The next day started as usual, if Myrkas could ignore his sore body and repeated lectures by both his worried older sister figure, and his patronizingly smug little one. Something was definitely wrong with that devil-child. Martine Kroush acted way too joyful in front of Myrkas' moans of pain and suffered reprimands. He would have to keep her far away from Master Ranil lest the man taught her his wicked ways.

Soon after breakfast—a satisfying spread of simmered tomatoes and poached eggs over steamed rice—Myrkas was summoned to his uncle's alchemy workshop. It was by far the largest building on the compound. Situated towards the back of the central courtyard, the stone edifice stood tall over the verdant grounds. Vines rose on its walls and flowering bushes guarded the massive hardwood doors. Narrow windows with closed, striated shutters were placed high on the walls. They seemed to be used more for ventilation than anything else.

A cylindrical tower with a domed ceiling climbed at the back of the imposing building. The glass windows over there were made to let light enter, and if Myrkas squinted, he could glimpse some rich fabrics hanging over some of them.

The alchemy workshop was, without a doubt, the jewel of Koriss Hakhmir's estate. No other edifice looked half as grand on the grounds. Although, a case could be made that the actual stars were the gardens themselves, so meticulously cared for by Serni as they were. But by now, Myrkas knew better. The most valuable equipment and ingredients—literal treasures—were all hidden away in his uncle's workshop. Which Koriss guarded as fiercely as a bear did his favoured winter cave.

Myrkas had begun to notice the runes and formation flags hidden in plain sight throughout the grounds. He had not yet asked Koriss for specific details, but Serni had been nice enough to inform the boy of the use of some of them. Most sets served to help the many plants grow, the gardens providing a constant source of reagents for his uncle's work. Runes engraved on walls and the few statues to be found usually pertained to protection and defence against those with malevolent intent, like thieves and conmen.

When he heard that, Myrkas had issues believing they actually did their job. If so, how had Master Ranil entered the grounds without any adverse event? The man oozed wickedness and malevolence. Myrkas had said so to Serni, hinting they should get their protective system checked, only for the gentle and serviceable man to laugh in the boy's face.

A little insulting, even if done without malice. Serni had then proclaimed that Suna Ranil was not as bad a sort as he appeared, a statement Myrkas was not inclined to believe.

Crossing the threshold, Myrkas entered for the first time in his uncle's workshop. Large counters, shelves, and tables divided the otherwise opened space. Some workspace bordered the walls, with a high window and a visibly enchanted chimney directly above. Most others were arrayed in little island clusters, making up L-shaped and opened-square stations.

Various instruments and plants littered the majority of available flat surfaces. The shelves were overflowing. The bare stone floor was stained and burned in more spots than Myrkas was comfortable with. Paper notes, half-opened scrolls, and dented books were scattered all over. One could only hope some kind of organization underlined the ambient chaos. All softly illuminated by darkened skylights, as if a light too intense would destroy the work done here. Which it might, for all Myrkas knew.

Serni carefully led Myrkas through this labyrinth of a workshop towards the back. Over there, a few well-used armchairs, a coffee table, and an unmade bed—of all things—could be found. They were set in the middle of the circular space at the bottom of the rising tower. A tower whose walls were covered with books. Shelves upon shelves of engraved leather covers, ornate scrolls, and even the rare jade slips. The priceless little jade tablets functioned on Qi and acted more as magical data sticks than the more common paper repositories of knowledge.

High above, the dome stood. Its monochromatic mosaics and pale stained-glass openings made for a wonderful sight. Lightly coloured sun rays touched upon the even-spaced mezzanines, reachable through the winding staircase along the wall. Predictably, orchid-like plants and drape-leaved ones were growing throughout, suspended on shelves, rail guards, or complex ropes and pulleys apparatus.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It was a marvel. A library rat's wild fantasy come true. Myrkas finally understood exactly why his uncle spent almost all his time here. It was a sanctuary. A sacred ground for the artful science of alchemy.

"Kassa, come sit. Serni, thank you, you can take your leave," a gruff voice ordered.

Woken from his daydreams, Myrkas shifted his focus to Koriss. The middle-aged man was seated in a high-backed, plush armchair. The burgundy silk of the armrests was a little worn, in need of replacement. Next to him, a side table held the remains of Koriss' breakfast, half-eaten. A large silver samovar was placed in the middle of the wooden coffee table, with a double set of rounded, glass, and silver teacups next to it.

Seeing no other option, Myrkas obeyed. He sat kitty-corner to his uncle, in a faded sage-green sofa. The boy successfully maintained a calm demeanor, despite his rising heart rate and trepidation. He was a guilty convict awaiting his judgment.

Koriss looked at his young nephew for a while. The silence surrounding the man was sharper than usual. It prickled at Myrkas' skin, needling the boy's guilty conscience. The moment stretched, heavy with disappointment and regrets.

Myrkas stared at his hands, restraining himself from fiddling with his nails and cuticles. He kept his body tense to prevent his limbs from shaking. Myrkas had had more than enough time to realize how dumb his plan to "toe the line between life and death in order to gain the ability to sense Qi" was. Shame reddened his dusky cheeks. Gathering his courage, Myrkas took a deep breath and did the only thing he had to: he apologized.

"I'm sorry Master Hakhmir. I was foolish. I did not know how dangerous the city could become at night. I had thought I would be able to learn to sense Qi by taking risks, by testing my skills. I realize how stupid and ill-advised that was. I just wished to progress. To get stronger, better, faster.

"Again, I am very sorry for the trouble I caused. I will not bother you further. I'll stay quiet, I promise. It'll be as if I am not there. I won't disrupt your work."

The boy's vis-a-vis sighed deeply in response. An air of sadness hung around the tall man.

"I should be the one to apologize, Kassa. I didn't even notice you wanted to start cultivating. Didn't think you cared. I thought... since you kept to yourself, did your things, didn't complain, that you were doing fine. Nothing for me to worry about.

"I should have known, should have asked. Made sure you were okay. But with the girl, I thought... thought you didn't need me. The funeral wasn't that long ago. Your soul was mended recently. I should have guessed you'd need my help, at least a little."

Myrkas squirmed in his seat a touch. He did not like deep conversations about feelings. More so with "family" he remembered only in bits and pieces from his scrambled memories. Myrkas could count on his hand—just one—the number of times he had talked for longer than five minutes with Koriss in the past nonats. The boy didn't know him, his supposed father figure. As such, Myrkas had had no expectations. He just felt uncomfortable about the whole thing.

"Master Hakhmir, I... It's okay, you don't, I mean... didn't have to. I'm fine, just made a mistake is all. To be honest, I'm not really sad. I don't really remember my life before, you know. It's quite vague. Mostly feelings and impressions.

"All I want is to get stronger, strong enough to protect Nirsa. To keep her with me. To gain the power to decide my fate. To be someone, be useful, and worthy. Not to have to rely on strangers," Myrkas said with a determined air.

His uncle sighed yet again, louder, his shoulders dropping. The two let the silence grow for a time. Koriss rubbed his face before filling a teacup for each of them. Both took the time to sip the fragrant brew. This small action worked to recenter them a little, the two finding comfort in the common gesture.

They drank their tea in silence. Neither knew how to move on from their discussion.

"Come," finally said Koriss as he stood. "I'm not good at... whatever this is. Parenting and feelings. But cultivation, alchemy—that—I know. I'll teach you both. And stop with the 'Master Hakhmir' thing. I'm your uncle, call me so.

"Understood, Kassa?"

Myrkas smiled, a genuine one, wide and open. On an impulse, he hugged the only uncle he ever had. Awkward in many ways, but warm nonetheless.

"Yes, Uncle."

Tiny grains of sand appeared in all four eyes present in the room. Some sniffles were heard. The sudden sniffle-causing, indoor environmental changes did not last long. A few minutes at most for the bizarre climate phenomenon to resolve. The man and the boy stepped away from one another when it did. Koriss warmly squeezed Mynkas' shoulder as his last comment on the subject.

"Come now, boy, I have something to lend you. And we'll discuss cultivation. It's a good thing. Suna might be a great fighter, but a Master Qi cultivator, he is not. He is too focused on body. Too blessed by his bloodline. His techniques are primitive and risky. Better to follow other, safer ways to grow."