Introduction to Alchemy
The alchemy wing of the Academy smelled faintly of salt, crushed herbs, and ozone. The walls were stone, but not the dull gray of ordinary halls--instead, they shimmered faintly, infused with ancient alchemical polish to prevent volatile reactions from latching onto the stone. The tables were obsidian, veined with protective copper sigils. Every tool was anchored to avoid accidental displacement.
Professor Severus Thorne stepped into the room without sound. His robe bore the telltale sheen of alchemical oil--his gloves, burn-scarred at the fingertips, flexed only slightly as he raised a vial between two fingers.
"Alchemy," he began, voice low but resonant, "is not wizardry. It does not answer to instinct or command. It is a discipline of transmutation--of understanding the true nature of matter and its relationship to mana, and reshaping it with precision."
He set the vial down. The contents shifted color as the room's ambient energy responded.
"It is both an art and a science--chemical process, elemental balance, and raw transformation. It is not for the reckless."
Stella stood near the back, already scribbling. She found something comforting in his tone--measured, merciless, exacting.
The Discipline of Control
Where other disciplines bent reality through force of will, alchemy was the opposite. It required surrender to systems. A deep understanding of every element, though not necessarily the ability to command them.
"Alchemy doesn't create," Severus said. "It alters. It persuades nature to reshape itself."
He moved between rows of worktables, a trail of faint ozone curling behind him. A whispered snap of his fingers activated the ventilation runes overhead.
"You will not hurl fire in this room. You will not summon storms. You will refine steel, extract light, and bind energy into matter."
He turned, expression sharp.
"You will do this slowly. Or you will not survive."
Transmutation Circles
He tapped the board, and a circle flared to life behind him--glowing chalk etched into glass. It spun gently, its symbols moving like gears inside a clock.
"At the heart of all alchemy lies the transmutation circle. This is your formula, your spell, your container. Everything flows through this."
Circles were not decorative. They were function-bound structures, containing sigils for the elements and the logical connections between them. Each line a constraint, each arc a tether.
"A perfect circle stabilizes. A crooked one… detonates."
He gestured toward a blackened patch on the far wall. The students took note.
Transmutation circles could be drawn, carved, etched, even projected. Their size, complexity, and medium all affected the speed and scale of the reaction.
Catalysts and Reagents
He turned toward the shelf, selecting a bundle of twisted roots and laying it before the class.
"This is Mandran Root. Raw, it soothes the nerves. If dried under moonlight--invigorating. When boiled with silver dust, it amplifies arcane absorption."
Alchemy is built on such nuance. Reagents provide the magical or chemical properties that fuel reactions. But how they're harvested, preserved, or combined can radically alter their effects.
"A skilled alchemist," he said, holding the root above a flame until it darkened and split, "can make a cure from a poison--or a poison from a cure."
Catalysts, by contrast, are not consumed by the reaction. But their presence is often what allows transmutation to begin--triggering the chain of energetic events.
"Phoenix ash. Powdered lapis. Mercury. They accelerate fusion. They also cause... incidents. Use sparingly."
Alchemical Constructs
Next came the jars.
Severus placed a stoppered bottle at the front of the class. It was clear, but inside a faint storm spiraled--lightning flickering in miniature.
"Alchemy is not limited to liquids. Constructs are transformed objects--bottled storms, insulated flasks, froststeel weaponry. Permanent magical function without enchantment."
Where enchanted objects rely on cores or spells, constructs are altered materially. Their properties are rewritten at the base level.
"These do not last forever. Their reactions slow, but they do not stop."
Factors like temperature, ambient mana, or even moon phase could affect how long a construct remained functional.
"Maintenance is required. Do not leave a self-heating kettle on a shelf for six months. You will not like the result."
Some constructs--like mana clay, liquid fire, or ether resin--are inherently unstable. They're tools meant to be used and discarded. Others, like crystallized ether or alchemical glass, are sturdy and long-lived, provided their environment remains controlled.
Mana Binding and Elemental Equilibrium
Alchemy also allows for mana binding--a method of infusing energy into materials without active casting. It is slow, meticulous work.
"Mana is unstable," Severus said. "It does not like being caged."
He drew a small circle in the air. Within it, runes flickered--one each for air, water, and earth.
"To bind mana, you must understand its elemental composition. Mana must be anchored. Fire, for example, flares violently without water or earth to temper it. Air needs grounding. Water needs structure."
The wrong balance leads to corrosion, combustion, or worse.
"Frost glass, for example, requires water and air. But without an earth rune, the structure shatters under its own brittleness. You cannot simply add elements--you must sequence them. Stabilize. Add. Stabilize again."
Advanced alchemy sometimes involved four or more elements, layered in complex, interlocking sequences. This was considered highly dangerous. Only senior alchemists or Wardens with alchemical training attempted such syntheses.
Potions and Elixirs
Of all alchemical products, potions were the most recognizable--and most widely misunderstood.
"A potion is not just a drink," Severus said, waving a hand over a row of colored vials. "It is a suspended reaction. A living transmutation, contained."
Healing tonics. Fire-breath elixirs. Invisibility drafts. Each required a base liquid, elemental extract, catalyst, and one or more active reagents.
"Timing is everything. A half-second too long at boil, a grain too much nightroot--and a restorative becomes a nerve toxin."
Elixirs, more refined and far rarer, were potions designed to grant temporary magical traits--resistance to heat, enhanced perception, elemental attunement.
"They are hard to craft. Harder to store. And many are addictive."
Storage, too, was an art. Alchemical brews had a short lifespan unless sealed in enchanted vials marked with dormancy runes. Heat, sunlight, or even proximity to other magic could spoil a delicate mixture.
The Unseen Dance
As the lecture ended, no one moved. The air in the hall was saturated--not with spellfire, but with complexity. This was not a discipline of power. It was one of subtle dominance over nature itself.
The students scribbled furiously, their notes full of symbols, ratios, and cautions. Several looked pale.
Stella, by contrast, had barely glanced down at her page. Her eyes remained fixed on the transmutation circle still glowing on the wall.
This--unlike chantwork or wand-dancing--made sense to her.
Alchemy wasn't loud. It didn't crave attention.
It worked in silence, behind the curtain, reshaping the world one precise reaction at a time.
And that, she thought, was real power.