Chapter Two
Rowan sat by a table cluttered with old crafting tools.
A mortar and pestle stained from countless experiments. A glass vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. Loose papers covered in handwritten notes and alchemical symbols scattered across the surface. Behind him, a wooden shelf was packed with bottles of various shapes, each holding liquids of different colors—some glowing faintly, others dark and ominous.
"Hmm… the last project needed those flowers," Rowan muttered to himself. "If I'm right, mixing this with this should be a good start."
He carefully poured a colorless liquor and the blue liquid into a small pot.
"Then I grind two of you."
He picked up a white flower and a yellow one, placing them into the mortar. The pestle moved in slow, deliberate circles as he crushed them into a fine paste.
"Hmmm… what do I need next?" He paused, then snapped his fingers. "Ah—powder."
Rowan walked to a small treasure box in the corner of the room and opened it. Inside lay a large quantity of white powder. He measured only a fraction of a teaspoon and sprinkled it into the pot.
"While those are still warm, the flowers need to be refined like water… otherwise they won't do much work," he muttered, continuing the process with careful precision.
"There we go!"
He leaned closer. The mixture inside the mortar had turned into a crystallized liquid.
"And into the pot you go."
He poured it in and sealed the pot shut. As he straightened up, he absentmindedly touched his cheek.
"Ouch."
Rowan sighed. "Well, at least I'll test the potion on myself."
He raised a finger.
"Flames."
Fire erupted instantly. He directed it beneath the pot, igniting the wooden fuel and heating the mixture. Satisfied, Rowan headed upstairs.
"What I'm brewing should be one of the fastest healing potions," he muttered as he collapsed onto his bed. "Not only that… it should also help recover Atherion. A two-in-one potion."
With that thought, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Morning came.
Rowan woke and headed to the bathroom, stepping into the bath.
"Ohh… cold…"
He shivered, then endured it anyway. Afterward, he prepared a simple meal in the kitchen and carried his plate downstairs while eating.
His eyes drifted to the pot. The flame beneath it had long been extinguished.
"I guess it's ready then."
He opened the lid. The liquid inside had turned green.
"Hmmm…"
After swallowing nervously, he stirred it with a spoon. The potion slowly shifted color, settling into a dull gray.
Satisfied, Rowan poured the potion into containers, then went upstairs. He opened a drawer, pulled out his black-and-blue academy coat, slung his side bag over his shoulder, and headed out.
The streets bustled as Rowan made his way toward the academy, his gaze drifting over the people around him. Soon, the towering academy gates came into view.
Students entered in pairs and small groups.
As Rowan approached, a guard raised his hand.
"Hold on, sir. I need to see your registration card."
Rowan lowered his gaze. "Right…"
He searched his pockets and handed it over.
"Hmmm."
The guard examined it closely.
That's me right there, you little donkey. What is it—you don't recognize me?! Rowan shouted internally.
"Is there a problem here?" a voice called from behind.
They turned to see a young man with short, neatly styled blond hair, wearing a white-and-gold academy coat.
"If you're checking cards," he said calmly, "here's mine."
The guard stiffened. "N-No! Not at all! I just… didn't notice him properly."
He quickly handed the card back. "Here you go, Mister Rowan. Have a lovely day at the academy—and you as well, my prince."
Rowan took the card, narrowing his eyes. "Right…"
"Morning, Prince Julian," Rowan greeted with a slight bow.
"I told you, Rowan," Julian replied with a smile. "Just like my sister, I'm your friend. Stop being so formal. Come on—we'll be late."
They walked together, chatting casually. Around them, nobles and high-ranking students glared, their moods darkening instantly.
"Better get to class," Rowan said eventually. "We'll talk later."
"Sure. Oh—and you might want to rethink meeting my sister today. She's acting weird."
Julian ran off.
"Weird, huh…?" Rowan muttered before shaking his head and entering his classroom.
For hours, he listened to lectures about Atherion—how to sense it, shape it, and manipulate it more efficiently.
"Psss."
"Psss."
Rowan glanced toward the window. One of his friends stood outside, gesturing animatedly and miming someone talking too much before pointing toward the door.
Rowan barely held back laughter and gave a thumbs-up.
Later, Rowan sat by the sports grounds with his friend Yohan, eating.
"So," Rowan said casually, "what kind of poison did you put in the food this time?"
Yohan giggled. "You'll have to guess."
"Whatever."
"It's weird, you know," Yohan continued, side-eyeing him with deadly blue eyes. "How we met. Me—an elite noble. You—a commoner."
"More like how I got top in everything and you came second," Rowan replied calmly. "Even in poisons."
Yohan's smile thinned. "Back then, you had murderous intent. What changed?"
Rowan paused, staring at his plate. "None of your business."
"Hmmm…" Yohan watched the athletes train. "Why do they try so hard when the outcome's always the same? In the end, nobles win."
Rowan scoffed. "Then why do you keep trying to poison me when you know I'll neutralize it? You could kill instantly. Yet here I am. Hope and belief—that's what drives them."
He stood up. "Thanks for the meal."
Before leaving, he glanced back. "You toy with me, I toy with you. But every time you feed me poison, you build a bond no noble ever could."
He smiled faintly. "Funny thing is—I'm not taking an antidote today."
Yohan stared as Rowan walked away, then chuckled. "Toy, huh…?"
Inside the training arena, Celestia clad in golden armor clashed with a man nearing fifty, his short white hair and trimmed beard marking years of experience.
The two fought fiercely until Celestia finally collapsed.
"You did well," the man said. "For your age, your power is remarkable. Keep this up, and you may reach Obsidian instead of Mythic."
"You think…?" she asked between breaths.
"Yes." He nodded. "Ah—Master Rowan."
"I didn't want to disturb," Rowan said from the doorway.
Celestia tried to rise too quickly and winced.
"You should rest," the man said gently. "I'll leave you two."
Rowan knelt beside her, green light forming around his hand. "It's not much, but it'll help."
"You were amazing."
"Oh—really?" she replied, cheeks reddening.
"Yeah. You fought like a completely different person. Almost like a man—"
A punch sent him flying into the wall.
"Ouch!"
"Stupid," she muttered, walking away.
Later, Rowan joined her on the rooftop.
"It's been a while since you came here," he said softly.
"Is it weird," she asked, staring ahead, "that I like being a warrior when other girls prefer magic?"
"Yeah," Rowan answered.
She sighed.
"But that's what makes you special," he continued. "You're the first in line for the throne, yet you chose your own path. That's admirable."
She turned to him, eyes wide.
"And that's why," Rowan added, meeting her gaze, "I want to stand by your side when you achieve it."
To be continued…