First, a fresh heat-resistant potion, improved from yesterday's formula. A touch more ironbark resin and he could already feel the consistency stabilizing in the vial.

Next, a pair of strength tonics, thick and slightly bitter-smelling, infused with distilled minotaur moss—a great choice for temporary physical boosts.

Finally, a safety measure: a potion designed to explode into rapidly hardening foam. If things went sideways during testing, it could contain a small fire—or a runaway spell—in a heartbeat.

Crafting came naturally to him. He could eyeball measurements and be almost spot-on every time. Where others might have needed strict ratios, precise scales, and repeated trials, Audree could often feel what was right.

Ina had once told him, "Most alchemists your age blow themselves up a dozen times trying to get the basics down. But you... it's like you're reading recipes you've never seen and still pulling off full-course meals."

He used to think she was exaggerating.

And maybe she was.

He did mess up sometimes.

But still—something about alchemy clicked for him in a way nothing else did. The measurements, the reactions, the combinations—they weren't guesswork. They were instinctual.

He frowned slightly, setting down the foam bomb with a quiet clink.

Because the strange thing was: when it came to anything else—throwing a rock, hitting a target, even guessing the right amount of spice in a soup—he was terrible.

Only alchemy worked like this. Like it was wired into his brain.

And yet... he was just a normal person.

No mana. No keyword. No gifts.

Right?

He stared into the glowing vial for a moment, the little flame beneath it flickering quietly.

Then the bushes rustled behind him, and Leif came hurrying back with an armful of supplies and a breathless grin.

"I got the wood, the hammer, nails—everything!" he said excitedly. "Oh, and some straps from my dad's old tool belt!"

Audree stood, brushing grass off his pants.

"Perfect," he said, pushing the strange thoughts from his mind for now.

"Let's build something completely ridiculous."

And for a long while, the two boys sat under the filtered sun, the sound of carving filling the air with steady scritch-scritch rhythms.

Audree hunched over a piece of wood, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, trying to shape it into the rough design he'd sketched. His knife slipped again, shaving too much off the edge.

"Damn it," he muttered.

This... was not like alchemy.

He was so used to things just working when he focused. Measuring, brewing, adjusting formulas—that came with ease. But woodwork? This was a mess. Half the components he tried to cut came out too small, too slanted, or splintered entirely.

Meanwhile, Leif was across from him, steadily working through pieces of the shoulder mount. He wasn't flawless, but he had a clear rhythm: brace, cut, smooth, inspect. Not perfect—but confident. Fluid.

Audree watched for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.

"So..." he said, drawing out the word. "What's your deal?"

Leif blinked, looking up from the board he was shaping.

"You seem way too good at this for someone doing it 'just because.' And you just happened to show up out of nowhere, take an interest in my work, and have access to exactly the materials I need for my 'project.'" Audree raised an eyebrow. "You're not some priest, or soldier from the capital, here to stop my amazing magical revolution, are you?"

He said it with a crooked smirk—half a joke, half not.

Leif stared, then laughed awkwardly.

"I think you read way too many adventure novels," he said, shaking his head. "No, I'm not a spy. Or a secret agent. Or anything dramatic like that."

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy again.

"I'm the second-oldest of four kids. My mom passed a few years ago, and my older brother's usually helping my dad with the bakery, so... I look after the younger ones a lot."

He returned to shaping a piece of the wood, focusing on the grooves.

"I like making things. Toys, mostly. Little puzzles. Sometimes I carve animal figurines for the kids. I've even tried some metalworking, but I'm not really strong enough to do much of it."

He hesitated, then glanced back up at Audree.

"But... I dunno. You just seemed really cool. And determined. I mean, you're doing magic with a slime on your shoulder. You've always looked kind of intense—like you're thinking about something bigger than the rest of us are."

Leif rambled a bit longer, the words coming in a rush, awkward and unfiltered.

Audree listened, expression unreadable. That little speech sounded a bit more like watching than just seeing someone around town.

It was... kind of unnerving.

But Leif didn't seem dangerous. Or even all that strange, really. Just curious. Eager. Kind of like a lost dog that had decided to follow him home.

Audree sighed and turned back to his warped platform pieces.

He guessed it wouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Just don't mess up the rune channels," he muttered. "Or the slime might end up launching itself into a tree."

Leif grinned. "Got it. Tree-launching: not on today's to-do list."

—-------

The sun had started to dip behind the smokestacks by the time the contraption was finished.

It was crude—hastily nailed wood, uneven straps, and carved runes that weren't exactly symmetrical—but it held together. That was enough.

Audree strapped it onto his shoulder. The platform sat stiffly against his arm, digging in a bit. It wasn't comfortable. It didn't look impressive.

But it worked.

The Vaponea slime, freshly split, was gently mounted onto the runic plate like a crown jewel on a busted throne. It quivered slightly, then settled, its body pulsing in sync with the faint mana lines drawn across the wood.

Audree stood back, eyeing it.

"There's still a lot of refining that needs to happen," he muttered, adjusting the straps. "But for a first prototype? This'll do."

Leif sat nearby, knees pulled to his chest, watching with wide, eager eyes. He didn't say anything—but his excitement was practically vibrating off him.

Audree turned to his spellbook.

The rune circle he'd been sketching was finally done. He dipped his brush in alchemical ink, repainted the faded runes on his arm and across the surface of the slime. The glyphs shimmered faintly.

This was it.

All he needed now was to activate the runes.

He chose a simple water spell. Something soft. Controlled.

Nothing that could blow up the field if things went wrong.

He held the book in front of him, took a breath... and began to chant.

The runes on the contraption sparked to life.

Light flickered across the carvings, crawling like fireflies along the wood.

And then—he felt it.

Something connected.

The link snapped into place.

A wave of energy washed through him—cool, rushing, like standing knee-deep in a fast river.

His body felt different. Stronger. Brighter. Like the air around him had sharpened. This... this had to be what it felt like for mages to channel mana. Not borrowed. Not begged. Power.

He smiled.

Then he began the second part of the chant.

And something shifted.

The mana—supposed to route through the slime and into the spellbook—didn't.

Instead, it surged into him.

The runes on his arm flared, not blue, but green. Sickly. Wrong.

Audree's smile vanished.

"What—"

Before he could finish the thought, the book in his hand erupted in green light. The water spell activated—a sphere of swirling water formed in the air, suspended like a floating tear.

But the slime...

The slime had changed.

Its glow flickered. The brightness in its form dimmed. Then its body destabilized, liquifying rapidly into a trembling puddle.

Audree gasped as he felt a pull.

The mana—its mana—spackled outward like mist, then twisted and sank into his arm, sucked into the glowing runes now burned into his skin.

The sphere of water pulsed.

Grew.

The remaining half of the slime, still whole, let out a high, panicked ripple of sound before bolting—sliding behind Leif's legs and hiding, trembling.

Leif looked stunned.

"What in all the hells is happening?" Audree whispered, staring at the magic-etched limb now brimming with power he hadn't meant to take.

The floating sphere churned above him. Unstable. Swelling.

And Audree felt it.

The echo of a creature he had just killed.