Theo stared at me intently—furious. His eyes glowed in shifting shades of blue, but his composure betrayed no sign of attack. He looked like he was folding into himself. Fear. I did that to someone.
After all the promises I'd made to myself—that I'd never let anyone feel what I once felt—I still betrayed my principles. And now, I can't go back. I'm drowning in this madness, and it gives me fleeting joy. Until I see what I've done. The monster I've let loose. And sorrow returns in full force, like distress running through my veins—slowly poisoning what's left of me.
I still can't get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip.
But again, I let the curse take control. And sometimes I wonder— Is it really the curse? Or is it just me?
I turned my head slightly, meeting his eyes only from the corner of mine. He flinched and retreated.
He smells of fear. Like I used to.
My insides started to coil.
And maybe it's greedy of me—punishing the world for my misery. But I do. And I can't stop. This madness—it's killing me slowly.
The corners of my mouth twitched upward, involuntarily. I caught Darius staring at me in shock—like he hadn't expected I'd go that far. Well, maybe I exceeded expectations.
Theo took a step back, shaken by Darius's eerie composure. His expression shifted—betrayal flickering across his face.
"You knew that would happen?" he whispered. "How dare you trick me?" he snapped, voice rising. "I'm done with you and your stupid games."
Games?
He turned, hobbled to the door, and disappeared.
Darius was smiling at that. Not the kind of smile born of victory or relief—but something quieter, stranger. Like a man watching the last piece fall into place, knowing it shouldn't feel this good.
There was a glint in his eye that didn't match the moment. And for a second, I wondered if he wasn't as sane as he pretended to be. Or maybe the mirror had played its tricks on him—unraveling something beneath the surface, something he was no longer trying to hide.
"He'll get over it," Darius said, watching the door long after Theo had vanished.
I raised an eyebrow.
He smirked. "Don't insult me."
I folded my arms, still riding the edge of whatever madness had gripped me. "So? What now? You promised to teach me."
His gaze flicked toward the door, then back to me. "Alchemy, then."
He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his cloak and started wandering in circles around me. "Alchemy isn't just potions and symbols. It's the art of reshaping nature—of bending the elements to your will. Fire, water, earth, air. The four pillars. "
I followed him toward the center of the training grounds. The air felt different there—charged.
"Every alchemist begins at the bottom," he continued. "Third-Rank. You learn to read and write symbols, mix potions, and fail spectacularly. Then you climb—Second-Rank, First-Rank, High Alchemist. If you survive long enough, you reach the Peak tiers. And if you're lucky—or cursed—you ascend."
He paused, then turned to face me. "But there's a rank no one talks about. A myth. The Hollow Crown."
I blinked. "That sounds dramatic."
"It is," he said. "Gold magic. Said to command both ghosts and beasts. Pure power. Terrifying."
I didn't know what to say to that. The wind stirred around us, and for a moment, I felt it—something shifting beneath the surface of the world.
He knelt, touched the ground, and it responded. A ripple of energy pulsed outward—faint, but I could feel it.
"Alchemy begins with control," he said. "Not of others. Of yourself. Of nature. Of what you carry inside."
I stared at the ripple, then at him. "So what do I do?"
He looked up, eyes gleaming. "You learn to speak the language of the world. And then you rewrite it."
Is he fucking with me?
"The elements are the primal language of the world. Fire, Water, Earth, Air. Which speaks to you? Which one do you fear the most?"
I considered the question. Fear the most? Fire. It terrifies me—not because of what it does, but because of what it reveals in me.
A chill ran through my bones, but I didn't let it show. I can't admit that to him. No. No one can know.
"Air," I lied. "It's everywhere. The strongest form of nature."
Darius's lips curved into that quiet, strange smile like he knew something but didn't show it. "A clever choice. Air is the element of mind, of control, and of the void. Now, kneel."
I squinted, glanced at something I shouldn't have, then met his eyes again.
His expression shifted—surprised, amused, like he was suppressing a smile. "Well, it's not for that," he said, "but it's not a bad idea either. You know I'm not exactly opposed to that kind of thing."
Demonia made a gesture that looked like laughter, and I rolled my eyes.
I knelt on the cold stone.
"You can draw the sigil of Air—the one you read in the books you stole from the vault," he said, gesturing around the empty courtyard.
That caught me off guard. I smiled guiltily and didn't meet his eyes.
"To draw a sigil is to speak the world's language. But for your rank, the simplest symbol will suffice. Draw the sigil of Air—on the stone before you. Not with your hands. With your will."
I tried to focus on the energy running through the world—and it was euphoric. It spiraled into me, coiling through my bones like liquid fire, like something ancient waking up inside my skin. It felt so good. Too good. Intoxicating.
I was high on it—this new pleasure, this rush of power—and everything else faded. Sound. Thought. Time. Gone.
Somewhere, a voice was shouting. Suppressed. Distant. Like it belonged to another world. But I didn't listen. I couldn't.
The energy kept rising. And I let it. Until I couldn't breath and almost choked, and I heard a distant "Shit".
Shit.