Vokey sat glaring at the notification, then at the half-eaten bowl of nitrite-laced gruel. With a sigh of profound resignation, he picked it up and began to eat. The +5 XP felt like a sticker for identifying his own rot.
"Great," he grumbled to the empty cell, swallowing a spoonful of the bland paste. "I'm the Invoker of Spoilage and Structural Integrity. What's next—a quest to spot-the-mold by mouthfeel?"
His sarcasm, usually a source of private comfort, fell flat in the damp air. He was bored. He was frustrated. And worst of all, he was starting to think this useless magic was the only thing standing between him and a slow, quiet descent into madness.
As if sensing his bleak mood, the System chimed in, its text appearing in his mind with an air of corporate cheerfulness that was somehow more insulting than silence.
SYSTEM ALERT: User motivation levels have dropped below the optimal threshold. New Incentive Program Initiated: Learn Polyatomic Ions! Earn Basic Lab Equipment and unlock your potential† †Terms and conditions apply. Potential is not guaranteed. All unlocks are subject to System review.
Vokey's mental eyebrow shot up. The System was dangling a key in front of him, but he suspected the lock it opened would lead to an even smaller room with worse ventilation.
"Fine," he muttered, a flicker of his old fire returning. "You've got my attention, you manipulative pile of glowing script. Show me the list."
The oatmeal-colored, district-issued textbook materialized in his thoughts, flipping to a neat, bulleted list.
Tier 1: The Essentials (For Learners With Limited Options)
He scanned the first two entries.
Hydronium (H₃O⁺): The Bully.
Hydroxide (OH⁻): The Victim.
His eyes moved to the third entry.
Ammonium (NH₄⁺)
"Ammonium," Vokey mused. Sounded powerful. "Is it a type of ammunition? An explosive powder?"
Negative, the System replied instantly. Ammonium is not a form of ammunition.
"Right," Vokey slumped. "Of course not."
The term derives from 'sal ammoniac,' or the salt of Amun, the System continued. Historically collected from the soot of burnt camel dung near the Temple of Amun, painstakingly curated by temple custodians with enchanted scrapers.
Vokey's nose wrinkled. "My first potential offensive spell... is a poop rune. A divinely sanctioned, artisanally collected poop rune. Fantastic." His mind immediately went to its practical applications. Vokey's Vexing Vapor! He could summon a cloud of in a fight, a potent dung bomb that would... make his enemies wrinkle their noses in mild disgust. The strategic advantage would be minimal.
Ammonium salts are primarily used in fertilizers and cleaning solutions, not as tactical olfactory weapons, the System added, dashing his already pathetic hopes.
"Fine," he sighed. "Explain its ugly, asymmetrical form. Why 'N'? Why four 'H's? And why the positive charge?"
The structure is a result of an acid-base reaction. The base molecule is ammonia (NH₃).
"Hold on," Vokey interrupted, a fresh wave of irritation washing over him. "That's not an explanation! You can't define one piece of gibberish with another. What good is knowing NH₄⁺ comes from NH₃? It's the same cryptic nonsense, just with one less hydrogen! You're just shuffling letters and numbers around!"
That is a reductive but technically accurate assessment of basic chemical nomenclature.
"'A base'?" Vokey snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Don't just throw words at me. The base of what? A pillar? An argument? The guards' 'base' humor, which is just them whispering about how the Duchess started 'personally inspecting the stables' every night, and how soon after, the Duke's prize-winning mare went lame and a certain stable boy had a tragic 'training accident'?"
Incorrect on all three counts, the System cut in, its text flat and clinical. In this context, a base is a substance with a natural affinity for accepting a hydrogen ion (H⁺). It has an unoccupied space ready to form a bond.
The explanation clicked, but not in the way the System intended. "Wait a minute," Vokey whispered, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "An 'unoccupied space'? A 'natural affinity' for accepting lonely, wandering particles?"
The chemical reaction in his mind was suddenly replaced by the sordid drama of the court. "So Ammonia isn't a charity worker. It's just like the Duke! It already has its three little hydrogens at home, but it keeps an empty room—a 'lone pair'—just in case some desperate, positively charged proton comes along that it can add to its collection. It's a chemical harem!"
He leaned back, the analogy fitting perfectly. "No wonder the Duchess started 'personally inspecting the stables.' The Duke was just filling the empty spaces in his life with anyone who'd wander by. She just decided to fill one of her own."
Then, another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. "The 'N'," he breathed. "That stands for Nitrogen." The System had once mentioned it was the most common thing in the air—all around you, essential, but completely ignored. "How fitting," Vokey mused. "The Duke is just the same. A pillar of the court, so ever-present he's practically part of the scenery. No one pays him any mind. But it's always the quiet ones, the ones hiding in plain sight, that have the most sordid secrets. He seems noble, but he's just base."
The positive charge is the result of this transaction, the System said, completely ignoring his sordid interpretation. When the neutral ammonia molecule accepts the positively charged proton, the resulting ion has a net charge of +1.
"Of course it is," Vokey muttered. "The cost of indiscretion. The whole household gets a scandalous new reputation just because the head of the family couldn't keep his 'unoccupied spaces' to himself."
DING! Quest Updated. Tier 1 Essentials: 1/8 Ions Mastered. Reward: +5 XP. Motivation Debt™ reduced by 2%.
Vokey didn't even snort. He just looked down at the spattered gruel on the floor. The five grand elements were poetry. He, however, was stuck with some derivative. This base system—this camelshit system—wasn't the secret truth of the universe; it was just the sordid, grubby gossip of how things are falling apart. The base humor of a poop rune, the base desires of a cheating Duke, and the chemical base that explained the rot.
He wasn't an alchemist. He was Facilities. Cosmic janitorial. And for his troubles, he got five points and a mess to clean up.