"Vigo," a voice echoed down from the world above.
Head Instructor Clive. Does he possess knowledge of this subterranean facility?
Or did my entry inadvertently compromise our position?
"Clive," Vigo called back. His tone smoothed out, shedding its icy edge for an empty, practiced warmth. "Your presence in the upper laboratory is unexpected, though pleasant. I presume your physical rehabilitation is proceeding optimally?"
"It is. Your logistical support was instrumental. Do you require any further administrative assistance, or does this conclude our business?"
Stone ground against stone. Arthur pinpointed the harsh, rhythmic scrape of a mortar and pestle from the darkness.
"Negative. However, I detected secondary acoustics. Have you authorized a new apprentice for this sector?"
"I do not permit incompetent adolescents to compromise my environment," Vigo retorted sharply. "If our administrative exchange is concluded, kindly vacate the premises. You are delaying my synthesis."
A heavy door slammed shut far above. Seconds ticked by in the suffocating black. Then, the mechanical shriek of gears woke the shaft, descending toward Arthur. Overhead lamps snapped to life, their harsh glare catching the cold reflection in Vigo's spectacles as the platform settled.
"Does the broader faculty possess awareness and support for these specific methodologies?" Arthur asked Vigo, who was stepping off the lift—a porcelain cup cradled in his palm.
"Regrettably, their intellectual parameters cannot process the totality of my vision. They harbor the delusion that they have cataloged my secrets. They are profoundly mistaken."
"They deny my petitions in every other regard—alchemy remains absent from the Academy's curriculum despite my relentless advocacy. In placation, they grant me authorization to conduct my private alchemy. It is a barbaric compromise, but it provides the perfect alibi to actually accomplish what I desire."
"The experiments conducted on the floor above encompass books one through five."
"There is much more to alchemy than that."
"Down here, we engineer my Magnum Opus."
Arthur's eyes swept the subterranean laboratory. It mirrored the dimensions of the room above—a perfect rectangle with a central alchemy station. But the walls held no standard cabinets. Instead, they were lined with towering, transparent cells. Not iron bars, but seamless, glass-like encasements. Inside each pod floated a perfectly motionless organism.
"Here, we unravel the mysteries of book six, and we shall develop book seven—my Magnum Opus."
Arthur's gaze locked onto a cluster of pods. "Are those subjects... of human origin?" he asked, pointing a trembling finger at the pale bodies suspended within. They possessed four spindly limbs, a torso, and a head—a terrifyingly familiar anatomy.
"Data fidelity demands that human applications be derived from human anatomy," Vigo said smoothly. "However, examine the cranial physiology. Those are aquatic non-humans. Specimens. Does their origin alter the scientific value?"
"...Are they alive?" Arthur asked, stepping closer to inspect one of the pods.
"Does it make a difference?"
Arthur's blood turned to ice. His mind didn't race; it simply stopped, paralyzed by raw, primal dread. The shift in Vigo's inflection was microscopic, but a monstrous, suffocating emotion now poisoned the air between them.
Arthur swallowed hard, a prisoner awaiting the executioner's gavel.
"Certainly not, Head Instructor," Arthur swore to the lie, meaning every single syllable. "The empirical results justify the methodology. Unrestricted progress requires absolute pragmatism."
"Your psychological flexibility is precisely why I selected you, Arthur," Vigo said, his voice practically vibrating with twisted delight. The thick mustache entirely masked his mouth, but Arthur didn't need to see his lips to know the alchemist was smiling.
And knowing that, Arthur forced his own lips to curl upward into a smile to match.