The house on the outskirts of Nexus was small, but to Jade it felt like a palace compared to the rusting shacks of the junkyard. Its walls didn't rattle in the wind, and its roof didn't leak when storms passed. For the first time in this lifetime, he had a room of his own.
Niamh, ever cautious, had already begun altering his clothes. High-necked t-shirts, gloves, and long sleeves kept his omega mark hidden. The blindfold remained, soft white fabric tied neatly at the back of his head. It did nothing to hinder him—his dual pupils pierced through the fabric with ease—but to strangers it turned his beauty into something enigmatic, less dangerous, less alluring.
His hair, long and silvery-blue, shimmered faintly under the lamplight. It was too striking left loose, so Niamh stood behind him, fingers deftly weaving it into a neat bun at the crown of his head. Jade sat still, patient, as he always did when she fussed over him. The gesture was routine by now, yet there was a quiet tenderness in the way she smoothed back the loose strands, as though by taming his hair she could tame the dangers that would come for him.
"Remember what you promised me," Niamh said softly as she tied off the bun. Her rough fingers lingered against his collar, making sure it sat properly, hiding every trace of his vulnerability. "You'll be careful. No risks you can't afford."
"I remember," Jade replied. His voice carried a steadiness that belied his seven years, a calm forged through trials too heavy for a child.
Niamh sighed, brushing her calloused hand once across his shoulder. She wanted to believe that promise was enough, yet every time she looked at him, she was reminded that the world was crueler than promises. Still, she had seen him stand unyielding before the scum of the junkyard, had watched him return injured but unbowed from a dungeon gate no child should have survived. Faith was all she had left, so she clung to it.
By midday, Gorvoth arrived. He carried himself with the easy confidence of a man used to bartering and battle alike, though his eyes softened when they found Niamh. He brought them supplies, crates of dried food, spare tools, and a small satchel of coins—payment from the sale of the monster carcasses.
"Settling in well?" Gorvoth asked, setting the crates down with a grunt.
"As well as one can in Nexus," Niamh answered coolly, arms folded. She never allowed warmth to slip into her tone, though Jade noticed the way her gaze lingered on him a heartbeat too long.
Jade, polite as always, bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Gorvoth. Without your help, we wouldn't have managed this so quickly."
The older man studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering in his eyes, but he didn't press. Instead, he turned to Niamh. "The Guild exam is in three days. If the boy's truly set on alchemy, he'll need someone to vouch for him. They don't hand out alchemist badges to just anyone."
Niamh's jaw tightened, and Jade could feel the weight of her hesitation. Yet she didn't argue, didn't forbid. Instead, she laid a hand on Jade's shoulder, firm and grounding. "We'll be ready."
That night, as Nexus glittered in neon light beyond their window, Jade sat cross-legged in his new room, fragments of the Alchemy God's knowledge burning bright within him. He knew them as surely as he knew how to breathe. His promise to Niamh echoed in his mind. Be careful. Be safe.
For her sake, and for his own, he would keep it. But deep in his soul, he also knew—this city, this world, would not remain unchanged once he stepped into the Guild.
.....
The Alchemist Guild rose like a fortress of glass and steel at the heart of Nexus. Its walls shimmered faintly with runes that pulsed in rhythm with the city's neon glow, a reminder that here, even stone and mortar bent beneath the weight of alchemy. The crest of the Guild—a crucible framed by twin serpents—hung above the arched entrance, radiating authority.
Jade stood before it, small and slight against the tide of awakeners who flowed in and out. His blindfold was tied neatly, his hair bound into a tight bun at the crown of his head.
The high collar of his sweater covered the curve of his neck, hiding the omega mark that could doom him if revealed. To the casual eye he was simply a child, a beta child at that, though those who looked too long found themselves unsettled by a beauty they couldn't quite name.
Niamh waited with him at the base of the steps, arms folded. She had argued against coming this far, but in the end her protective instincts had won—if he was going to walk into the Guild, then she would at least see him through the door. Gorvoth lingered nearby, a hulking shadow of reassurance, his presence enough to deter the curious and the cruel.
Jade exhaled slowly. The instinctual knowledge of herbs, flames, and transmutation thrummed in his head, urging him forward. For seven years he had been hidden, caged by necessity. But here, in this building, he could take his first step into the wider world.
"Are you ready?" Niamh asked quietly.
He nodded. "More than ready."
Together they climbed the steps. The doors loomed taller the closer they came, engraved with runes that shimmered as though alive. When Jade reached them, the runes flared, reacting to his presence. A hush rippled through the awakeners nearby; whispers rose as eyes turned toward the blindfolded child who made the Guild's wards stir.
A guard stepped forward, armored in leather infused with faint magical glow. He frowned down at Jade, skepticism plain in his eyes. "What business does a child have at the Guild?"
Jade lifted his chin. "I'm here to register for the alchemist examination."
Laughter rippled among those waiting in line behind him, sharp and dismissive. But Jade did not waver. The blindfold hid the steady glow of his dual pupils, but the weight of his voice carried a conviction far older than his years.
The guard's frown deepened. He looked past Jade, to Niamh and Gorvoth, as if expecting them to drag him away. But neither moved. Niamh's gaze was hard, unyielding; Gorvoth's arms were folded across his chest in silent support.
At last, the guard sighed and motioned toward the great doors. "Very well. You may enter, but if you fail, don't think to waste our time a second time."
Jade inclined his head politely. "I won't fail."
As the doors swung open before him, the scent of crushed herbs and burning mana rushed out to meet him, sharp and alive. The vast hall beyond was filled with light and voices, alchemists in robes of varying colors bustling across polished floors, apprentices carrying trays of rare ingredients, crystal vials glinting under fluorescent lights.
For the first time, Jade stepped across the threshold—not as a hidden child of the junkyard, but as an alchemist in the making.
----------------------------------------------------------
The examination hall was wide and austere, it's walls lined with shelves of neatly labeled jars. The faint glow of alchemical wards hummed in the corners, keeping the air crisp and sterile. Rows of candidates stood in clusters, some chatting nervously, others radiating calm confidence.
Jade stood alone. His blindfold drew curious glances, his small frame dismissive smirks.
At the far end of the hall, three examiners sat behind a long obsidian table. Each wore the Guild's insignia on their breast: a feather and flame etched in silver.
The first was a middle-aged man with slick black hair and a sharp nose, his aura steady. A beta with the calm presence of long experience. The second, a tall woman with cropped crimson hair, exuded a stronger pressure—an alpha, unmistakably. Her scent carried authority, and her eyes lingered on Jade with faint disdain. The third, a silver-haired elder whose eyes gleamed with faint golden light, was harder to read; his bearing was neutral, though something in his expression suggested curiosity.
"Candidates," the elder spoke, his voice echoing in the hall. "Trial One is simple. Before you are herbs. Identify them, one by one, and state their properties. Accuracy, clarity, and confidence will determine your mark."
Assistants moved along the rows, setting down trays before each examinee. Jade's tray clinked softly as it landed in front of him.
Five herbs.
The boy reached out, small fingers brushing over the textures: coarse leaves, brittle stems, powdery roots.
Snickers rose from a group nearby. "What's with the blindfold? Can he even see?" one whispered.
Another chuckled. "He's just a kid. Probably here to waste time. Bet he can't name even one."
The crimson-haired alpha examiner smirked faintly, leaning back in her chair. "Proceed."
Jade inhaled, then spoke, his tone calm, assured—too mature for a child of seven.
"This first herb," his fingers brushed over a veined leaf, "is Starflame Grass. Common, but potent. Its leaves burn at low ignition, releasing volatile mana suitable for low-tier stamina potions. Excess use causes blood agitation."
His hand shifted to the next. A brittle stalk snapped faintly under his touch. "Frostneedle Root. Grows only in mana-rich permafrost. Essential for clarity draughts. Improper preparation results in neural backlash."
One by one, he named them. Not just their names, but histories, ideal brewing temperatures, even obscure counter-reactions.
The hall grew quiet.
Even the examiners exchanged brief glances.
The elder's eyes narrowed faintly, interest flickering there. The beta examiner scribbled rapidly. The alpha, however, scoffed softly, though her gaze had sharpened.
When Jade finished, silence lingered in the hall.
Finally, the elder spoke. "Candidate… what is your name?"
"Jade," he answered simply.
A murmur rippled through the other candidates—some mocking, some surprised, a few thoughtful.
The elder inclined his head. "Trial One… completed.