!" Yet, in Elara's crucible, a pale green salve quietly coalesced. It lacked the Academy's pungent chemical harshness, carrying instead the clean, slightly bitter fragrance of the Shadow Ember Moss. The Texture was flawlessly fine, without a single air bubble, like an emerald perfectly formed from Blighted Soil.
Lina, the commoner student next to her, leaned over, her voice hushed. "Thorne, you are incredible! I've ruined two batches, and yours is perfect."
"Go slow. Check for particles, and don't panic when you stir," Elara advised. Before she could finish, a voice dripping with contempt sliced through the air.
"A trick of the lowborn. Only a peasant would fuss so meticulously over a basic task."
The speaker was Laiti, a collateral scion of the Frostborne Family and one of Cecilia Frostborne's loyal attendants. He wore his gray apron with the collar intentionally raised, showcasing the Frostborne crest—an icy crown and frost blade—stitched underneath. His eyes, like chips of ice, were fixed on Elara. "A Cinder Town beggar should stay in the gutters picking scraps, not occupying a station in the Alchemical Workshop."
Lina immediately ducked her head. The surrounding apprentices glanced away; no one dared challenge the Frostborne Family. Emboldened,Laiti kicked out at a jar of herbs by Elara's feet. With a harsh clatter, the brown Starlit Moss powder scattered and mixed with machine oil on the stone floor, forming an ugly stain. "Peasant's trash. No loss if it's ruined."
Elara moved to salvage the powder, butLaiti's finger flicked first. A single, transparent droplet—Spirit-Corroding Acid, the potent solvent used by the Association to dissolve Aetheric Crystals—flew into her crucible. The pristine green salve instantly bleached white, dissolving with a sharp, sizzling sound, and a corrosive stench erupted.
"See? No amount of pretense helps—"Laiti's cruel laugh was cut short.
Elara paused for only a fraction of a second. She snatched a pinch of the spilled, oil-and-slag-mixed powder from the floor. That trace amount of Iron-Containing Coal Slag, meant for an earlier experiment, was now her only shield. She scattered the contaminated mix into the bubbling crucible. Gripping the Bone Rod, the sharp Tingling Pain in her scar allowed her to precisely read the chaotic, reactive rhythm between the acid and the iron. She rotated the rod slowly, patiently—too quickly would invite an explosion—matching her force to the subtle, counteracting feedback from the mixture.
Mentor Valerius arrived on his inspection round just as Elara ceased stirring. The crucible's contents had re-coagulated. The new product was deeper in color, a translucent Amber-Green Ointment, its surface shimmering with a faint, contained luster. The old Mentor bent, tested the Texture, and sniffed. "Hmm. Satisfactory. Finer than anticipated." He moved on, without a moment of further consideration, assuming this slight margin of success was mere rookie luck.
Lionel's face turned a mortified crimson. He dared not challenge the Mentor. He shot Elara a venomous glare and slunk back to his station, leaving the mess untouched.
After class, Mentor Valerius paused briefly by Elara's station. "Next time, stick to the curriculum. Experimenting with workshop scrap compromises potency." He left, having seen nothing truly amiss.
Elara let out a silent breath, the Tingling Pain in her scar receding. She carefully placed the cool, firm piece of Amber-Green Ointment into a secret pouch. This was her first alchemical crisis resolved within the walls of Silver Star City, achieved without exposing her methods. The hard leather cover of The Rotting Earth Codex pressed against her heart, a familiar, cool reminder: in this magnificent prison, low profile and caution were the ultimate laws of survival.