Medurio had waited so long for this. Knowledge poured into him like water into a pot. His hand could not stop moving, it appeared as a blur while jotting down notes. To him It was the only time of day where having a working mind proved beneficial, alchemy class. A time when he actually cared to listen. Because here he did not have to watch old men flap their lips to the tune of the many dead popes and theological vocabulary. Instead, the man who stood at the front of the class was a practitioner of alchemy, the art of combining the tools of men with the power of the gods. A man of taste, Medurio thought. Of intelligence, creativity, and above all, passion.

The classroom was organized so that each row of seats was higher than the last. Long tables stretched across each row, their size allowed students the space to practice alchemy. Tall and thin windows lined the left side of the room, bringing in sunlight to burden the eyes of those nearest. The instructor stood at the front, baton in hand to point at concepts drawn on a wooden board.

Medurio sat at the very front, a seat that he had stolen at the earliest moment. It had originally been claimed by some jaded boy in clergy robes who did not care to resist the theft. Medurio had predicted that reaction. That boy, like many others, highlighted their disinterest through narrow eyes and deep yawns. It was obvious that alchemy had few followers here, in the holy academy meant to train those who would soon become valuable members of the faith. Still, the Holy Order made much use of alchemy and so it remained.

Medurio was by no means enrolled to increase his piety though. Unlike many others, the study of alchemy was his calling.

Faster, Medurio’s hands went. Capturing the instructor’s words with such speed that those around him watched with fearful shock. He had entered a complete state of focus, his only thoughts were those of brewing techniques and apparatuses. It was only when the lecturer came to a halt for the day that he returned to being receptive to the world around him. He breathed heavily as if pulled out of sleep. Only now noticing the uncomforting stares of those nearest to him, he looked back down to notice the impressive work he had just done.

As the rest of the class filed out of the room, Medurio quickly approached the instructor before he could pick up his things. The man now sat behind a large wooden desk, its surface painted white to match the marble floor. He was going to ask the man a question, something that had come to mind in his trance.

“A moment of your time sir,” Medurio politely asked as the instructor wiped the board with a worn rag.

“And who might you be?” the instructor asked with curiosity.

“Medurio Antonius, first year,” he replied briskly.

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“Pleasure meeting, the gods’ grace upon you.”

“Upon you as well.”

The instructor gave him a grand smile. “My my! You sure seem to have a good conscience for this material. I thought for sure that you were reading my mind with how quickly you wrote.

Medurio straightened at the complement, “I am here to learn alchemy sir! Not like the others here who couldn't give a damn.”

The instructor raised a brow and chose to ignore the second half of his comment, “And you choose to come here instead of becoming an apprentice?”

He shrugged, “My family cannot afford to make me an apprentice, it was easier to come here.” A half truth.

The man shook his head, “Such a waste of a good mind. Very well then, what do you need of me?”

“A question, if you have the time.”

The instructor nodded, “Keep it quick.”

Medurio looked at the page where he had written down the question during his tangent, something about brewing. “Can ingredients be substituted for something else, like wine being used for water?”

The instructor silently thought to himself for a moment before standing up and approaching the board. As the man began to jot down examples of his words, Medurio’s eyes wandered toward a battered document on the table. It was yellowed with wear, with small holes scattered about its face. It was too far away to read, and what he could see was symbols of another language.

Is that a sacred text? He thought, as he finally recognized those symbols from the books at his father’s church. At the bottom was a depiction of some liquid inside a bowl. Medurio couldn’t tell what it was, as it was painted with black ink. Given where he was, it had to be an alchemy document. 

Medurio glanced at the instructor, the man was still writing on the parchment and speaking to himself. He’s not looking, He thought with a now beating heart that quickened with each moment. A sudden and uncomfortable grip of greed now filled him. He wanted it, wanted to learn what sort of ancient alchemical knowledge was within it. He wanted it very badly, so badly that his hand involuntarily started reaching for it. Perhaps the instructor forgot he had it? Perhaps he would not mind if it was gone temporarily? His mind was screaming at him, such documents were barred from students for a reason. Their knowledge was forbidden by the gods to those who were not trusted. Sacrilege and thievery. Medurio’s mind was now a cycle of self control and self destruction.

Medurio looked back up again. That instructor seemed to love to listen to his own lectures, enough to not look behind him even once. Just grab the thing, his mind finally decided. With a quick and guilty survey of his surroundings, Medurio snatched it.

The instructor faced the now jittery Medurio with a cool smile. “Did that answer everything?”

“Yes sir!” Medurio spouted with uncontained volume.

“Right then,” The instructor said without noticing the sudden change of demeanor. “God's be with you. Now get going, I am in quite the hurry”

“Yes!” He sputtered. You as well sir! And then he scampered out of the room as if the man would reach out to grab him.