Chương 176: Chapter 36: Advanced Alchemy

One day, as heavy snow fell in thick flakes that silenced the world, Selena was returning to the Forest Cloister after a particularly brutal afternoon with Remo. Every muscle in her body screamed, and the cold bit into her bones like fine needles. Turning to one of the university's gloomiest corners, where grey stone blended into the leaden sky, she collided head-on with a small, hurried figure.

Looking at her, she recognized her instantly: it was Maya, wrapped in a thick blue wool cloak, her nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold. Before Selena could utter a word, Maya spoke, her breath coming in gasps of contained excitement. —I was looking for you! —she exclaimed, grabbing her arm with unusual urgency— I wanted to show you something I've been learning in alchemy. I'm sure you'd be interested in it.

She looked directly into her eyes, a spark of pure, almost childlike enthusiasm shining in her hazel gaze. —I can't perform the experiment myself, but my professor from the Science path authorized it. You can come watch it with me. —She smiled, a broad, unguarded grin— He said we should arrive before three in the afternoon. She looked toward the Atrium of Knowledge, where the central hourglass marked the passage of time with its imperturbable flow of metallic dust. It was two-thirty.

Selena, despite the exhaustion weighing down her bones, nodded. There was something in Maya's tone a mix of solemnity and fascination that sparked her curiosity. She followed her through corridors covered in a thin layer of powdery snow, leaving the main buildings behind. Instead of the animal pens or greenhouses Selena knew, they arrived at a building standing further back, almost hidden among the open spaces dedicated to the care of draft and study beasts.

The structure was low, made of dark stone, and surrounded by immense, colossal trees. Selena recognized them instantly: they were identical to the redwoods of her world, those giants that had left her open-mouthed the day she first arrived at the university. She paused for a moment, looking up toward their canopies, which vanished into low fog and falling snow. Maya, noticing her fascination, spoke in a nearly reverent voice: —They are called Titardes. They grow up to a hundred meters tall. Incredible, aren't they?

Even their bark can be forty centimeters thick. They grow very, very slowly. It takes centuries. —She paused, following Selena's gaze into the heights— By the way, we're here. The laboratory always looks humble next to these giants but trust me... it has its own wonders. When they entered, the air changed completely; inside, it was warm from gas stoves, something that left her utterly astonished.

The smell of winter cold was replaced by a complex chemical mixture: the acridity of aqua fortis, the metallic tang of iron, the sharpness of sulfur, alongside subtler aromas like sea salt, polished silver, and dried macerating herbs. The space was organized with almost military precision, divided into distinct wings handling different materials and processes. Maya guided her confidently past tables loaded with flasks, stills, and unlit burners, arriving at a spacious, well-lit room.

Inside, a bald, average-height man around fifty years old was examining a ridiculously thick manuscript on a table. He wore a robe of pale seafoam green, the color of a forest lake's depths. —Professor Bramis —Maya announced genuine respect in her voice— This is Selena of Solendra, the friend I mentioned. The one who would be interested in seeing the curious reaction you showed us today. As I mentioned, she is a Lady of the Circle of Wisdom. I am certain she will be delighted by this. Thank you in advance.

Bramis looked up. He had very pale green eyes, tranquil and observant, like those of a fish in serene waters. In a calm, placid instructor's voice, he said: —I see, Maya. A young lady with intellectual curiosity is of incalculable value, even more so belonging to the Circle of Wisdom, just as I do. —He nodded toward Selena with a slight bow— Now, young ladies, if you will permit me, I will show you a new way to mark synthetic glass and how to draw on it using a... little-known method.

He led them both to an even more isolated room located at the back of the laboratory. The door was thick wood reinforced with iron bands. Before entering, Bramis gestured for them to stay back several paces. Then, with methodical movements, he began to prepare. He put on fine yet durable leather gloves that extended past his wrists. Over his green robe, he donned a suit of thick, seamless white cloth nearly a full-body jumpsuit covering him from neck to toe.

Finally, he carefully adjusted a white cloth mask over his nose and mouth, leaving only his calm, light green eyes visible. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. The silent ritual of dressing charged the air with tangible expectation.

Something in the professor's caution, in the room's isolation, told Selena that what they were about to witness was not merely academic curiosity, but something demanding respect, distance, and conscious protection against the unknown. Then the expert alchemist spoke, his voice muffled by the mask but clear in its instruction: —You must remain behind the protective glass over there —Bramis made a precise hand gesture, pointing to a thick, transparent barrier dividing the room.

Selena and Maya obeyed, taking their places behind the sheet, separating them from the workspace, where the air already smelled of hot wax and resin. With careful movements, Bramis picked up a piece of synthetic glass, smooth and perfectly transparent. Then, over a low burner flame, he heated a dense, dark mixture: pure beeswax, thick bitumen, and zintel resin. The aroma shifted, becoming sweet and earthy.

He submerged the glass into the liquid mixture, turning it slowly so it was fully coated, and then, using a fine hairbrush, smoothed out any bubbles or irregularities, leaving a uniform, opaque, blackish layer. He left it to cool on a rack, watching the wax solidify into a flawless varnish. —This step is important —Bramis explained, his tone didactic but dampened by the fabric— The wax allows us to create the pattern we wish to etch into the glass.

It acts as a mask: wherever there is wax, the glass remains intact; where there is none... well, you shall see. When the layer felt firm to the touch, he took a fine needle set in a wooden handle and began to draw. They were not letters, but complex geometric patterns: intertwining spirals, precise grids, forms evoking snowflakes or mineral structures. Each line was clean and deliberate, exposing the transparent glass beneath the dark wax. Next, he retrieved a shallow, wide tray made of heavy, dull metal.

—It is lead —he mentioned, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He placed the glass inside, etched face facing upward. Next, he brought out an opaque glass jar and poured a fine, white-greenish powder around the bottom of the tray. —Powdered fluorite. Selena felt a shiver of recognition. Fluorite. Her brain, trained in another life, another science, caught the name instantly. She had read it; she had studied it. She knew what was coming.

—This is oil of vitriol —Bramis announced, lifting a thick glass container holding an oily, colorless liquid. Maya grabbed Selena's arm, her eyes shining with anticipation, but Bramis continued. —Please adjust your masks carefully. Behind the protective glass, Selena and Maya put on the cloth masks hanging there, covering their noses and mouths. The world sounded slightly muted. With disturbing calm, Bramis poured the oil of vitriol over the powdered fluorite. The reaction was immediate.

A sharp hiss filled the room, followed by violent bubbling. A thick, white, acrid, penetrating smoke erupted from the mixture, rising in urgent spirals toward a specialized opening in the ceiling, drawn out by an airflow designed for that purpose. Unfazed, Bramis quickly placed a heavy lead lid over the tray, sealing it and leaving the glass inside. A dull thud echoed through the room. —We must wait a few minutes —he said, his voice now somewhat distant.

He took a small personal hourglass from a shelf and turned it over. The fine, golden sand began to fall, measuring the passage of time with ancient patience. Thirty minutes later, when the last grain of sand dropped, Bramis proceeded. Taking the same precautions, he opened the tray beneath the fume hood, allowing residual vapors to escape through a high window he opened with a pole. Cold outside air rushed in, mixing with the last traces of chemical smoke. Then, using long tongs, he extracted the glass.

The wax layer was now discolored and cracked. Bramis submerged it in a bucket of clean water, rinsing it carefully. Afterward, he gently warmed the surface with a soft flame and, using a cloth soaked in neutral oil, rubbed it smoothly. The residual wax peeled away, soft and sticky. Then, he revealed it. He turned toward them, holding the glass against the light of a lamp. Where there had once been smooth transparency, there was now a matte, opaque pattern creamy white and subtly textured.

The geometric designs he had carved into the wax were now permanently corroded into the surface of the glass: crisp, elegant, impossible to erase. —It is a true wonder of alchemy —Bramis said. For the first time, his voice conveyed something beyond instructional composure: genuine, reverent awe— Look. A matte, opaque pattern, quite lovely, set upon this transparent glass. Alchemy giving shape and pattern to a material we were once unable to engrave at least, not without breaking it or hammering away at it.

It is a tangible marvel of the science our path studies. Not magic... but applied understanding. Fluorine. The single word repeated in Selena's mind, a mantra from another world. Hydrofluoric acid. This is chemical etching. But here, in the forgotten laboratory among arboreal giants, it was a newly discovered secret, a danger newly tamed.