The Ascended — Chapter no 17

Chapter 17

Alchemy

THIS WING HAD BEEN LOCKED DURING ALL MY PREVIOUS EXPLORATIONS OF the castle. Now, as I followed Xül through the arched passage, I wondered why he'd finally decided to grant me access to whatever lay beyond those heavy doors.

But then we entered the chamber, and my heart skipped.

It was enormous and perfectly circular, dominated by tables covered in glass equipment I'd never seen before. Strange beakers connected by twisting tubes, scales that looked far more delicate than anything we'd used for weighing oysters, and rows of vials filled with various liquids.

But it was the domed ceiling that truly captivated me—intricate panels that looked almost like they could…

"Can you open that?" I asked, my voice betraying my awe.

"This room doubles as an observatory." Xül moved to a lever embedded in the wall, and with a soft grinding of gears, the panels began to retract.

The night sky revealed itself in all its glory—stars scattered, low- hanging clouds drifting past the moon.

I was still staring upward when something soft hit my chest. Leather gloves.

"Have to protect that delicate mortal skin," Xül said, already moving through the room with purposeful strides, collecting supplies.

I slipped on the gloves and moved to stand beside the table. His movements were fluid, confident—utterly different from the bored Aesymar

who’d been conducting my combat training. No, he was interested in this, and experienced, if his expression was any indication.

"Are we performing a ritual?" I asked, watching him measure out crystalline powder.

"We're doing alchemy, Thais. Keep up." His tone carried an edge, but there was something else there too. Enthusiasm, maybe. Like he was finally doing something he actually wanted to do.

I remained wary—everything with him was a trap or a test or both—but curiosity won out over caution. It always did with me, unfortunately. "What exactly are we setting up here?"

"I thought we'd start small." He gestured to the array of ingredients spread across the table. "Tonight, we're making a repulsion ward."

"Well, that sounds fun."

Impatience flickered across his features, but he continued organizing his supplies. "Alchemy is based on three fundamental principles," he said.

“Sympathetic resonance—like attracts like. Harmonic frequency—all materials vibrate at specific levels that must be matched or complemented for stable reactions. And a living binding agent—a catalyst that creates permanent fusion between ingredients and their user.”

I picked up one of the vials, watching the silver liquid inside swirl. "So it's not just following a recipe."

"Hardly. Any fool can mix ingredients together. True alchemy requires understanding the nature of what you're working with." He took the vial from my hands, our fingers brushing briefly. "Every ingredient serves a purpose."

"Like how different types of bait catch different fish," I said, before really thinking about it.

Xül paused, looking genuinely surprised. "That's… actually quite accurate."

"I'm not completely hopeless, you know." I picked up another vial, this one filled with something that looked like crushed pearls. "We might not have had fancy equipment in Saltcrest, but we understood how things worked together. Which tides brought which fish, how moon phases affected the oyster beds, why certain combinations of salt and smoke preserved meat better than others."

"I hadn't considered that." He studied me with new interest. "Your understanding of natural processes would translate well to alchemical

work."

The approval in his voice sent an unexpected warmth through my chest.

"So what makes this different from what mortals do?"

"Scale and permanence, mostly. Along with access to magical materials that simply don't exist in Elaren. A mortal might create a healing salve that works for a few days. With proper alchemical techniques, you can create something that lasts indefinitely." He began arranging ingredients. "The more powerful the alchemist, the more dramatic the results."

"You seem to know a lot about this."

"I do." No false modesty there. "I've been studying alchemy since I was a child. My father has extensive texts on the subject."

His tone made me curious. "You sound like you spent a lot of time in those libraries."

"More than was probably healthy." A shadow crossed his face. "But books don't share the judgement of the living."

I remembered what Aelix had told me. "I'd imagine it was difficult for you growing up in Voldaris. Half mortal, half Aesymar."

Xül was quiet for a long moment, his hands stilling over the ingredients.

"Too powerful for one world, not powerful enough for the other."

"That sounds lonely," I finally said.

He resumed his preparations. "Knowledge was the one thing I could control."

I wanted to ask more, to understand this glimpse of vulnerability he was showing me. But his rigid stance warned me not to push. Instead, I watched as he began measuring out ingredients into small glass plates.

"Measurement is crucial," he said, apparently deciding we'd shared enough personal history for one moment. "Too little of an ingredient and the reaction won't complete. Too much and you risk blowing yourself up. Let's try and avoid that." He handed me a set of scales that looked far more complex than anything I'd ever used. "The base of any ward is the combination of salt and metal. For this, you should use four parts iron shavings to one part salt.”

I measured carefully, hyper aware of his presence as he guided me through each step.

"This specific iron comes from weapons forged in the Primordial age,"

Xül explained as I worked. "It holds traces of the energy that flowed through it back then. That's what makes it such an effective conductor."

"And the salt?"

"Each domain has its own variant." He held up a vial of small iridescent crystals. “These are tears. distilled and dried over centuries."

I paused in my measuring. "You're serious?"

"Grief is one of the purest emotions. When crystallized properly, it creates an exceptionally strong alchemical component." He noticed my expression and amusement flickered across his features. "Don't look so disturbed."

"Do you collect them yourself?" I quipped. "I'm sure you're an expert at making people cry."

"I'm not above getting my hands dirty when I need to." He flashed me that wicked grin.

"Noted." I turned around, hiding the smile tugging at my lips. No. I was not doing this again—letting his sharp wit and that infuriating grin chip away at my better judgment. I took a steadying breath and turned back to him.

He reached for two more vials. "The second part of creating a ward is deciding what its purpose is. Natural ingredients—herbs, roots, oils, resins —they all hold certain properties that mirror your intent.” He sat them down in front of me. “These are greystone moss and blackroot."

The first contained what looked like silvery threads, almost metallic in appearance. "The moss grows on cliff faces where birds nest. It feeds on the decay that seeps into the rock. Even approaching it is nauseating. The stench alone keeps most creatures away, which is why it's the strongest repulsion agent in the region.

"And the blackroot?" I asked, examining the second vial filled with dark powder.

"Grows deep in the mountain caves, where the roots can reach the domain's core." He measured out a small portion. "Takes decades to mature properly. The powder acts as a stabilizer—keeps the other components from reacting too violently with each other."

"So it keeps things stable," I said, measuring out my own portion.

"Maybe I should sprinkle some on you."

"I'm perfectly stable, thank you. It's everyone else who seems to have issues with volatility."

"Right. Do you practice being this insufferable, or does it come naturally?"

"Natural talent." He moved closer, ostensibly to check my measurements. "And it serves me well. I find you far more entertaining when you're irritated."

"Entertaining," I repeated dryly. "Every girl's dream."

"I could think of other words." His voice dropped lower as he reached around me for another vial, arm brushing against my waist, but then he paused, as if he were waiting, or listening. He didn't step back. Instead, he turned to face me fully, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

"You know what I think?" His voice was soft, dangerous. "I think you

enjoy this more than you let on."

"The alchemy?"

"You're drawn to the darkness, starling." His gaze swept down, then back up. "Your body always reacts when I get too close."

"That's quite an imagination of yours, princeling." I knew I was blushing, and that made it worse.

"Is it?" He placed his hands down on either side of me, trapping me against the table. "Your pulse says otherwise."

"Perhaps it's responding to being in the presence of a complete jackass."

I smiled sweetly, trying to push out of his restraint. He was too close. Far too close.

But he didn't budge, he simply looked down at me with satisfaction.

"Perhaps," he echoed, eyes boring into mine for a beat longer before he moved, returning to his measurements. I let out a quiet, low exhale, trying to cool my flushed cheeks.

“You know, most mortals would cower being that close to me,” he said.

“I find your indifference intriguing.”

I opened my mouth to speak but caught myself. Was all of this some kind of test I couldn’t comprehend? Was he baiting me?

Xül picked up the crucible, and I remembered where we were—what we were doing. "Now we heat this." His voice had drifted back to that calculated tone, as if the last few minutes were already forgotten.

“For how long?” I managed, still shaking off nerves.

He gestured to what looked like a miniature forge, its flames burning without any visible fuel. "Until it reaches exactly the right color."

"Which is?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair.

He cocked his head to the side. "You'll know when you see it."

The mixture began to glow as heat built beneath it. First orange, then yellow.

"There." Xül removed the crucible from the flame. "Now we wait for it

to cool."

"How long does it take?" I asked.

"Long enough for a drink." Xül moved to a sitting area where leather chairs were arranged around a low table.

He poured two glasses of sparkling, fizzing liquid—handing one to me before settling into his chair.

"So," he said, taking a sip. "Tell me about your life before all this."

The question caught me off guard. In all our interactions, he'd never shown the slightest interest in my past. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything." He leaned back in his chair, and for once his full attention was focused on me rather than a book or some dismissive comment. "You're from the coast."

"Saltcrest. Oyster-farming village." I sipped my drink—it made my tongue tingle pleasantly. "We fished, dove for pearls, sold whatever we could catch at market. My brother and I worked the beds together most

days."

"You and Thatcher are close."

"We're twins. We've never been apart for more than a day or two." The admission made my chest ache. "I worry about him."

"Why? He killed a Legend during the Proving. I'd say he can handle himself."

"That's exactly why I worry." I stared into my glass, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. "That power… it came from nowhere. He'd never shown any abilities before that moment. What if he can't control it?"

Xül was quiet for a moment, tipping his glass back and finishing in one long swig. "I wouldn't worry. Chavore is annoying, but not completely dull.

He'll ensure your brother learns control."

"You were forced into the Trials too," I said, the words slipping out before I really knew what I was saying.

"In a manner of speaking." He met my eyes. "Though I suspect my circumstances were considerably more comfortable than yours."

"Probably." I admitted, my heart sinking as I thought back to those final moments in the cave. “How old were you when you entered the Trials?”

He glanced over at me, eyebrow quirking. “Twenty-five.”

I nodded, looking away. Twenty-five. He’d had ten years of immortality since then. "Did you want to ascend?"

"Of course I did." Xül's voice was quiet. "I'd always thought I'd be able to do it on my own terms. Sometimes we don't get to choose our path."

"And sometimes the path chooses us." I finished my drink, feeling my body relax into the chair. "Did you feel like it changed you—like it changed something inside you fundamentally?" I found myself asking, even though I suspected I already knew. He'd shown me what ascension had cost him the day he summoned Thatcher's double—whatever mortality he'd once possessed had been carved away, leaving this cold, calculating shell.

I needed to remember that, especially in moments like this when he almost seemed like a normal person. Was this glimpse of vulnerability real, or was he only being honest because he assumed I wouldn't live long enough to repeat anything he told me?

"Ask me again after you've survived your own Trials," was all he said.

And then we settled into silence.

Xül glanced toward the preparation with satisfaction. "Perfect. Ready for the final step."

We returned to the table, where the amber substance resembled crystallized honey. It was beautiful—and in part, I'd helped create it.

"What do we do with it now?"

"All we need is the binding agent." Xül moved to a nearby drawer, rummaging through its contents. "Apply it to a talisman—usually something small you can wear."

He returned with a silver coin and set it beside our creation. But in his other hand was a slender dagger, its blade catching the light.

I laughed. "What are you doing with that?"

"Only you can provide the binding." He leaned against the table, elbows braced on the surface as he extended the dagger toward me. "It's what will connect the ward to you."

A chill ran down my spine as understanding dawned.

Xül approached slowly. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for my hand, his fingers finding the edge of my leather glove. He peeled it off, his touch lingering against my skin as he replaced it with the dagger's handle.

"Two or three drops should suffice," he said softly.

I stared at him. "Of my blood?"

He blinked, expression utterly innocent. "Clearly. Why else would you need the dagger?"

I raised the blade. "You didn't mention blood when you explained the

process earlier."

"I thought it was obvious."

I pricked my finger, watching a bead of crimson well up on my skin.

Holding my hand over the amber mixture, I let the drops fall.

"Now stir," he instructed.

I did as he said, watching as the red streaks dissolved into the thick

liquid.

"Coat the coin."

I dipped the silver into the glass, watching as it absorbed the substance.

The moment the last drop soaked in, the talisman burst into brilliance—a golden hue that bathed the entire room in light.

"Holy gods," I breathed. "That's incredible."

When the glow finally faded, I looked up to find Xül staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. Not triumph. Not satisfaction. No, this was far more terrifying.

"So, tell me, starling," he said slowly, savoring each word like fine wine. "Which one of your parents is divine?"