Ethan's fingers had just grazed the brass knob when a hiss of bitter air curled through the crack.
The stench of scorched metal and sour citrus clawed at his throat.
An arm clamped over his mouth—iron-strong, cold as forged steel.
He twisted, ready to drive an elbow back.
A gas mask loomed inches from his face, its round lenses fogged with ghost-green light, the filter rasping like a snake.
"Have you lost your mind?!" a muffled voice barked.
The figure yanked him fully inside and spun a crank. A side window screeched open, letting winter wind slash through and scatter the chemical haze.
"What—" Ethan coughed, blinking against the acrid fog.
The stranger ripped off the mask. White hair, tipped in soft violet, spilled from beneath a leather hood and caught the laboratory's sickly light.
"Did you even read the sign?" she snapped, jabbing at the door behind him where a scarlet placard screamed: KEEP OUT—EXPERIMENT IN PROGRESS.
"You could've inhaled a compound that makes people vomit their organs."
She exhaled hard, a hiss of exasperation, then turned back to a bench crowded with glassware.
Flasks bubbled with phosphorescent liquid, breathing out whorls of ozone and crushed mint.
"I—I'm sorry," Ethan managed, rubbing his throat. "I didn't know."
"Clearly."
She swirled a vial, its contents flashing emerald to amethyst, then paused and looked him over—sharp eyes narrowing, calculating.
"And you are…?"
"Oh—uh—Ethan Von Claude. The new pupil."
Her frown softened to a crooked grin. "Right. Sydney mentioned someone Awakening."
She wiped a streak of violet residue from her cheek and offered a gloved hand.
"I know we had a rough start," she said, her voice easing at last, "but I'm Raj Morayne.
My persona—and my will—is poison."
Ethan clasped her hand—warm through the thin glove, scented faintly of iron and crushed mint—then let go.
"Coat's in the cabinet," Raj said without looking up, already tilting a vial to catch the lamplight. Violet steam curled toward the rafters.
He crossed to the far wall where an antique oak wardrobe waited, brass hinges scarred and gleaming.
The door swung open with a sigh of cedar and old smoke. Inside hung a row of alchemists' coats, each stitched with delicate sigils.
One bore his name in silver thread: Ethan.
"Whoa—your first coat," a soft voice teased behind him.
He turned, but only empty air greeted him. A fleeting memory—an ash-blond boy's grin—flickered at the edge of thought, then vanished. Who was that?
A faint shiver slid down his spine. The coat smelled of charcoal and herbs as it settled across his shoulders, strangely familiar.
At an empty table, he rested his palms on the cool stone surface. Glass instruments chimed faintly as they settled, the room alive with the hiss of burners and the sweet-metal tang of experiments in bloom.
On the blackboard, chalk formulas ran like a restless river. Something about the numbers tugged at him.
"The isotopes are off," he said before he realized he was speaking. "That's why the catalyst won't fire."
Raj's head snapped up, eyes keen. "Okay… do explain."
Ethan stepped to the board, wiping a section clean with the side of his hand. Chalk squealed as he redrew the sequence.
"You need the heavier isotope here," he said, tapping the corrected symbol. "Without it, the reaction stalls."
Raj raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Moving almost on instinct, Ethan reached for a beaker and adjusted the ratios in her bubbling flask.
The mixture hissed—then popped, a sharp flash of green light filling the room. A burst of ozone and glittering sparks danced in the air.
Raj blinked, then broke into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Well," she said, brushing a fleck of glowing residue from her sleeve, "looks like the new pupil knows his way around poison."
"Yeah, I think so," he said, pulse still quick from the sudden flare.
The door creaked and a few more students drifted in.
First was the green-haired boy Ethan had glimpsed in the hallway—a lean figure with eyes the color of molten amber, pupils narrowed to serpent slits. Blue-green snakes coiled lazily around his shoulders and arms, their scales catching the light like shifting jewels.
Behind him glided a girl twirling silver needles across her knuckles as if they weighed nothing. Her sleek bob framed her face in sharp lines, platinum streaks flashing whenever she moved.
And then there was Rai, still and silent, black hair slicked into perfect order, eyes cool enough to frost the air.
The room's low chatter faded to a single, metronomic click of heels.
A woman entered like a drawn blade, each stride precise, purple hair gleaming darkly against the lamplight. Violet lipstick caught the glow as her gaze swept the class—cool, assessing, and electric.
Ethan felt the hairs on his arms lift, the air itself sharpening as if charged.
Her finger lifted, unwavering, until it found him.
"You," she said.