The alchemists’ journey begins with Liquid Force. Imbuement of raw force magic onto alchemical water results in an extremely volatile solution, which can then be placed into a shattering vial to create a portable force spell. It is a good introductory potion, as the only ingredients are alchemical water and magic. Originally made by-

Gibet skips over a few hundred pages, skimming the textbook every twenty pages or so. Upon concluding that it was mostly a historical text rather than a practical recipe book, he tosses it behind him into his fireplace and opens the drawer directly to his right. He pulls the Tudor potion recipe glossary and flips to the section for beginner potions. Liquid force is a strictly beginner level potion, and is generally introduced as an exercise to get one used to handling the basic alchemical tools. Things like how to use a burner, types of cauldrons, and how to use thermometers. He had skipped the class because all these things were taught to him by the time he could walk.

He chooses to use that extra time to visit the student supply depot, which has just officially opened. Although he’s mostly limited to small amounts of basic ingredients, he’s able to flaunt his family name to get a bit more of both quantity and quality compared to what his classmates might be able to find. He stockpiles everything he can, making whatever he can with his current inventory. The normal concoctions he liked to carry around needed ingredients that were only found in the private gardens back home, so he downgrades them into the more generic potions found in the academy texts.

By the time he finishes brewing, the sun was setting and he could hear the chatter of students walking the streets down below. Two students walk into the dorm just as he’s putting away his new stash of potions. The taller one moves over to him, a slight growl coloring his voice from frustration.

'Seriously? Again? Are you ever going to go to classes or are you planning to spend the entire year holed up brewing potions on your own? You do realize that a lot of the professors go over subjects that aren’t part of the texts right?'

A set of notes written in immaculate handwriting are handed to him. Sieva the orc prefect, upon realizing that he had no intention of going to classes after the mandatory orientation, had decided to take on the job of trying to convince him to start going to class. He wouldn’t succeed, but Gibet is reluctantly impressed at just how neat and concise the notes are. He lets him have the lunch that Bedivere gives him each time he stops by as compensation. The exchange of food to notes complete, Sieva stomps off to the kitchen to eat his prize. The smaller student leans down to him, smiling in exasperation.

'Gibet, won’t you at least try attending some of the courses? Offensive alchemy is going to start having dueling sessions soon, and I heard you get prizes if you win! Doesn’t that sound like something worth going to?'

Lily was his roommate. A small, stocky pineling that made her home in the walls of his dorm. Or was she in fact the dorm itself? He’s never seen a pineling until he started coming to school here, as the trees back home were artificially grown (and therefore soulless) to match the precise aesthetic desired by the Tudor house. The stumpy little being was also still rather young, so her explanations about herself weren’t particularly clear. What he had gathered so far was that pinelings tended to lack an understanding certain social concepts like gender (she technically didn't have a gender, but liked the way dresses looked and so had made herself one out of leaves and named herself lily), family, individuality, and most annoyingly, privacy.

As pinelings were one with the forest, Lily was also one with the tree that made up his dorm. She would often literally pop through a wall to bother him when she wanted to talk. Sometimes, he would be using the restroom or changing when this happens, and she would not understand why he didn’t want her doing it. Though willing to leave, she was also unable to comprehend the difference between a situation where it was acceptable to walk in and one where it wasn’t. She also couldn’t knock, as she wasn’t entirely in control of her body yet at her current age. Attempts to do so would result in her unintentionally merging back into the tree. For now, they had decided to have her materialize outside her room and just yell his name until he either answered or she grew tired. (Sometimes she just yelled, because she still found speaking to be somewhat awkward, especially when yelling, so meaningless noise was just easier to make.)

'That’s what I’ve been preparing for. The free battles are going to start next week, so I’m brewing a stockpile in preparation for it.'

'Free battles? Aren’t those only available to second years and up?'

'I’m going to see if I can get an apprenticeship so that I can go in as a first year.'

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His current hope was to catch the eye of a teacher and get placed into an apprenticeship, thus turning 6 years of schooling into around 3, maybe even less if he managed to show enough competency. The sooner he could get his brewing license, the sooner he could leave home to make a name for himself away from the stifling presence of the matriarch and the rest of his extended family.

Gibet stretches his shoulders and stands up. As he grabs his now full satchel of potions, he lets himself get away with one smirk of self confidence. Most of the potions he had made were well above the skill level of a first year. It was both his supplies for the free battle classes and also a portfolio to show himself off to the professor who would soon take him up as an apprentice. Given how advanced some of these potions were, he couldn’t foresee anything but a fast track to apprenticeship coming his way.

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All of his well placed plans and pre-prepared responses are burning into ash right in front of his face, and it's all because of this one stupid, bull-headed professor with way too much curiosity and a tendency to ask uncomfortably insightful questions.

Gibet shifts in his seat and tries to wipe the sweat from his forehead as discreetly as he can. Signora was an unassuming little old lady with a bed of white hair that looked like steel wool. She wore light blue robes with modest golden embroidering along the sleeves, and was prim and proper and neat in a way that reminded him of the rich pampered nobles who pretended to study at the academy but were really just partying and hoping to graduate on the donations of their parents (none of them ever did).

When he had first approached her, he had taken her to be a pampered grandma that he could easily sway with a few backhanded compliments and some bullshit about wanting to work hard for his family. It wasn’t until he was seated in the office in front of all of her military medals that he realized that she was a veteran of the battle at Hakobyan’s gulf, and then she had latched onto him like a snake onto an injured rat and never let go. The fact that she was severely hunchbacked and squinted up at him from a booster seat didn’t really do that much to calm his nerves at the moment.

'Mr. Gibet, you seem to be under the impression that free dueling is some kind of fast pass designed for those who have enough spare potions hidden in their closets to show off and graduate early.'

'Let me first make clear that apprenticeships are normally designed so that foreign exchange students who have already started on the curriculum of some separate academy can be better guided to not waste time on classes that are either too advanced or too simple. The standard 6 year curriculum offered to normal students is not something you can just bypass because you believe yourself to be slightly ahead of your peers, and the last time a freshman was taken as an apprentice was a whole decade ago at the start of the war. Tell me, do you even know what you plan to specialize in?'

He didn’t, but at least this question was one he came with a suitably impressive sounding answer to.

'Hybrid grafting.'

'I see. An impressive choice, given how new and cutting edge the field is. Any particular reason as to why?'

'I’d like to replace extinct species, maybe bring certain older Tudor family recipes back into circulation for my family.'

'Have you thought about who you wish to seek an apprenticeship with?'

'…Ansel'

'Ansel used to work in grafting, but he switched to researching recipe optimization three years ago when he got a grant to do so with the royal court. There are plenty of other hybrid grafting specialists here, so why didn’t you choose any of them?'

'I… only wanted to work with the best. Ansel might not be in the field anymore, but his work is easily the most significant…'

Signora’s eyes gleam when he says that. She leans back into her chair and signs, and he knows then and there that he fucked up.

'A reasonable answer Mr. Gibet… only, Ansel’s contributions to hybrid grafting aren’t actually all that impressive. Our university is an old one, and we specialize in the more traditional subjects. If you were really as invested in the field as you say, why didn’t you apply to one of the newer schools over in the Sea of Lilies?'

'Let me take a guess at what actually led to your ‘interest’ in grafting. You looked at our academic pamphlets, which really should be updated by the way, they’re almost four years old at this point, and then you picked the fanciest, newest, most impressive sounding field of alchemy you could find. You then used Ansel because his face was plastered on the front page of the portion introducing said field. You don’t actually know what your end goal is, do you?'

The mix of shame and embarrassment burns hot. He keeps his eyes firmly rooted to the painting on the wall behind Signora, because this is starting to feel suspiciously like the lectures he gets from the Matriarch and he knows that looking her in the eye only exposes his own weakness all the more. He hears Signora sigh, along with the clink of a porcelain teacup against the table.

'Forget about the apprenticeship for now, Mr. Gibet. Instead, how about showing up to the first year controlled dueling class tomorrow? As the coordinator for your grade level, I’m sure I can at least begin working something out for you if you manage to showcase your skills out there?'

He briefly hears something that sounds like sympathy in her voice, and decides that he hates it. He gets up and nods at her before leaving her office at a significantly faster than walking pace. As he walks, he lets the embarrassment from earlier morph itself into a ball of anger and determination. She wanted him to prove himself?

Fine.