It seemed that Olirian, however, didn’t recognise him. Instead, he’d only glanced at Ascion momentarily, before returning to whatever book he’d been reading with a sullen expression. It made sense – Ascion had been concealing himself from view at the time, merely tugging on the strings of the Net from a distance.

Still… well, Ascion knew better than to feel guilty about his role in whatever it was that had led Olirian Caltrus to now be part of Camp Six. Pity and guilt were what got people killed. What was more important was that this had the potential to grow very wrong, very quickly, if Caltrus ever figured out his involvement in his House’s fall into destitution.

“Naudin, I’ll leave Ascion with you.” Polinas addressed the one who had been the most enthusiastic among them. “Get introductions out of the way, and answer whatever questions he may have about Camp Six.”

“Yes, sir.”

A final nod from Polinas, and he left with the sound of steady footsteps fading into the corridor. Now, Ascion was left alone with the seven others he would be spending his days with for the foreseeable future.

“Ascion, right?”

Naudin stood a full head taller than Ascion, with powerful-looking musculature in stark contrast to his own average frame. Despite that, however, he smiled brightly, posture open in invitation as he stepped over toward Ascion. Like everyone else in the Camps, they wore identical garments onto which the emblem of the Azenar Empire – the alchemical symbols for salt, mercury and sulfur conjoined and woven into a single sigil – had been embroidered.

“Name’s Naudin. You’re First-Gen, yeah?” Despite phrasing it as a question, he clearly didn’t intend for Ascion to answer, because he continued speaking. “Me too, and so’s Junia. Captain Polinas as well, actually. Glad that you’re joining us.”

Ascion wasn’t used to dealing with people like Naudin. He was overly cheerful, perhaps bordering on naïve. In his previous line of work, that tended to get you betrayed, killed, or otherwise taken advantage of. For a Mundane to have such an attitude… well, it probably meant that Naudin grew up in a vastly different situation from Ascion’s own.

“I’m a Shaper,” Naudin continued speaking, not bothered in the slightest by Ascion’s scrutiny, airing his thoughts without a filter. “Brute, really. Glad you’re with us.”

Being a Brute certainly explained his physical characteristics. Long usage of mercury had altered Ascion’s perception of time, heightening it to levels beyond what Mundanes were capable of, even when he had no access to mercury. For Brutes, who empowered their bodies with salt to increase the force of their blows, it was no surprise that Naudin had such an impressive physique.

While Shapers were the most common of all the three primary branches of Alchemists, underestimating their effectiveness in combat would be a costly mistake. Ascion had no doubt that a single salt-reinforced punch from Naudin could shatter bones, if not outright kill him.

Ah, right. It was his turn to speak, now. It had been some time since he’d really been part of a group that wasn’t bound together by the shared interest of financial recompense, and then never to speak again after their burglary was concluded. It was going to take some time to get used to his new situation.

“Ascion,” he introduced himself cautiously, in response to Naudin’s questioning look. The smile on his face widened. “Spinner.”

“A Spinner?” he burst out excitedly. “Sweet! That makes two in our group! Hey Cara, did you hear that? Ascion’s a Spinner too!”

In the corner of the room, the girl who had dismissed him entirely after Polinas’ dismissal flinched. She glanced at them both momentarily, before Naudin tensed up, his face whitening. Half a second later, she looked away, staring at a blank wall from where she sat on her bed, absolutely motionless.

“Oh shit,” Naudin swore, hissing under his breath. “Spinners… right.” He raised his voice, waving his hands toward Cara. “Sorry! My bad, Cara!”

There was definitely something Ascion was missing here. “Something wrong?”

“Ah…” Naudin turned back to face him, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Well… see, Cara doesn’t really like Spinners much. Gods above, I’m going to have to apologise to her later.”

“Isn’t she a Spinner?”

“Yeah, but…” He made a face, hesitating for a moment, before leaning in closer and whispering in a low tone. “She’s a Vaes.”

Vaes. Ascion knew that name well. House Vaes was the leading family of the City of Vaes, whose lineage stretched back to the time of Ormund the Wise well over twenty generations prior, and now boasted among the largest number of alchemists within any single House.

Heraldry aside, they were also notorious for bringing Torturers into their employ. And after experiencing first-hand the events that had led to him awakening to the Net, and now putrefaction, he suspected he had an idea of just who those Torturers had been targeting.

Even then, why was someone from so prestigious a family here in Camp Six?

“Yeah,” Naudin said with a grimace, reading his expression for what it was. He continued whispering. “Those Vaes. Apparently, the way they churn out as many alchemists as they do is by siccing the Torturers on their own kids. Makes them undergo calcination, dissolution, and putrefaction to try and temper the prima materia and make them enter the nigredo stage. They keep the good ones, and just let the rest of them die. Sick bastards.” His voice rose in anger. “Cara’s the exception. They got a Spinner like they wanted, but after what the Torturers did to her… well, she just wasn’t the same. Too useful to be killed, but not good enough for their family, and so they send her here.”

Influence and power. For the greater Houses in the Azenar Empire, there was no strict monitoring and enforcement of what went on inside them. So long as they didn’t threaten to overrule the Emperor himself, anything was allowed. House rivalries were even encouraged, in the hopes that it would spur alchemists to progress through the four stages. Such a lack of curation was why Ascion had been so successful in his burglaries in the past, up until the point where the Hound of Azenar had deduced his identity as a third party and finally put a stop to him.

He knew the rumours, but hadn’t guessed that the truth was that much worse. Spreading the truth about what was going on behind House Vaes’ closed doors wouldn’t change much, however – the vast majority of the population were Mundane, and they had their own share of troubles. No one would lift a finger to help, as pitiable as their situation was.

“Yeah.” Naudin brought that matter to a close, swiftly and determinedly changing the subject. “She’s a Hypnotist, which makes it worse for her. Sees it happen again and again in her head. Give her some time, okay?”

Hypnotists had influence over memory, hearing, and language. Having that in combination with a past exposed to the Torturers could not be pretty. Ascion nodded.

“Good, good,” Naudin said. “She’s still afraid every time she sees Alchemist Polinas, even though he’s nothing like the Torturers that the Vaes use –“

“Polinas is a Torturer?”

Naudin startled at the sudden interruption from Ascion. “Soother,” he stressed quickly, defending the Captain. “He’s not a sick bastard like the rest of them. He actually gives a damn about us.”

Torturers, Soothers; two different sides of the same coin, just as how Willsappers were also known as Plotters. They could give pain, and also take it away. Now that he knew that Polinas was a Torturer, Ascion definitely needed to make sure he did not become the target of the Alchemist’s ire.

“What sort of Spinner are you, anyway?” Naudin asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Don’t really have a name for it. Chronologist, Timekeeper, Metronome, take your pick.”

Naudin frowned. “Can’t say I’ve heard of any of those before. You’re, what, extra good with time?”

“Yeah.”

Naudin waited a full 4.94 seconds for him to continue with the explanation, but none was forthcoming. He frowned, but didn’t comment any further.

“Well, I’ll introduce the others to you, then.” He pointed them out one by one, beginning with the beds closest to the door. “Tarin Opilio – he’s a Weaver, Second-Gen unlucky enough to be born as the third child, but at least he’s here in Camp Six. Hey Tarin, say hi!”

The boy had been listening in to their conversation, but hadn’t made the move to actively join in. Uncertain brown eyes had been glancing at them as they spoke. In all other respects, he seemed utterly average, plain and unremarkable. Under Naudin’s encouragement, he gave a slow wave, that Ascion returned with equal hesitation. Naudin moved on.

“That’s Junia – First-Generation, like us. She’s a Weaver, too.”

Taking that as her cue, she made her way over to where they stood just by the doorway, between her and Tarin’s beds. “Nice to meet you.”

Despite her words, her dark eyes were calculative, sizing him up as though trying to determine whether he was a threat. Now this was what he was more used to. As a fellow First-Generation, she most likely grew up surrounded by Mundane, and so her experiences were probably more in line with what he’d been through than the others in the room. Naudin didn’t count; as far as Ascion was concerned, he was an oddity.

“You too.”

“Great!” Encouraged, Naudin continued on, moving down the next set of beds. “Olirian Caltrus,” he said, pointing to the boy who still stubbornly read his books. “Oi, Olirian! I know you can hear me! Say hi!”

Well, this was awkward. Here he was, knowing exactly who Olirian was, even though they hadn’t officially met in the past.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

He stubbornly continued reading his book, facing away from them, and all that they could see was the side-view of his mop of blonde hair. Naudin’s strained smile faltered.

“Olirian’s a Shaper,” he explained, facing Ascion instead. “A Twitch. He’s, uhh… having a bit of a rough time at the moment. You’ve heard about the Caltrus burglary?”

Yup, like he said: awkward. Twitches were Shapers that had highly enhanced senses, and therefore had been the biggest obstacle back during the Caltrus heist. Ascion had taken him out of the equation by targeting him when the family had been out in the market, shifting his inner rhythms to make him desire to take an afternoon nap that instead became a long slumber, which therefore allowed Ascion and his five fellow burglars to steal all of House Caltrus’ valuables.

“I have.”

“Yeah. Blames himself for what happened to his House,” Naudin whispered, although from the way that Olirian tensed up, his hands turning white as he gripped at his book, Ascion knew that he heard Naudin all the same. Very impressive, considering he wasn’t even using salt. “They were Third-Gen, and so he didn’t need to come to the Camps… but he joined up anyway, in exchange that the Empire agreed to help restore his family. He’s a real good guy.”

Despite himself, Ascion felt a transient wave of shame, before it was suppressed entirely less than a half-second later. Noble sentiments were for better men than himself.

“Sounds unfortunate,” he said diplomatically.

“Yeah,” Junia agreed. “Hope the bastard that ruined his House gets caught soon.”

Sooner than you think. “Hopefully.”

“Mmm…” Naudin made a sound absentmindedly, as he looked around the room, before waving someone over. “Hey, Alys! Come on over!”

The girl had a thin build, but was in no way frail or weak. Back in Gyld’s crew before it had been dissolved, someone like her would have been assigned as a runner. Jet-black hair fell to her shoulders, and she flashed an easy-going smile much like Naudin’s own as she bounded over with quick steps.

“Hey,” she greeted. “Alys Sylvestre. Ascion, right?”

Sylvestre… if he remembered correctly, they were a Third-Generation House that had been fairly unremarkable back in Synnar. At one point, they had been on his list of consideration for potential future targets, but dismissed them because they had been too minor a power to be worth the trouble.

Curious that another Third-Gen was here in the Camps, but it didn’t seem to yet be the time to question her on that.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Heard this moron call you a Spinner, earlier.” She jabbed a finger into the side of Naudin’s thick ribs, and he winced. “You idiot,” she hissed. “You better apologise to Cara later.”

“Of course!” he hurriedly agreed, not wanting to draw her ire any longer.

“Good.” She nodded firmly, before returning to address Ascion. “I’m a Shaper. A Burst, to be exact.”

Now those were interesting, and certainly explained her build. Unlike Brutes like Naudin, who relied on pure muscular strength, Bursts instead raised their speed to ridiculous levels. He’d never seen one in action before, but Ascion wondered how that would factor in with his own Metronome powers.

“You already know about Cara,” Naudin said, continuing on. All that was left was the other boy, sitting on the bed opposite Cara’s at the far end of the room. “That’s Rennir… and don’t freak out, but he’s from House Adnet.”

Despite the warning, Ascion started with surprise for a tenth of a second.

Adnet.

If Vaes was an illustrious House, the Adnets exceeded even that. They were the right hand of the Emperor, second in power within Azenar City itself, and their ancestry stretched back to the time when the Empire had been founded. And like all problems allowed to fester, they’d grown large enough that internal factions had developed within their own House, culminating in several conflicts over the past decades.

Forget the Vaes, what was an Adnet doing in Camp Six?!

“Why –“

“He’s an Inciter,” Junia whispered gently, already anticipating the question. “That’s why he’s here.”

An Inciter.

“They actually exist?”

He’d only heard of one of them before – Ristwald the Black, who had almost overthrown the Azenar Empire two centuries ago, and until now, Ascion and most Mundanes had believed him to be solely unique in his gift. He hadn’t quite been a Shaper or a Spinner, but instead used both salt and mercury simultaneously. Equally, it had meant that there was no defence from his blend of both Spinning and Shaping, allowing him to spin the complex web of politics as he had done.

“Yeah,” Naudin affirmed, his voice falling to a whisper. “Exactly as the rumours go. He sees the Net completely differently from us… humours, or something like that. Yellow bile, black bile, red blood, and phlegm. He changes moods like a Spinner might, makes people feel things they really don’t, except it’s based on both body and mind. It’s almost impossible to detect. You’ll see, once Captain Polinas starts us on group exercises.”

Ascion could appreciate just what kind of potential that held, after experiencing Ventus’ Willsapping first-hand. If an Inciter could alter mood and affect, change motivations and personality at will, without their targets even realising they had been meddled with… well, that explained how Ristwald the Black had almost caused Azenar to collapse from within.

Considering not only the internal politics within the House, but also how an Inciter may threaten the state of affairs in Azenar, Ascion could see why the family would quietly send Rennir Adnet to Camp Six, where he could fade away into obscurity. There was no need to risk themselves being subject to his Inciting without themselves even realising it.

“He’s really nice, though,” Naudin defended, reading his silence as apprehension. “In fact, he’s the nicest person you could ever meet! He’s so afraid of using his Inciter powers that he asks for permission during combat practice!”

“He helps out with Cara when it gets especially challenging for her too,” Alys added quietly. “Just thinking about the both of them… I hope House Vaes and Adnet get what they deserve.”

That declaration coming from a Third-Generation surprised him. Back in the cities, no alchemist would openly say something like that about any of the old families.

Silence held for 2.43 seconds.

“Well, now you know about us,” Naudin said, shrugging. “Junia and I, we get how confusing it must be getting into all this alchemy business as a First-Gen, so feel free to talk to us any time. Gods, I still remember how it was like three months back when the Net first manifested.”

“You’ve only been a Shaper for three months?”

Juvia and Naudin exchanged looks at that. “Yeah…” Naudin said, drawing out the word, a new spark of interest in his eyes. “Juvia’s been a Weaver for two. The Empire only managed to assign us to Camp Six a couple weeks back.” He tilted his head to one side. “What about you?”

There didn’t seem to be any harm in telling them. Abyss below, maybe they’d be able to help answer some of his questions surrounding alchemy, considering that what knowledge he had stitched together was based only off his own experiences, rumours on the streets, and old fairytales. He avoided trying to think too much about it before since he wanted to lie low, but that was no longer an area of consideration. The more knowledge he had, the better.

“Three years.”

“Three years?” Naudin burst out, coughing. Off to one side, Olirian twitched, and Tarin, who’d been eavesdropping the entire time, snapped to look at him. “Wait, aren’t you First-Gen? Why weren’t you sent to the Camps before?”

“I hid, obviously,” Ascion said, annoyed at his outburst that had drawn attention from several of the others in the room. Something nagged at him. “How’d you get caught, anyway? Don’t tell me you volunteered?”

“Well…” He scratched at his cheek. “Kind of? See, there was one day back in Onarant when a carriage had been about to hit old man Philip, and I kind of just moved without thinking…”

Ascion stared flatly at him, who was obviously embarrassed as he recounted his story. “Yeah. Pretty hard to hide a Brute’s strength, so I volunteered right there and then. At least that way they’ll make sure mum and dad are taken care of.” Naudin gestured at Juvia, flustered. “Besides, I’m not the only one! She signed up, too! It’s not just me!”

She shrugged. “No way to hide a Weaver’s ability. Besides, it’s not too bad in the Camps, and they let you go back home from the frontlines every now and then.”

“Yeah! I mean, once we get back, we’ll be able to set up Houses of our own too! The salt trade’s good and all, but I don’t want to carry on mum and dad’s business forever, y’know?”

So Naudin’s parents were salt traders. That certainly explained why he behaved differently from most Mundanes: with how prized all the three Primordial substances were, even the least valuable of the three could give anyone a stable income.

“Never mind them, how’d you get caught?” Tarin’s curiosity finally gave out, and he sat on the edge of his bed, now joining in fully with the conversation. “You’re telling me you’ve been a prima for three years and no one ever found out?”

That was venturing into dangerous territory. Certain aspects of his past he’d have to keep hidden, but the best lies were always those that comprised only of the truth. Give them a big enough distraction, and they’d fail to ask the questions they should be asking.

“Ventus Haran found me.”

“The Hound of Azenar?” Naudin asked incredulously. “The Willsapper himself?”

“Yeah.” He winced at the memory. More than likely, the others in Group Three thought of their encounter as being similar to Ventus’ hunting down of a rogue alchemist running from the Camps, rather than the laying of a trap for a serial criminal as it actually was. “Don’t suppose any of you know what putrefaction is?”

That garnered a reaction. The four who were actively part of the conversation glanced at each other. “You’ve undergone putrefaction, Ascion?” Naudin asked cautiously.

“Crazy black threads, messed up senses and all?” he said. “Yeah. It’s what Ventus Haran called it, at least. Spontaneous putrefaction or something. Polinas said something about introducing foreign elements to the prima materia?”

Alys nodded. “That’s the gist of it. Mind, body, and soul accumulates new elements all the time, but they can’t be used immediately. You need to go through calcination – heating of the prima materia – in order to let them develop, before decomposing and releasing them during putrefaction. You could also earn them by cibation, conjunction, or fermentation... but I think I’ll leave Instructor Sara to explain those to you.”

She added her last sentence, seeing the confused expression on his face. He’d barely been able to understand the semantics of calcination, that he’d missed the latter half of her explanation. Heating of the prima materia? What did that even mean? Before he had the chance to ask his question, Tarin cut in.

“Wait, doesn’t that make you a nigredo, then?” he asked excitedly. “Man… Cara’s still the only other nigredo here in our group, and, well – you know…”

He trailed off, silenced by a firm glare from Alys. Thankfully, the Hypnotist herself didn’t seem to have heard him, remaining motionless on her bed, probably lost in haunting memories that plagued those with her Spinner gift.

“Don’t sweat the details too much,” Naudin said, shrugging. “Until last week, I didn’t know a thing about calcination, or putrefaction, or cibation, or… well, all of the Twelve Processes, really. Instructor Sara will do a better job explaining them than we can.”

“Are we just ignoring that Ventus Haran made him go through putrefaction?” Tarin spoke. “I mean, sure, we’re all going to have to go through it eventually, but you know it takes some messed up stuff for the prima materia to break apart…”

Unsubtly, he glanced at Cara for 0.126 seconds, his eyes darting back to him an instant later. The remainder of his thoughts were left unsaid.

Naudin grimaced. “Damn. That’s rough, man.”

At least it answered some of Ascion’s questions. He’d been keeping a low profile for three years, and if stress was required for this transition into the nigredo stage by initiation of putrefaction, it made sense that he had suddenly undergone it after he’d been cornered by Ventus. And those additional abilities, and changes to his body that still called out to be used… from what they’d said, it looked like a combination of calcination to develop that potential in his prima materia and then an active stressor to trigger putrefaction were required.

He hadn’t had much in the way of any practical combat or training during that time, but he had three long years to accumulate enough of… whatever it was, that became released during putrefaction.

“Mmm.” He made a noncommittal sound, bringing the matter to a close. “Thanks.”

“Man… if you ever need someone to talk to…” Naudin spoke hesitantly. “We’re all here for you, okay?”

If there was a sign that despite both of them being First-Generations, they couldn’t be further apart, this was it. Ascion would never have done as Naudin was offering – it simply made no sense. Out in the cities, without the power and authority of established Houses, all that Mundane could do was look out for their own interests if they wanted to survive.

“C’mon,” Naudin urged, gesturing to one of the beds. “You should get some rest. Couldn’t have been easy getting to Camp Six. We’ve got classes starting early tomorrow.”

Classes. Activities. Those were things that Ascion hadn’t ever experienced. For as long as he could remember, he’d been tagging along with Gyld and his crew since the time that he was a child. After they disappeared, he’d struck off on his own, relying on his gifts as a Metronome to survive.

The people out in the Camps were drastically different from how he’d imagined them to be like. Naudin, Tarin, Juvia and Alys seemed far too kind for alchemists doomed to fight on the frontlines in the future. Even Cara, Olirian and Rennir weren’t playing the roles of soldiers and killers that would be expected of them in time to come.

Would they remain the same, once their training was concluded?