As soon as the signal had been given, Lucas and Lady Isabelle set to work with fluid motion. Their flas sparked to life nearly at the sa ti, though the flicker of each was vastly different. Isabelle’s was a steady, sapphire-blue glow that radiated stability and refinent, the kind of fla honed by hours of dedicated training and quiet confidence. Lucas, on the other hand, summoned a muted golden fla, one that shimred faintly like candlelight caught in a breeze. Though it lacked the fierce stability of Isabelle’s, it held a strange, pulsing rhythm, alive and breathing as if connected to sothing deeper than re control.
The Alchemists seated around the hall leaned forward, their expressions filled with the sort of anticipation that bordered on cruelty. None of them bothered to hide their smirks, their eyes locked onto Lucas as if waiting for a child to trip and fall during a parade. These were n far older than him, grizzled from decades of brewing pills and refining mixtures, and yet they watched the young man with the kind of eager malice usually reserved for rivals or fools who dared to aim above their station. To them, Lucas was both.
So chuckled beneath their breath, others whispered snide comnts to each other. A few openly hoped he would ruin the essence entirely, just to see him flounder under the Grand Elder’s gaze. The idea of a boy who claid to be an Alchemist, a full-fledged one, no less, was an insult to their pride. None of them would have dared attempt such a bold claim at his age, not in front of an audience such as this.
But Lucas wasn’t paying attention to any of them. His gaze remained fixed on the elixir forming in the basin before him. He carefully added the liquified root, letting it blend with the powdered serpent scale, his fla pulsing softer now to prevent overheating. The fragrance that rose was correct. He’d gotten the ratio right.
Beside him, Isabelle moved swiftly. Her technique was both elegant and economical, each gesture deliberate, each breath matched to her timing. She didn’t fumble or hesitate. Her fla remained unwavering as she stirred, refined, and finally transferred the finished essence into a clear vial.
Five minutes. That was all it took.
She exhaled softly, wiped her hands, and stepped back with a small bow toward the Grand Elder, her expression poised but not proud.
The room stilled. Even the most talkative of the older Alchemists went quiet as the Grand Elder approached her side of the table. He lifted the vial and studied its contents, tilting it gently as the light passed through the orange-gold solution. There wasn’t a single flicker of impurity in the liquid. The aroma, the color, the viscosity, everything was nearly flawless.
A murmur spread through the room like a slow-moving wave. There were no words, only widened eyes and startled glances. A result like this wasn’t just good, it was exceptional. And coming from soone taking the assessnt for the first ti, it was almost unheard of.
The Grand Elder’s lips lifted faintly in approval. "Expert rank," he declared with calm certainty, but there was a note of surprise hidden beneath his voice. "Rare is the talent who walks in and delivers such clarity without hesitation. Even rarer when it’s a woman."
They glanced at Isabelle with newfound respect, so even with envy.
Lucas, still bent over his work, had not looked up once. He’d noticed the subtle shift in the room’s energy, but his focus didn’t waver. He allowed his fla to lower slightly as he added the final essence drop, his hands calm and steady.
Another five minutes passed.
Then he, too, straightened his back, collected his vial, and placed it gently in front of the Grand Elder.
The crowd, however, had already returned to their earlier mockery. It didn’t matter that he’d finished the concoction. It had taken him twice as long. Five minutes versus ten. To them, that ant only one thing.
"He’s not on her level," one of them whispered.
"Probably botched it and just didn’t notice," said another, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice.
Snorts and sneers filled the air again. All of them were so sure they’d been right from the beginning, so eager to be proven correct that they barely waited to see the result. It was easier to assu failure than to entertain the idea that the boy might actually succeed.
And so, as Lucas stepped back and stood silently beside Isabelle, his expression unreadable, the old voices in the hall returned to their laughter and scorn, too eager to watch him fall to see the quiet stillness in his eyes.
The Grand Elder didn’t bother to check Lucas’s vial, he only gave a quiet nod of approval.
"Ten minutes is a fair ti, especially for soone so young."
There was a pause, and the old man finally looked toward Lucas with sothing that was not quite a smile, but certainly not disapproval either.
"Young man, by this result, I place you at Apprentice Rank," he declared aloud.
The title echoed slightly through the chamber. It was not the highest of praises, but neither was it a failure. Apprentice Rank was the starting point for most accepted Alchemists. To receive it on one’s first public assessnt was considered respectable. For soone of Lucas’s age, it promising and exceptional.
The room stirred with low murmurs. So of the Alchemists who had earlier been sneering now offered faint grunts of recognition. One of them, a barrel-chested man with a deep voice, muttered, "Well, the brat’s got more than I thought."
Another older Alchemist gave a half-shrug and said, "He’s still green, but that fla binding didn’t collapse. That takes more than blind luck."
There was still disdain in their voices, but it had been tempered now by a flicker of acknowledgnt. In their world of secrets and hierarchies, even a shred of grudging respect was not given lightly.
Lucas, however, did not smile. He stood there quietly, then slowly raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed squarely on the Grand Elder.
"With all due respect," he said, his voice calm but unwavering, "you assessed based only on the ti it took. But you haven’t inspected my fla binding essence."
The silence that followed was sharper than any blade.
Several of the Alchemists turned their heads in disbelief. A few blinked, unsure they’d heard correctly. The words had been spoken clearly, but it was the tone, asured, bold, unshaken, that caught them off guard.
The Grand Elder’s eyes narrowed.
He had not expected a challenge. Certainly not from a newcor. "You dare question my judgnt?" he asked, not loudly, but with the kind of stillness that made the question feel far more dangerous.
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