The candle flames dimmed as Caelen turned the page. The script shifted—what had once been elegant now appeared iron-etched, the dark ink pressed so deep it scarred the parchment. The air tasted faintly of burnt myrrh.
"Alchemy is not trickery or sleight of hand," Caelen began. "It is an agreement. One that predates kings and gods. Blood-bound. Memory-woven. A language spoken in symbols and sacrifice."
Ravine sat straighter, her eyes drawn to the sigils—familiar yet unknowable, like words once spoken in a dream.
"There are five elemental pillars," Caelen said, pointing to a star-shaped diagram. "The anchors through which we shape the world."
Water.
"It heals and remembers," Caelen murmured. "It reflects. It listens. To work with water is to invite feeling—to drown in memory. An alchemist who leans too far into it can forget who they are."
Flame.
"It purifies, yes. But it also transforms and consumes. Fire never gives back what it takes—it returns something different. Scarred. Stronger, or broken."
Stone.
"The keeper of time. It remembers what others forget. Stone will never lie to you—but it will never speak unless you bleed for it."
Air.
"Quick, evasive, invisible. It holds secrets. Echoes. The thoughts not yet spoken aloud. An alchemist who binds air must always question whether the voice they hear is their own."
Ether.
Caelen's finger paused.
"The forbidden fifth. It does not bind to one world, but all. Life and death. Thought and soul. It is the gatekeeper—and the key. Most who touch it… do not return."
Ravine's breath quickened. A cold bead slid down her spine.
"And then," Caelen said, "there are the tenets. The truths. They are not warnings. They are tolls."
He began to recite them—slowly, letting each word weigh itself into her mind:
The Law of Equal Exchange – Nothing is created without cost. Creation is theft dressed in gold. The Law of Transmutation's Burden – What you alter in the world, the world alters in you. Every use leaves a wound. The Law Against Revival – The dead are echoes. You may summon the shape, never the soul. The Law of Soul Binding – Using a soul brands you. And once marked, you will be hunted by what should not exist. The Law of Natural Hierarchy – Some materials carry divine order. Tamper with them, and order breaks. The Law of Echoes – Every act of alchemy resonates. Your ripple may become another's ruin. The Law of Corruption – The more you twist, the more you break. And rot always starts from within. The Law of Isolation – Power creates distance. Great alchemists die alone—or erased. The Law of Inheritance – Your alchemy does not die with you. It lingers—in children, in curses. The Final Law: The Gate Demands a Price – True alchemists will be summoned to the Gate Between Worlds. And the Gate always collects.
Caelen closed the tome. The thud was soft, but final.
Ravine's hands had gone still. Her breath trembled.
"I…" she began, but no words followed. Her mind swam with echoes—her pulse thudding like footsteps on a door she hadn't known she'd opened.
"You are not cursed," Caelen said quietly. "But you are no longer untouched. The rules apply to you now—and they will not be gentle."
He leaned back, gaze heavy but not unkind.
"Learn them. Before someone else teaches you the crueller way."
The rain deepened outside, becoming steady. A low bell sounded in the distance—an omen, or a clock. Neither moved.
And Ravine, staring at the closed book, felt something stir within her.
Not fear. Not yet.
But something vast, remembering her name—
And waiting.