Audree jerked upright, spinning around far too fast.
An almost manic grin, fueled more by adrenaline and nerves than anything else, stretched across his face before he even registered who was standing there.
It was... that baker's kid.
Audree had seen him around town now and then—usually delivering bread, helping his parents stock the little bakery near the square. Seemed to be around his age. Shorter, skinny, messy brown hair. The type who kept to himself, didn't cause trouble. Someone Audree had barely noticed.
Now, here he was.
Hovering awkwardly, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot, glancing sideways at Audree's scattered notes and half-formed spell diagrams.
Audree's excitement soured almost instantly. The intrusion was annoying—this was his space, his project, something he wasn't ready to share with anyone.
"Hey," Audree said stiffly, forcing the manic grin to a more neutral grimace. "Just... working on something."
The boy nodded, fidgeting.
"Um... I'm Leif," he said, his voice barely louder than the breeze. "I've seen you around. Sometimes. I, uh... was kinda looking to make a new friend?"
He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushing.
"I heard your mom's, like... some sort of witch," Leif blurted out, a little too fast. "I thought that was really cool."
Audree blinked.
What.
His mind spun. Confusion flashed first—then irritation, hot and sharp. He knew the rumors—everyone in Embershade had heard them. Whispers about Ina being a witch, about strange noises from the shop, about cursed potions and spellwork.
It was all nonsense.
Just another way the townsfolk showed they didn't understand a damn thing about real magic. About real work.
The longer Audree thought about it, the more his frustration sharpened. His fingers tightened around his bracelet, the beads biting into his skin.
Apparently, the anger showed on his face because Leif immediately started backpedaling, waving his hands nervously.
"S-sorry!" he stammered. "I didn't mean—! I wasn't trying to—! I just thought—!"
He trailed off, face bright red, looking like he wanted to sink into the ground.
Audree exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to let go of the sudden rage. This kid didn't know any better. And besides... yelling at him wouldn't fix anything.
Still gripping the edges of his notebook tightly, Audree ground out, "It's... fine."
Leif fidgeted some more, clearly unsure if he should stay or bolt.
Audree just sighed, glancing down at his notes and then back at the flustered boy.
Maybe this was a chance to practice... patience.
Even if every part of him was itching to get back to his work.
Leif fidgeted awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, until his eyes caught something moving near Audree's bag.
The slime.
Specifically, a tiny version of itself, split off and wobbling around the grass like a miniature twin, with the larger slime lazily chasing after it.
Leif's eyes widened. He took a cautious step back.
"Um... what is that thing?" he asked, voice half-curious, half-scared.
Audree blinked, momentarily thrown off.
Then he chuckled—a real laugh, breaking through the tight coil of frustration he'd been holding onto.
Maybe this wasn't so bad, he thought. Maybe this is the perfect opportunity.
Leif looked even more embarrassed now, shuffling awkwardly and glancing between Audree and the slime.
"What's so funny?" he asked, cheeks turning pink. "I've never seen anything like it before."
Audree shook his head, smiling a little more genuinely now.
"Alright, Leif," he said, standing and dusting off his hands. "Let's get one thing clear."
He crossed his arms, giving the boy a serious look.
"My mother? Not a witch. Calling someone that, at least for most people, is actually pretty rude."
Leif's eyes widened slightly.
Audree continued, warming to the explanation now.
"Me and my mothers are alchemists. We use magic and chemistry—together—to make potions, tinctures, that kind of thing. Actual work."
He knelt again by his notes, tapping the margins with a finger.
"Witches—real ones—make deals. Contracts. Usually with things you don't want to owe favors to. That's not what we do."
Audree caught himself mid-rant and grimaced slightly. Was this what Haldo felt like, trying to explain magic to someone who had no idea what they were talking about?
He exhaled slowly, feeling a little more sympathy for the old man's endless grumbling.
"So please," Audree finished, "don't call people that. Especially not around here."
Leif looked stunned for a moment, then cast his gaze down at the ground, mumbling a soft, "Sorry."
Audree's stance softened.
"It's fine," he said after a moment. "I get it. It's confusing. Magic's confusing."
He tapped his pencil against the diagram in front of him.
"And for your question—that little guy is a Vaponea slime. Pretty rare. And pretty important for what I'm trying to do."
Leif's head snapped up, his curiosity piqued immediately.
He walked closer, squatting down beside Audree with wide, fascinated eyes, staring at the slime as it happily bounced around, chasing after its own smaller fragment.
It was almost... cute.
Audree watched him for a moment, weighing the situation.
Leif was already here.
Already nosy.
And... maybe showing someone wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Besides... maybe if he showed Leif even a glimpse of real magic—real work—it could start changing how people like him saw things.
And maybe, just maybe, it would help repair some of the damage the town's stupid rumors had done to his family's name.
Audree smiled a little to himself.
"Alright," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "You want to see something cool?"
Leif nodded, eyes lighting up.
Audree grinned, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement building again.
"Then watch closely," he said. "Because I'm about to try something... no one else in this dumb town's ever even thought of."
Audree took a deep breath, bouncing slightly on his heels.
Alright. Step one: get the slime to split again.
It had done it earlier—accidentally—but now he needed it to do it on command.
He crouched in front of the Vaponea slime, the sketch of his grand plan fluttering on the ground behind him.
"Okay, little guy," Audree said, pointing dramatically at it. "Split."
The slime stared at him.
Blankly.
Unmoving.
Leif, sitting cross-legged nearby, glanced between Audree and the blob, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Uh..." Leif said hesitantly. "Is it supposed to do something?"
"Give me a second," Audree grumbled.
He scooped the slime into his hands and stepped off to the side, muttering under his breath.
"Come on," he whispered. "You're making me look stupid in front of the town's shyest kid. Not exactly helping my social life here."
The slime just bounced lazily in his palms, utterly unbothered.
Audree sighed through gritted teeth.
Okay... bait it, then.
Thinking fast, he dug into his satchel and pulled out one of the captured mana-bugs from Merrin's menagerie—a fat, slow little thing pulsing with faint blue light.
He held the slime steady in one hand and dangled the mana-bug temptingly in front of it.
"Here," Audree coaxed. "You like mana, right? Go on."
The slime quivered, then liquified suddenly, flowing like syrup down his hand—ignoring the bait entirely—and oozing onto his other palm where the mana-bug waited.
Squish.
The slime engulfed the bug in an instant, slurping it down with a very undignified plop.
Audree stared, utterly defeated.
He was ready to groan and call the whole thing off when, without warning, the slime rippled.
It shivered.
And then—pop—a smaller blob slid free, splitting off like a droplet breaking from a puddle.
Audree froze, holding both hands out.
Two slimes now—one larger, one smaller—wobbled in his palms.
The smaller one pulsed faintly, then glowed a soft, reassuring blue, almost like it was... responding.
Audree leaned closer, blinking in disbelief.
"So you do understand," he muttered.
The smaller slime wobbled happily, almost proud of itself.
Behind him, Leif watched in wide-eyed silence, practically buzzing with unspoken questions, but clearly holding back so he wouldn't interrupt.
Audree glanced over his shoulder and gave a crooked grin.
"Step one..." he said, half to Leif, half to himself. "Complete."
The smaller slime bounced lightly in his palm.
Audree sat cross-legged in the scorched grass, twirling his pencil between his fingers as he stared down at his notebook.
Time for the stand.
It was, admittedly, a goofy idea—a literal shoulder-mounted platform for a slime. But practicality wasn't always pretty, and this was about function over form.
"Okay..." he muttered, thinking out loud. "For the base, I'll need wood—something soft enough to carve into, but strong enough to hold shape... maybe cedar. Nails, hammer, some straps to mount it to my shoulder—oh, and a carving knife, definitely..."
He was halfway through scribbling down materials when a voice broke in.
"I think my dad has all that stuff!" Leif said brightly.
Audree looked up, blinking in surprise. He'd momentarily forgotten Leif was still hovering nearby, practically vibrating with interest.
Leif leaned in, peering at the shoulder-platform sketch in Audree's notes. "That drawing's super cool! What's it do?"
Audree hesitated—still not used to explaining this to someone else—then said, "Uh, thanks. Basically... it's a platform for the slime to sit on while I cast from the spellbook. If I get the runes right and the connection holds, it should let me feel the slime's mana flow and direct it through the runes."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Or, well... that's what I think will happen."
Leif's eyes widened. "Ooooh, that's kinda weird—but cool! So you're gonna, like, merge minds with the slime or something?"
Audree gave him a flat look.
"No. That would be kinda stupid."
Leif laughed awkwardly and stepped back a little.
"I'm not trying to do some deep spirit-bond soul-merge nonsense," Audree clarified, gesturing vaguely. "It's more like... I'm syncing to the slime's mana, not its mind. I'll send intent, direction—will—through the rune path. But it's still up to the slime to listen."
He leaned over and picked up the smaller split-off slime, holding it gently in one hand. The little blob pulsed faintly, watching him.
"These guys are supposed to be pretty smart," Audree continued. "And from what I can tell, it does kind of understand what I'm saying. Like when it split earlier? I think it got the command... it just decided to be difficult about it."
The slime bounced slightly in response, almost mockingly.
Audree squinted at it.
"See?"
Leif grinned. "Well, I'll go grab the tools! Be back in a bit!"
As Leif ran off toward town, Audree looked back down at his notebook.
While Leif ran off to fetch the supplies, Audree turned back to the part of his world that always made sense.
Potions.
Spellwork and runes were new, complicated, and thrilling—but alchemy... alchemy was his craft. It was something he could rely on, something that felt right.
He unrolled his portable mixing cloth, laying out vials, dried ingredients, a small mortar and pestle, and a flame crystal he'd rigged to keep a steady simmer.
For the next half hour, he worked in near silence, the soft clink of glass and the grinding of herbs his only soundtrack.
He started by quickly scribbling some basic rune pathways on his forearm, forehead, and the smaller slime's side—an experimental linkage diagram. Crude and temporary, drawn with alchemical ink, but it helped him visualize how the energy might flow during casting.
Then he got to work.
First, a fresh heat-resistant potion, improved from yesterday's formula. A touch more ironbark resin and he could already feel the consistency stabilizing in the vial.
Next, a pair of strength tonics, thick and slightly bitter-smelling, infused with distilled minotaur moss—a great choice for temporary physical boosts.
Finally, a safety measure: a potion designed to explode into rapidly hardening foam. If things went sideways during testing, it could contain a small fire—or a runaway spell—in a heartbeat.
Crafting came naturally to him. He could eyeball measurements and be almost spot-on every time. Where others might have needed strict ratios, precise scales, and repeated trials, Audree could often feel what was right.
Ina had once told him, "Most alchemists your age blow themselves up a dozen times trying to get the basics down. But you... it's like you're reading recipes you've never seen and still pulling off full-course meals."
He used to think she was exaggerating.
And maybe she was.
He did mess up sometimes.
But still—something about alchemy clicked for him in a way nothing else did. The measurements, the reactions, the combinations—they weren't guesswork. They were instinctual.
He frowned slightly, setting down the foam bomb with a quiet clink.
Because the strange thing was: when it came to anything else—throwing a rock, hitting a target, even guessing the right amount of spice in a soup—he was terrible.
Only alchemy worked like this. Like it was wired into his brain.
And yet... he was just a normal person.
No mana. No keyword. No gifts.
Right?
He stared into the glowing vial for a moment, the little flame beneath it flickering quietly.
Then the bushes rustled behind him, and Leif came hurrying back with an armful of supplies and a breathless grin.
"I got the wood, the hammer, nails—everything!" he said excitedly. "Oh, and some straps from my dad's old tool belt!"
Audree stood, brushing grass off his pants.
"Perfect," he said, pushing the strange thoughts from his mind for now.
"Let's build something completely ridiculous."
And for a long while, the two boys sat under the filtered sun, the sound of carving filling the air with steady scritch-scritch rhythms.
Audree hunched over a piece of wood, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, trying to shape it into the rough design he'd sketched. His knife slipped again, shaving too much off the edge.
"Damn it," he muttered.
This... was not like alchemy.
He was so used to things just working when he focused. Measuring, brewing, adjusting formulas—that came with ease. But woodwork? This was a mess. Half the components he tried to cut came out too small, too slanted, or splintered entirely.
Meanwhile, Leif was across from him, steadily working through pieces of the shoulder mount. He wasn't flawless, but he had a clear rhythm: brace, cut, smooth, inspect. Not perfect—but confident. Fluid.
Audree watched for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.
"So..." he said, drawing out the word. "What's your deal?"
Leif blinked, looking up from the board he was shaping.
"You seem way too good at this for someone doing it 'just because.' And you just happened to show up out of nowhere, take an interest in my work, and have access to exactly the materials I need for my 'project.'" Audree raised an eyebrow. "You're not some priest, or soldier from the capital, here to stop my amazing magical revolution, are you?"
He said it with a crooked smirk—half a joke, half not.
Leif stared, then laughed awkwardly.
"I think you read way too many adventure novels," he said, shaking his head. "No, I'm not a spy. Or a secret agent. Or anything dramatic like that."
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy again.
"I'm the second-oldest of four kids. My mom passed a few years ago, and my older brother's usually helping my dad with the bakery, so... I look after the younger ones a lot."
He returned to shaping a piece of the wood, focusing on the grooves.
"I like making things. Toys, mostly. Little puzzles. Sometimes I carve animal figurines for the kids. I've even tried some metalworking, but I'm not really strong enough to do much of it."
He hesitated, then glanced back up at Audree.
"But... I dunno. You just seemed really cool. And determined. I mean, you're doing magic with a slime on your shoulder. You've always looked kind of intense—like you're thinking about something bigger than the rest of us are."
Leif rambled a bit longer, the words coming in a rush, awkward and unfiltered.
Audree listened, expression unreadable. That little speech sounded a bit more like watching than just seeing someone around town.
It was... kind of unnerving.
But Leif didn't seem dangerous. Or even all that strange, really. Just curious. Eager. Kind of like a lost dog that had decided to follow him home.
Audree sighed and turned back to his warped platform pieces.
He guessed it wouldn't be too much of a problem.
"Just don't mess up the rune channels," he muttered. "Or the slime might end up launching itself into a tree."
Leif grinned. "Got it. Tree-launching: not on today's to-do list."
—-------
The sun had started to dip behind the smokestacks by the time the contraption was finished.
It was crude—hastily nailed wood, uneven straps, and carved runes that weren't exactly symmetrical—but it held together. That was enough.
Audree strapped it onto his shoulder. The platform sat stiffly against his arm, digging in a bit. It wasn't comfortable. It didn't look impressive.
But it worked.
The Vaponea slime, freshly split, was gently mounted onto the runic plate like a crown jewel on a busted throne. It quivered slightly, then settled, its body pulsing in sync with the faint mana lines drawn across the wood.
Audree stood back, eyeing it.
"There's still a lot of refining that needs to happen," he muttered, adjusting the straps. "But for a first prototype? This'll do."
Leif sat nearby, knees pulled to his chest, watching with wide, eager eyes. He didn't say anything—but his excitement was practically vibrating off him.
Audree turned to his spellbook.
The rune circle he'd been sketching was finally done. He dipped his brush in alchemical ink, repainted the faded runes on his arm and across the surface of the slime. The glyphs shimmered faintly.
This was it.
All he needed now was to activate the runes.
He chose a simple water spell. Something soft. Controlled.
Nothing that could blow up the field if things went wrong.
He held the book in front of him, took a breath... and began to chant.
The runes on the contraption sparked to life.
Light flickered across the carvings, crawling like fireflies along the wood.
And then—he felt it.
Something connected.
The link snapped into place.
A wave of energy washed through him—cool, rushing, like standing knee-deep in a fast river.
His body felt different. Stronger. Brighter. Like the air around him had sharpened. This... this had to be what it felt like for mages to channel mana. Not borrowed. Not begged. Power.
He smiled.
Then he began the second part of the chant.
And something shifted.
The mana—supposed to route through the slime and into the spellbook—didn't.
Instead, it surged into him.
The runes on his arm flared, not blue, but green. Sickly. Wrong.
Audree's smile vanished.
"What—"
Before he could finish the thought, the book in his hand erupted in green light. The water spell activated—a sphere of swirling water formed in the air, suspended like a floating tear.
But the slime...
The slime had changed.
Its glow flickered. The brightness in its form dimmed. Then its body destabilized, liquifying rapidly into a trembling puddle.
Audree gasped as he felt a pull.
The mana—its mana—spackled outward like mist, then twisted and sank into his arm, sucked into the glowing runes now burned into his skin.
The sphere of water pulsed.
Grew.
The remaining half of the slime, still whole, let out a high, panicked ripple of sound before bolting—sliding behind Leif's legs and hiding, trembling.
Leif looked stunned.
"What in all the hells is happening?" Audree whispered, staring at the magic-etched limb now brimming with power he hadn't meant to take.
The floating sphere churned above him. Unstable. Swelling.
And Audree felt it.
The echo of a creature he had just killed.