I could see Owen, Ferula, and Wesley sifting through their ingredients a few stations behind us. I tried my best to not look in their direction. I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop staring at Owen. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one with an Owen Thorn obsession. 

“Hey, Thorn,” Lucian called, a sneer to his voice, “excited to fail this class for the third time?”

Owen’s eye twitched (something I knew from the books was an early sign of his annoyance). He opened his mouth to respond, but Ferula interrupted, speaking for him.

“Go give your mouth the same rest your brain seems to be getting, Darkona.”

Lucian let out a little huff, turning back to our own ingredients. “Assholes.”

“Uh, dude, I think you started it,” I helpfully pointed out.

Lucian shot me a glare. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Who the hell ever decided that?”

Professor Drokav finally entered the classroom. I honestly couldn’t believe there were people who were surprised when he was revealed as a villain in the last book. It was so obvious. I mean seriously, just look at the guy! The mismatched eyes, the black hair slicked all the way back, not to mention the stupid little goatee. The dude practically screamed ‘HELLO, I AM A VILLAIN IN THIS SERIES.’

Professor Drokav laced his fingers behind his back, voice booming off the potion classroom's stone walls, “Welcome to your final year of Alchemic Studies.”

I cheered. 

Everyone else gave me a confused look, including Professor Drokav.

“What?” I said with a shrug. “Learning magic is awesome. I hope we get lots of homework!”

Lucian buried his face in his hands beside me. 

“Moving past… whatever that was…” Drovak drawled. “This year we’ll be working on some of the most difficult and advanced forms of alchemy, the first being animation.” With his fingers still knitted behind his back, Drokav began to walk, weaving between the workstations. “As most of you know, animation falls into the same category as necromancy. But, I assure you this is the only thing close to necromancy we will learn in this class. Under no circumstance should any mage ever try to bring back the dead. The punishment for such a crime is to be stripped of one’s magic and banished from the magical world.”

Lucian went dead still, watching intently. 

“Today, I will be teaching only the most basic of animation magic,” Drokav continued, “and even this will take at least several classes to learn.” His gaze fell to Owen as passed him, offering him a scathing look. “Or perhaps several months, for some of us. Let us begin.”

Drokav then launched into the lesson. Scrolls unfurled in front of us with a snap, revealing intricate, detailed instructions written in looping, cursive script.

I latched onto every word, my heart pounding from the thrill of being in a real alchemy class. The scratch of my quill echoed in the cavernous room as I scribbled furiously in my notebook. My fingers cramped from the effort, but I was determined to capture every detail of the lesson.

Unfortunately, the books hadn’t delved much into the specifics of alchemy lessons, and the fanfiction I’d devoured… Well, let’s just say they were more focused on the smutty extracurricular activities in the classroom than the academic ones. Which meant that, despite my most desperate attempts to understand, the content of the lesson flew right over my head. It was like being dropped into a PhD-level math lecture without ever learning basic arithmetic. I was completely lost.

As my quill scratched out increasingly frantic notes, I felt the gap between my dreams of learning magic and reality widening.

Lucian glanced at me, recognizing the look of panic on my face.

“Calm down,” my roommate muttered. “Just do what I tell you to.” He slid me a pile of violets and a bone handled knife. “Start cutting these up.”

Soon, the scent of crushed violets drifted through the air, mixing with the tang of simmering herbs. Lucian’s movements were a blur, hands darting from one ingredient to the next, totally locked in.

I did my best to keep the knife steady, not wanting to mess up my one job. I sliced through the delicate petals, the blade glinting under the flickering light of the floating wisps that illuminated the workbenches. 

The grinding of plants, the clink of glass vials, and the bubbling of potions in cauldrons filled the classroom, everyone around us hard at work. But no one could hold a candle to Lucian. He didn’t just mix the ingredients—he commanded them, coaxing the magic out of each plant or object as if it were an art form.

He reached for a mix of vials, pouring them into the cauldron one after the other. The liquid hissed as it met the heat, steam rising in a fragrant cloud that smelled of fresh rain. He added my ground petals next, the mixture fizzing and bubbling, its color shifting from pale lavender to deep violet.

I’d begun to stare at some point, unable to take my eyes off him. It was like watching a world class ballet dancer perform. The sight was strangely beautiful.

As time passed, I began to realize just how far ahead we were compared to everyone else in the class. I had no idea what Ferula, Wesley, and Owen did to their mandrake root, but at one point it straight up exploded, charing all three of their faces and hair. This earned a wicked cackle from Lucian and a middle finger from Morgana.

The dancing flames beneath the cauldron were reflected back in Lucian’s goggles as he grabbed a handful of powdered gold, sprinkling it into the mixture with flourish. The potion sparked, tiny golden flecks dancing like fireflies before settling into the bubbling brew.

Finally, Lucian looked up at me for the first time since we had started working. “It’s almost done. Pass me the knife.”

I reached for the one I had been using to cut the violets, but Lucian shook his head. “No, the smaller one. We need to make a precise cut.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling like Igor to Lucian’s Frankenstein, but handed him the smaller knife anyway.

Lucian leaned in close to the workstation, his face inches from the mandrake root as he clicked a button on his goggles. Three magnifying lenses slid into place over his right eye, making his already intense gaze comically enormous.

Carefully, Lucian cut a square out of the center of the mandrake root and poured the potion into the hollow opening. The liquid seeped into the root, filling the small cavity to the brim. The mandrake absorbed the potion like a sponge, its surface glowing with soft, purple light.

Lucian’s hand shot straight into the air. “Professor.” 

Drovak paused beside our workstation. “What is it, Mister Darkona?”

“We are ready to perform the animation spell,” Lucian stated firmly. 

Drokav’s lip curled. “Darkona, I know you’re exceptionally gifted, but this takes even the brightest students multiple classes before they can—”

With a confident smirk, Lucian drew his wand. He gave it a flick and whispered the incantation, “anə-māt.”

The potion inside the mandrake began to bubble. Then, the root trembled and its carved legs twitched. Slowly, the mandrake rose from the table, its movements clumsy but unmistakably alive. It took two unsteady steps, its tiny form swaying as if learning to walk for the first time. The class watched on, stunned, eyes wide all around us.

The mandrake wobbled, attempting a third step before it faltered and collapsed back onto the table with a thud, returning once more to its motionless state.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the last faint bubbles popping in the root’s hollow.

A rare look of genuine astonishment crossed Professor Drokav’s face.

“Phenomenal! I’ve never seen a student get a mandrake walking during the first week, let alone the first day. Congratulations, Mister Darkona.” Drokav’s gaze drifted around the room, lingering especially long on Owen, Wiley,  Ferula, and their charred mandrake. “Let Mister Darkona’s performance today be an example to all of you talentless brats.”

Yet despite his clear victory, Lucian seemed to be in a foul mood when we left the potion’s room at the end of class. It was as if a storm cloud had settled over his head, his gaze dark and brooding as he stormed through the hallway.

“Uh, is something wrong?” I piped up, trailing after him. “You look super pissed.”

“I could have done better,” Lucian muttered, his fingers tearing through his dark hair. “No, I should have done better.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about? You did the best in the class. And from the look on Professor Drokav’s face, probably the best ever.”

“It’s still not enough!” Lucian snapped. “I’ve been practicing this for months on my own.”

My eyes went wide. “It's illegal to practice something as dangerous as animation without a professor present until we graduate.”

Lucian just gave me a long, strange look. “So what if it is?”

Before I could process what the hell that exceedingly cryptic statement meant, the clocktower rang, a thunderous chorus of bells that nearly shook the ground beneath us, ringing through the halls. 

“Well,” Lucian said, his voice low, “time for our next class.”

Without another word, he took off down the corridor, leaving me standing there with a million questions swirling in my head. One thing was certain, though—he was up to something. 

Which meant it was up to me to stop him.