Auther lay in Lana's modest bed, surrounded by gourds of bitter-smelling herbal brews. His hands, though still painful, looked almost normal again. He carefully picked up one of the gourds and downed the disgusting liquid in one go, nearly gagging.
"I can't believe this," he muttered. "Killed. Reborn. Beaten half to death. And now I'm drinking mystery soup in a stranger's house that can't even afford glass cups."
He let out a weak laugh that made his bruised ribs ache.
It had been a full day since Lana brought him here. The Awakening Ceremony was in two days.
Lana had told him she worked as an alchemist in the royal palace. She was twenty-five — young for someone of Epic rank — and had used secret tunnels beneath the city to smuggle him out of the palace grounds without being seen.
Auther stared at the ceiling, thinking about how much pressure was actually on him. Ever since he was a kid people always told him sweet things about how he was a shining star.
"It's hard believing that after not advancing once in three years of training then getting killed by a mad lady, feel more like a piece of shit."
The reason so much was put on his head was humans were a Tier 3 species. Weak. Desperate. After losing badly to the demons and losing almost all their high-ranked heroes now they had nobody to represent them at the high tables nobody to admonish the brutality imposed by those higher races but maybe just maybe Auther could.
As the son of two Heroic ranked beings they all thought it was possible heavily contrasting his own belief of incompetence only made worse by Viola's admonition and his own mother's indifference.
That was why the Awakening Ceremony wasn't just any normal event. An Archbishop from a Tier 1 species had been called in. The Alchemy Department had been working for weeks on a special soul-cleansing drug just for him.
Failure was not an option.
The alchemy wing was dead silent except for the steady bubbling of potions.
Crash.
A heavy glass apparatus shattered against Lana's workbench, spraying shards everywhere. She flinched hard.
Neon Gold — the only Legendary-ranked alchemist in the entire human realm — stood over her, silver hair framing a terrifyingly handsome face twisted in rage.
"You call this saturated?" His voice was low and venomous. "Even my dog could condense better than this garbage."
Lana's hands trembled as she bowed her head, Sulphur-yellow eyes locked on the floor.
"I'm sorry, Master Gold… I overlooked the timer."
She could feel the other alchemists pretending not to watch. No one would speak up. Not for her.
Neon stepped closer. The air itself seemed to grow hotter.
Without warning, he grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face into the pool of highly corrosive solution sitting on her station.
The pain was instant and blinding.
Lana screamed, the sound muffled by the burning liquid. Her skin sizzled. Her eyebrows and eyelashes dissolved. The acid ate into her cheeks and lips with merciless hunger.
Neon held her down for four long, deliberate seconds before yanking her back up by her pink hair. Her once-cute face was now a raw, deformed mess — red, blistering, and dripping.
He smirked, tilting her chin as if inspecting a failed experiment.
"Next time I'll just kill you. Understood?"
Lana could barely breathe through the agony. "Y-yes… Master…"
A single drop of the corrosive liquid had flicked onto the sleeve of Neon's expensive robe during the struggle.
His expression went ice-cold.
He stared at the tiny stain for half a second… then shoved her face back into the solution with even more force, holding her down longer this time.
Ten full seconds.
When he finally pulled her out, Lana was barely conscious. She gasped and choked, tears mixing with the acid still burning her wounds.
Neon casually flicked his sleeve. "Clean yourself up and make another batch. Properly this time."
Lana stumbled away from the workbench, head down, hands shaking violently. She didn't dare scream. She didn't dare cry loudly.
She just whispered under her breath as she left the room:
"…I'm sorry."
She walked through the halls with her head down, acid still burning her skin. Tears mixed with the wounds.
A familiar whisper slithered into her ear — the same one Auther had been hearing.
You know you could always come with me… like I offered before. You could run away.
Lana's hands trembled.
"Maybe… when I have enough to support myself," she whispered.
Silly child. You will never have enough.
"Shut up," she hissed. "Just take me home. Please."
Lana slipped in through the back door as quietly as she could, her face already half-healed thanks to emergency salves. The burns were still angry and red, especially around her eyes and cheeks.
The moment she stepped inside, she froze.
Every single candle in the house was lit. The small medieval room glowed warmly, classical wooden beams and stone walls bathed in soft golden light. And right in the middle of it all sat Auther, looking straight at her.
"Why did you light every candle?" she asked, voice slightly hoarse. "These aren't cheap, you know."
Auther had been smiling the second he heard the door — he'd been alone for too long. But the smile died the instant the light hit her face.
He stared.
Even with her hood partially covering her, the fresh burns were impossible to hide. Raw, blistered skin. Missing eyelashes. Reddened cheeks.
Lana noticed his expression change. She quickly looked away, forcing a bright, playful grin.
"You're looking better," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
Auther didn't smile back. He slowly sat up straighter, eyes narrowed.
"…What happened to you?"
Lana froze for half a second. Then she let out a small, tired chuckle and raised her head a little, deliberately showing more of the damage.
"Do I look that bad too?" she muttered, half to herself. There was a strange, bitter amusement in her voice — like she found some comfort in the fact that he was also messed up.
Auther didn't laugh.
"Lana."
She turned away quickly and started busying herself with the herbs on the table.
"Nothing serious," she replied lightly. "Just an occupational hazard. Alchemy can get… spicy sometimes."
Her hands were still shaking as she organized the jars.
In another part of the palace, Viola paced back and forth in her sparsely decorated room, fingers twitching near her rapier.
"Where is that damn brat?" she growled. "If he died from those minor wounds, I'll dig up his corpse and kill him again for wasting my time."