The hall was silent, save for the soft sound of breathing and the faint snaps of house-elves clearing away empty plates.
At the high table, the seven esteemed guests wore varied expressions, but the admiration in their eyes was unmistakable.
In the center, Master Nicolas Flamel, aged beyond reckoning, couldn't recall the last time he'd felt such anticipation for the vast world of alchemy.
The poised, dark-skinned witch's usual elegance had vanished. She muttered to herself, "Tara, this is the apprentice you've trained for seventy years? How in Merlin's name did you manage to snag someone like Hermes?"
"I spoke too soon, Tara," she added.
The white-haired wizard beside her sat rigid, barely containing himself to keep a neutral face, hiding the envy burning within.
In the alchemy world, how many ancient wizards longed for a student who could surpass them? The hall was filled with such masters, their eyes gleaming with ambition.
This was, after all, a field bound by strict master-apprentice traditions, where most in attendance followed the one-master, one-student rule.
For some students—those with "modest talent"—their lives were spent cataloging their master's works. For those with a spark of brilliance, they might build on their master's foundation, a feat enough to let many an old wizard rest in peace.
In truth, many aging alchemists clung to life with potions, desperate to keep their legacy from dying out in the hands of a "lesser" apprentice.
Being a once-in-a-generation genius was one thing, but finding a once-in-a-generation genius? That was a gap too vast to measure.
And this hall was brimming with survivors' bias—packed with such rare prodigies. After all, this was the International Alchemy Conference, held once every fifty years.
A moderately gifted apprentice was already a treasure, but the rarest kind—the kind you'd call your heart and soul—could stand on the shoulders of their already exceptional master and forge a new era.
At the center of the banquet hall, all eyes were fixed.
Countless gazes reflected through multifaceted lenses, their expressions varied but tinged with shock.
The British wizard duo, Master Dora and her apprentice, never imagined Hogwarts was hiding such an extraordinary talent. The elderly witch covered her mouth, while her young apprentice stood frozen, dazed.
Would her master still cherish her, still praise her talent, after this?
She wasn't the only one reeling with doubt. Everyone knew alchemy was a field where lineage mattered most—a realm where apprentices defined their masters' legacies.
With Nicolas Flamel's towering legacy casting its glow, no master outshone another by much. That made the apprentice's role even more critical. A poor performance could mean returning home to face ridicule—or worse, being "puzzled" into obscurity.
"The International Alchemy Conference's Golden Award for Pioneering Contributions is one thing," a witch whispered through a self-voicing alchemical device to the wizard beside her, "but what's this about being named the most gifted alchemist in six hundred years by the Conference's Joint Committee?"
"Exactly what it sounds like, Heather Gack," the wizard replied, his voice oddly coming from his hat. "He's a hundred times better than us."
"And better than every wizard in the last six hundred years," he added. "I'm guessing the reason it's not a thousand years is sitting right there at the high table."
A slightly disheveled, dark-haired wizard finally spoke with his actual mouth. "Who could've guessed? Professor Tara, mocked by her master for seventy years, has now ensured her master will be the one laughed at for a lifetime."
He pulled out a small, peculiar box shaped like a mouth, resembling a Muggle recorder. The box spoke in a low, weathered voice: "The one mocked for seventy years under Flamel's shadow has finally found a way to surpass the mountain of this era. The future will be written by legends. And those short-sighted alchemists of old? They'll be buried in history, not stirring a single ripple."
"Your Bardic Box?" Heather Gack asked. "You're that famous Nordic Bardic Alchemist? But… I didn't hear your master's name mentioned."
"Exactly," he said with a smirk. "Because they didn't make a ripple."
Heather, young and vibrant, burst into a giggle.
"Don't laugh, lass," the Nordic alchemist said, turning to the wizard beside him. "Your master's in that group too. And you."
The other wizard blinked, stunned by the sudden jab.
The murmurs below didn't faze Dumbledore on the stage. He twinkled his eyes and said, "Let the future speak through his alchemical creations, Mr. Sean Green. Oh, and Hogwarts is proud of you."
As Dumbledore's words landed, the hall erupted in deafening applause, louder than ever before.
In the central facet of the mirrored lenses, the young wizard's calm eyes remained steady, unshaken.
Truth be told, Sean was stunned. He hadn't expected such a grand stage. A first-year wizard like him, honored with such a title? The "most gifted alchemist in six hundred years" felt tailor-made for him.
He tried to speak, to explain his creation. "I've developed a few new alchemical rituals—"
At the high table, Professor Tara's long-restrained face broke into a radiant smile. This kid…
The hall fell into stunned silence. Even the oldest alchemical masters couldn't stop staring at the boy's youthful face, half-expecting the ancient lord of Trismegistus Castle to have come back to life.
"Fairy Tale Cookies," Sean continued, striving for calm. "They can transform any living creature into a magical beast, granting its magical abilities. So far, they work for Kneazles, Thestrals, Dragonets, and Hippogriffs—"
He paused as a house-elf beside him strode forward proudly, snapping its fingers. A black raven, a white swan, a peacock, and a rooster vanished in a flash. Instantly, the mirrored lenses displayed four magical creatures—though some younger wizards only saw three.
Finishing his introduction, Sean's mind raced with knowledge. He frowned. "Though I created these cookies, their replicability is still uncertain. Even as the creator, I can't fully explain every step's effect. The only thing I'm sure of is that the wizard's will plays a decisive role."
He added, "There are still many flaws. The transformed can't stay conscious, the effect lasts only a minute, and the creation process takes at least three days. Most importantly, if the user doesn't deeply desire the transformation and truly believe they're becoming a magical creature, it's likely to fail."
But the wizards in the hall weren't listening anymore. One thought consumed them: an eleven-year-old wizard had seized a power over magical creatures that alchemists hadn't dared dream of for millennia.
To some, Sean's silhouette rivaled—even surpassed—Nicolas Flamel.
The power over magical creatures—foresight, mind-reading, shape-shifting, storms, immortality, rebirth—these were the forces wizards yearned for.
In the silence, the Bardic Box whispered, "When the Philosopher's Stone appeared, alchemy seemed to reach its end. But the gods still call. After six hundred years, a new legend has arrived. The declining world of alchemy will fade no more. Hermes has returned in glory."
The hall held its breath, awestruck.