Mr. Ivor's voice flowed through the glass-paneled room like distant rain.
"Everyone, take your seats. Recovery class is about to start."
The room was a labyrinth of roots. Giant veins of an ancient tree coiled across floor, ceiling, and walls, wrapping around charts of plant anatomy, energy-flow diagrams, and shelves of glass vials and medical instruments. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, illuminating sketches of life, decay, and restoration pinned meticulously to corkboards. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and damp soil, a curious blend of science and something older — something almost alive.
"Today's task," Mr. Ivor said, placing a tray of vials on the front table, "is the Revivus Draught. A potion of regeneration. Its goal: restore vitality to a dying plant."
He smiled faintly, patient and amused.
"Remember, too much Will, and you might take instead of give. Nature dislikes greed."
Ethan exhaled softly, eyeing the ingredients: powdered moon petals, dew extract, a catalyst crystal. He could do this. Easy. Probably.
Beside him, Millie stirred her mixture with delicate precision, movements almost musical. Kai leaned back lazily, flipping a leaf between his fingers. Syd quietly annotated formulas in his notebook, eyes flicking between his own flask and the teacher's sample.
Off to the side, the twins Claudette and Claurine bickered, oblivious to anyone else. "You always spill the powders!" Claurine hissed.
"No, you're just slow!" Claudette shot back, shoving lightly.
At the back, Mycroft sat silently, absorbed in his own work, calculating and precise, giving nothing away.
Ethan followed each step carefully. The potion shimmered softly — then dimmed. He stirred again and whispered the activation phrase.
The dying plant's veins flared green, spreading like light through a web of veins — then the color drained, rushing into his fingertips.
The flower collapsed into dust.
"Uh… Mr. Ivor? I think mine's allergic to me," Ethan muttered.
Kai snorted. "You just killed a plant, Claude. With style."
Millie frowned softly. "Stop teasing. He's learning."
Syd looked up, quiet but firm. "That wasn't failure."
Everyone turned to him. His eyes flicked to Ethan's hand, where a faint glow clung. "The reaction didn't end. It transferred."
Mr. Ivor crouched by Ethan's desk, calm but intensely observant. "Hmm," he murmured, examining the ashen remains. "He's right. The energy didn't vanish. It found another path."
Ethan rubbed his palm uneasily. A subtle warmth pulsed beneath his skin — not a heartbeat, but something alive, brushing at him like air over water.
"Did I… overdo it?" he asked.
"Perhaps." Mr. Ivor's smile was faint, unreadable. "Rare, but not impossible. Some channel too much Will. You may have redirected the plant's essence into yourself instead of returning it."
"That sounds—uh—bad," Ethan said.
"Bad?" Mr. Ivor chuckled. "No. Unusual."
He straightened, brushing dust off his coat. "Next time, guide the energy. Don't absorb it. Otherwise, you'll be photosynthesizing before graduation."
A few laughs rippled through the class. Mr. Ivor moved along the rows, praising Millie's gentle glow, noting Kai's lazy but effective attempt, and giving Syd a subtle nod of respect. Still, his eyes flicked to Ethan more than once. Always calm. Always watching.
When the class ended, students shuffled out. Ethan flexed his fingers. The warmth beneath his skin hadn't faded; if anything, it felt like a faint echo of life, something beyond him.
He left the room. When the last footsteps vanished, Mr. Ivor remained. Slowly, he collected empty vials, deliberate and precise. From his coat pocket, he drew a small leather journal and wrote without hesitation:
Subject: E.V.C. (First Observation)
During Revivus Draught session — energy transference detected.
Not decay. Not restoration. An exchange.
Essence possibly drawn to student's core instead of plant.
Unintentional. Controlled curiosity advised.
He tapped the pen lightly. "…the boy didn't revive it. He replaced it."
The notebook snapped shut. Mr. Ivor adjusted his glasses, serene once more, glancing toward Ethan's desk. Among the ashes, a single petal quivered faintly green.
"Curious," he murmured, then switched off the lights, leaving a whisper of life lingering in the dark.
---
The corridor gleamed with sunlit glass and marble. Ethan stepped out, the scent of crushed herbs and faint ozone clinging to him. Mr. Ivor had given only a quiet, thoughtful look before dismissing the class. Ethan couldn't shake the image of the wilted sprout that crumbled while warmth bloomed in his chest like stolen sunlight.
Flipping open his schedule: Next period… Combat Theory?
Before he could dwell on it, the lunch bell rang — clear, melodic. Students poured into the halls in a flurry of uniforms and chatter.
"Lunch already?" he muttered, tucking his schedule into his pocket.
Then:
"Ethan!"
Christine Webber stood at the far end, black wavy hair bouncing, brown-red eyes warm but sharp. She waved, then jogged toward him, grin playful yet familiar. "Hey, plant killer," she said, bumping him lightly. "Word's going around you drained a sprout dry in Mr. Ivor's class."
Ethan groaned. "Already? I literally just left the room."
"News moves faster than light at Grimmor," she smirked. "Especially when Dash is involved."
Her gaze flicked to his hand. "You okay? You look pale."
"Yeah. Just tired… potion fumes," he said quickly.
Chrissy tugged his sleeve. "Come on. Millie saved us a spot by the window. Kai's already stealing everyone's fries."
As they walked, sunlight fractured across the marble floors. Ethan caught a ripple in his reflection, moving independently — like energy brushing against the air. It vanished. Only the warmth beneath his skin remained, humming quietly.