"I swear," Marley heaved, sweat dripping down her face. "If you only packed books and no clothes, I'm going to kill you."

Rowan's heart pounded in his chest as he waddled up the marbled steps of Argentum Station backward—named for Marley's great-grandmother Millie, one of the legendary alchemists who forged the nation's railways—in a sweat-covered button-down and slightly oversized pants only held up by a pair of suspenders. His fingers ached as he clutched onto his one and only suitcase that would accompany him on his journey. "There's dirt in it too," he said. “Dirt?!” Marley shouted, slamming her end of the suitcase down on the stairs. She adjusted her grease-covered overalls and pulled back her purple locs into a ponytail. “Who the hell packs dirt?”

A tinny voice echoed next to them, sounding from one of the many tall metallic automatons lining the stairwell. “Please, do not hinder the flow of traffic. Proceed up the stairs.”

Argentum Station was packed, and even though they kept closer to the line of automatons than the rest of the crowd, their momentary stop on the stairwell had already resulted in three shoulder checks from passing people.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Marley grumbled, yanking up the suitcase and begrudgingly walking up the stairs.

“It’s a botanical thing,” Rowan said, finding purchase on the last step up onto the platform.

“What?” Marley asked, pushing through the last few steps. Immediately, she let go of her end, and the wheels bounced on the solid stone with a loud clunk.

They paused for a moment, catching their breath before weaving through the crowd of people in various forms of dress. Although newly built, Argentum Square quickly became the hub of Neosilica, providing the fastest transportation to some of the farther-reaching cities and villages. All that meant to Rowan was more people in his way as the two of them settled under the sign for Platform 3, the exact spot Dean Vayu had instructed him to wait.

“It makes alchemy easier,” Rowan said, holding the stitch that had formed in his side. “Botanical alchemists get accustomed to local dirt. For all I know, they’re sending me off to the coast, and I doubt they considered the time it takes to acclimate to a region’s soil composition. So, I brought dirt.”

Marley elbowed him before leaning up against the smooth marble wall. “You better take care of yourself. You hear me? If it’s two months in and I’m not hearing about some boy you’re chasing after, then don’t come whining to me because you only have two pairs of dirt-covered clothes.”

“What?” Rowan said, spreading his arms wide, showing off the various lines of dirt that had already found their way into his clothes. “The rustic plant-daddy vibes don’t do it for you?”

Marley snorted, “Plant daddy? More like sprout twink, if you’re asking me.”

“Hey, who are you calling a sprout twink, my little grease mommy?” Rowan retorted, falling into a fit of laughs.

“I’m going to miss this,” Marley said after the laughter died down. “You got your ticket?”

“No,” Rowan said. “The dean said he was sending someone to meet me.” Rowan watched people pass by, eyeing people with significantly smaller luggage hopping onto a large two-story train, crafted by the finest metallurgical alchemists to travel up to the far north. A knot formed in his stomach, and he looked down.

Marley bumped shoulders with him. “It’ll be fine. You said it’s a week north of here, right? I mean, I’m visiting, obviously. As soon as I get a break from this internship.”

“Hold up,” Rowan said, a smile stretching across his face. “It’s official?”

Marley stood straighter and cleared her throat. “Yep. You’re looking at the newest employee of Titanium Innovations, the shinier and better version of Steelwright Industries.”

“When were you going to tell me? Congratulations!” Rowan dove in, wrapping arms around her, taking in the acrid scent of burnt metal and grease.

Marley grunted and wriggled free from his bear hug. “I just found out this morning. You were caught up in—”

“Rowan Mosswood?” a gruff voice said behind him, cutting Marley off.

Rowan turned and came face to chest with a tall, broad-shouldered man adorned in a deep blue uniform with gold cording and the crest of Flamel University embroidered on the chest.

“Uh, yes?” Rowan said.

The man held out a train ticket and a sealed, cream-colored envelope. “Courtesy of Dean Vayu.” He nodded to the double-decker train. “Better board, they’re leaving soon.”

“Uh, thanks,” Rowan said, taking the ticket and envelope from the man. “What’s in the—” he started, but before he could finish, the man turned and vanished into the sea of people.

“Well, bye,” Marley shouted after the man. She turned and pulled the ticket from Rowan’s hands. “So, where is it? Are they putting you on some beach?” After a long pause, she looked up. “Frostfern Valley?”

“Where the hell is Frostfern Valley?”

“Second to last stop,” Marley said, squinting at the ticket. “Somewhere in the Ferra Mountains.”

Rowan spun around, eyeing a large map with a red line trailing up and into the coast. On it was one tiny dot way up in the mountains, spread far apart from the other stops. “That’s the middle of nowhere! Are you serious?”

Marley handed him back the ticket. “Yep, and they put you up front. Better get some earplugs.”

A horn sounded, echoing loudly onto the platform.

Rowan looked over at the train, then back at Marley. “Well. I guess this is goodbye?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Marley said, diving in for a hug. “It’s just a year. And I’ll come visit. I promise. Even if it’s a five-day ride.”

“You’re right, it’s just a year,” he squeezed her back.

“You’ll do great, Mosswood,” she said, grabbing him by the shoulders. “And if you don’t, and you destroy Frostfern Valley with another one of your sentient fungus stunts, I’ll be sure to make you look good in your biography.”

Rowan laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Any time.”

He gripped his suitcase, giving Marley a last wave before starting toward the train.

It loomed over him, the fine, dark, metallic train glimmering in the sunlight. A conductor automaton, dressed in full garb with a deep red woolen three-piece suit, took his ticket and helped him heft his suitcase onto the train. Inside, the floor was carpeted with the same deep red, and the corridors were lined with rich mahogany paneling, contrasting the cold metallic exterior.

Rowan navigated through a few cars until he reached the front, stopping at sleeper car 1A tucked right at the front of the car. As he slid the door open, he saw just how small the room was, with a bunk that would cause him to sleep in the fetal position across from a small drop-down wooden table that would only work if he sat hunched over on the bed.

The sharp scent of burning coal wafted into his room, a strong undertone that intertwined with the pleasant woody smell of a newly furnished train that Rowan could get used to.

Atop his bed were two packaged earplugs, which Rowan promptly stuffed into his ears as the churning engine rumbled his room. He tucked his suitcase underneath his bed and leaned in toward the small window, looking over heads until he spotted the purple hair in the crowd. He waved, eventually catching Marley’s gaze, and she waved back, sending him a kiss in the air.

The train whistle blew one last time, and the train started its slow churn away from the station.

Rowan’s chest tightened, and his neck grew hot. This was really happening, and this would be his home for the next five days. Then what? Frostfern Valley? What would even be there waiting for him? Would he fit in?

He slowed his breathing, and his eyes fell on the envelope, still sealed with a wax imprint and the crest of Flamel University.

He cracked it open and dumped the contents out onto the table. Aside from a letter, a few stacks of crisp banknotes and an ornate brass key with an intricate leaf design clattered onto the desk.

He’d packed everything he had in his suitcase, including what little money he had to hold him over until he found himself a job. But now, with the money in front of him, he wouldn’t need one. At least, not for a while.

He quickly stuffed the banknotes into the envelope and wedged it beside his suitcase. Something for him to worry about later.

He looked over the letter and read:

Dear Mr. Rowan Mosswood,

I trust this letter finds you earnest and prepared as you embark on your postgraduate studies. First and foremost, I must reiterate that you are traveling as a representative of Flamel University, and all future certifications and degrees for your studies will depend on how you represent our fine establishment.

We have assigned you to study the depletion of magic in the northern expanse, in the small town of Frostfern Valley. We at the university have been aware of this depletion, even studying it a decade prior, but funding for the previous research halted. Anonymous donors have provided the funding for the research due to Neosilica’s industry’s interest in expanding infrastructure and connectivity.

Enclosed in this envelope is your first quarterly stipend for your year-long study. Additional payments will follow, pending your monthly reports. You will also find a brass key. The previous researcher in Frostfern Valley owned a greenhouse and laboratory just outside the city. While the town has honored our agreement to preserve the property's ownership, the building has stood vacant for a decade. Though we've allocated funds for basic maintenance over the years, I cannot speak to the current state of the structure—I suspect you may need to dedicate some of your stipends to necessary repairs.

We expect updates on the status of your research on a monthly basis. We would like to know if there is any biological correlation between the natural ebb and flow of magic in the north and how to predict, leverage, or potentially restore balance. All tests, methods, procedures, new alchemical discoveries, and field notes will be returned to the university for review.

At the end of your studies, we will grant you an opportunity to publish your findings in the Journal of Alchemical Arts.

Mr. Mosswood, I have the utmost confidence in your abilities and look forward to your findings. May your work in Frostfern Valley be a testament to the profound relevance of botanical alchemy in our world today.

With warm regards,

Dean Vayu

Flamel University

Grand Alchemist of the Ethereal Arts

Rowan leaned back in his chair. Publication in the Journal of Alchemical Arts? He could hardly believe it. His mind wandered to the great alchemists whose work filled those pages—masters who chose their own paths, who pursued whatever called to them rather than chasing after whatever paid the bills. Maybe someday he could have that kind of freedom, choosing his own research like Dean Vayu instead of scrambling for whatever would take a botanical alchemist.

He looked out the window, his heart racing as the city melted into the countryside.