I stared at my reflection, adjusting my green and black striped tie for about the fiftieth time.

“Nibo, you’re going to class, not a wedding. You don’t need to spend this long on your appearance.”

I could make out Lucian’s scowling face behind me in the mirror, the rest of our dormitory spread out behind him. 

An inviting warmth filled the room thanks to the hearth crackling softly in the corner, the scent of burning logs and old parchment drifting through the air. The ancient stone walls were adorned with large arched windows that allowed the morning light to spill in, casting a golden glow across the wooden floor and the rich scarlet rug with the Draconic Academy Seal embellished in gold at its center.

The beds were piled high with thick, quilted blankets, each one tailored to the colors of our respective Magic House—mine in deep, vibrant greens, and Lucian’s in velvety purples. Beside the beds were desks crafted from mahogany, their surfaces polished until you could practically see your reflection in them. A magical wisp floated over each desk, casting a gentle, steady light that illuminated the dark wood, perfect for late-night study sessions or experiments.

Yet, despite its coziness, the room had been completely overtaken by Lucian’s alchemical experiments.

Glass retorts and alembics lined the walls, bubbling with mysterious pink and blue liquids. Tubes crisscrossed the dorm, their contents—a strange purple fluid—rushing through them and dripping into a pot that (due to lack of space) had been haphazardly placed on my own desk. The setup sprawled across the entire dorm, tubes even twisting over Lucian’s bed. Our room looked like a hot mess, but if I tried to move a beaker even half an inch, Lucian would completely flip. 

I turned to glare at the one responsible for turning my dorm into a science lab. “It’s my first class ever here. Heaven forbid I want to actually look my best.”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “You only want to look good because Owen Thorn is going to be there.”

“What the… I don’t…It’s not like…” I oh so eloquently sputtered, my face going an unflattering shade of red. I shook my head, squared my shoulders, and attempted to collect myself. “Why do you always think everything is about Owen Thorn with me?”

Lucian leaned in close, his gaze cold enough to drop the temperature in the room by at least 5 degrees. “Then tell me,” he drawled, his voice dipping low. “Look me in the eye and say this isn’t for him.”

My flush deepened under the weight of his stare, the intensity of it making my heart thunder in my ribcage. I tried to hold out, to resist, but his eyes pinned me in place, relentless and knowing. After a good thirty seconds, my shoulders finally sagged in defeat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Lucian’s lips curled as he reached out, his fingers deftly tugging my tie loose. 

“Hey!” I snapped, stumbling back. “What are you doing?”

Lucian simply rolled his eyes and grabbed the front of my shirt collar, dragging me back to him. 

“Just trust me,” Lucian replied smoothly as he looped the tie back around my neck. His fingers moved with grace, the silk of the tie slipping through them like water despite how precise each movement was. 

“Trust you?” I wrinkled my nose. “That’s a tall order.”

Lucian’s gaze darkened. “Then just close your eyes and pretend it’s Owen Thorn.”

He yanked the knot tight with a sharp, final tug that nearly choked me in the process.

“There, now it’s perfect,” Lucian said, flicking the end of my tie. “Just like everything I do.” With that, he spun on his heels, his jacket fluttering out behind him. “So move your scrawny arse or we’ll be late.”

I stared down at my tie, cursing under my breath at the fact that he was right. My tie looked absolutely flawless.

Snatching my textbooks from the desk, I tucked them under one arm and dashed after him as we burst from the room. 

***

While all magicians specialized in a class of magic, Draconia Academy believed a well-rounded mage’s education came from understanding all three. That’s why, no matter your specialty, everyone had Gen Eds in Alchemy, Telekinetics, and the Mental Arts. General Alchemy classes were held, as one would suspect, in the School of Alchemic Arts. 

My eyes were wide, head whipping this way and that, taking in literally everything as we made our way up the stairs leading into the towering obsidian building. 

“So,” I said, hopping the steps two at a time.

Lucian arched a dark brow. “So?”

“Aren’t you excited?” I twirled in a circle, arms spread wide. “Our very first Alchemic Arts class!” I coughed. “Of the semester, of course.”

“Why would I be excited?” Lucian said flatly. “I could do this class in my sleep. Professor Drokav is boring as hell.”

I grinned at him. “That’s what you think.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

I snickered, spinning in another circle. “Nooooothing.”

Not like Professor Drokav was a spy and a major secondary antagonist or anything, hehe. 

Lucian took in the maniacal grin on my face. “Daemons, you are so weird.” He paused, catching himself. “And when I say weird, I mean that it is a unique and enduring trait that I very much adore about you. Seeing as we are friends.”

“Yes,” I said with a sharp smile. “We sure are.”

As we arrived at the top of the stairs, the kraken statue above the entrance stirred to life over our heads, its eyes glowing purple. 

“Ugh, not more of you loud-mouthed brats,” the Kraken groaned in a deep, gurgly voice that sounded like an old man. 

“Well aren’t you a little ray of sunshine, as always,” Lucian said, crossing his arms. “You guard a school, Abanon. Dealing with loud-mouthed brats is literally your only job.”

The kraken muttered something under its breath. “Where do you want to go?”

“The potions classroom, please,” I said with a smile. 

“Fiiiiiiiine,” Abanon groaned. 

His tendrils curled around us, purple fog oozing from them until I couldn’t see a thing. When the fog cleared, we were standing in the potions classroom, located at the heart of the School of Alchemic Arts. 

Lucian huffed, brushing the lingering fog from his jacket.

“Next time, could you be a little less dramatic with the smoke?” my evil roommate yelled up at the ceiling. “You’re laying it on way too thick, old man.”

Abanon’s voice rumbled back, echoing through the walls, “I’ll stop being dramatic when you stop being a constant pain in my metaphoric ass, Darkona.”

Lucian flipped a vulgar gesture at the ceiling. 

I turned away, considerably more excited to take in the potions classroom than watch my roommate beef with a literal statue. 

Professor Drokav’s class was held in a dungeon-esque space that looked like it came straight out of Doctor Frankenstein's lab.

The walls were lined with hundreds of shelves, each brimming with oddities—preserved eyeballs floating in jars, delicate butterfly wings pinned under glass, and rows of ancient, leather-bound tomes that looked like they might crumble to dust from a single wrong touch. 

The workstations scattered throughout the room were no less peculiar. Each was equipped with a heavy, cast iron cauldron (that looked like it had seen centuries of use), a set of finely balanced scales, and a collection of sharp, gleaming knives and tweezers. Bunches of herbs were carefully arranged on the tables, their vivid greens and purples standing out against the dark wood as their earthy scents filled the air. A mandrake root sat among them, one at each workstation, its gnarled, human-like form daring the students to use it.

“The only good thing about this class is that Owen Thorn is absolute shit at it,” Lucian said as he led us toward an empty workstation. “Mere words can never capture what an absolutely delightful experience it is to watch him fail spectacularly at something.”

“It’s almost like you’re competing against yourself for the biggest dick in the room award,” I said, rolling my eyes. “A one man asshole olympics.”

Lucian’s own eyes narrowed into slits. “And you say my gnome metaphors are strange.”

As we took our place at the workstation, Lucian reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of brass goggles. With a practiced flick, he snapped them over his eyes. The lenses were thick and tinted a deep, amethyst purple. Tiny gears covered the sides, and additional lenses with magnifying glasses were ready to be flipped down when more precise work was required.

There was a surprisingly extensive backstory about Lucian’s goggles.

Lucian had been gifted in the Alchemic Arts from a young age. When he was ten and completely untrained, he began experimenting with potions on his own and nearly took out an eye. His mother made him those goggles herself to protect him.

The goggles became even more important to Lucian after his mother passed away.

Lucian’s gaze fell to me, noticing the way I was staring at the goggles, and let out a low sigh. “You already know, don’t you?”

I tugged at my collar. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, I get you might not want people knowing about your personal life.”

“It’s okay,” Lucian said, looking away. “It’s not like you can turn your powers off.”

“They can be a blessing and a curse,” I said, the words making me sound like some withered wise man and not a teenager who knew the backstory behind his goggles because they sold replicas of them in literally EVERY Hot Topic in my area.