Nyssara placed the leather-bound journal on the table, the pages catching the soft glow of the light crystal. Fendrel leaned forward, squinting at the elaborate diagrams and formulas that filled the yellowed pages. His eyes traced over complex alchemical symbols interwoven with unfamiliar runes and sigils.

The formulas twisted and branched like roots, connecting elements he'd never seen combined before. Circles of power intersected with molecular structures, and glyphs wrapped around traditional brewing methods. His heart sank as he realized he couldn't make sense of any of it.

The bitter truth hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn't special - just a failed alchemist who got lucky with a parasite. Everything he'd accomplished these past months, every successful brew, every precise measurement - it wasn't his skill. It was the creature inside him, guiding his hands and sharpening his senses.

He opened his mouth to decline with bitter taste in his mouth, when a flood of messages blazed across his vision:

[PARASITE KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATED]

The text burned itself into his mind, followed by cascade of information about his Xytril Nematode. New categories appeared - Glyph Weaved Potions, Potion Wards, Residual Energy Bottling. Crafting methods he'd never dreamed of understanding unveiled themselves: Rune Enhancement, Glyph Drawing.

Type: Xytril Nematode - Rare

[NEW CATEGORIES IDENTIFIED ]:

* GLYPH WEAVED POTIONS

* POTION WARDS

* RESIDUAL ENERGY BOTTLING

[NEW CRAFTING METHODS IDENTIFIED ]:

* RUNE ENHANCEMENT

* GLYPH DRAWING

Congratulations. You have gained insight into cross class crafting methods.

Congratulations. You have discovered new categories of alchemical compounds.

Active skills adjustment in progress

Epic class detected: Mirebane

Assimilating new knowledge

Irregular species detected: Human Bogwraith

Integrating the class, race and parasite. Time remaining 10 days.

His heart raced as he processed the messages. Cross class crafting methods. New alchemical categories. But what made his breath catch was the word "Epic" - his class was Epic. The implications staggered him. Epic meant potential almost without a ceiling, power beyond normal limitations, not something regular alchemist dared to even hope for.

The knowledge that should have taken decades of study under multiple masters had just flooded itself into his brain. For the first time since the parasite had invaded his body, since he'd started brewing poisons just to survive, Fendrel felt genuine excitement course through him. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the table, trying to contain the surge of excitement now racing through his mind.

Nyssara's lips curved into a knowing smile as she watched his reaction. "Fascinating, isn't it? The way the formulas interconnect with the magical resonance?"

Fendrel cleared his throat, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "Yeah, interesting stuff." The sudden shift from complete confusion to understanding the basic concepts left him dizzy. The glyphs and formulas that had appeared as gibberish moments ago now arranged themselves into clear patterns before his eyes.

His finger traced one of the circular diagrams. "This glyph structure here - it's meant to alter the fundamental properties of the poison, right? The outer ring acts as a containment field while the inner sigils modify the structure." He paused, frowning at the additional notations. "Though I'm not entirely clear on the practical application process."

Nyssara's smile faltered for a split second before returning twice as bright, revealing perfect white teeth. "I must admit, I had my doubts when they sent me to find you. But to grasp these concepts at a glance..." She shook her head. "You truly are a master of your craft."

The praise made his lips to purse into a line. He was far from a master. But he didn't feel like correcting her. She reached into her satchel and withdrew a worn leather tome bound with silver clasps.

"These are our research notes," she said, sliding what was obviously some sort of grimoire across the table. "They should explain most of the theoretical framework and outline our current hypotheses. I think you'll find our proposals quite..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Progressive."

Fendrel's fingers traced the worn leather binding of the grimoire. The pages crackled as he opened it, revealing intricate diagrams and dense columns of text. His newfound understanding helped decode some of the complex formulas, but others remained frustratingly opaque. The symbols twisted and interlinked in ways that defied conventional alchemy.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He glanced up to ask Nyssara a question, but the chair across from him sat empty. The door to his lab hung slightly ajar - she'd slipped away without a sound. The silence pressed in around him.

"Too good to be true," he muttered, yet his eyes kept returning to the grimoire's pages. No one had ever offered him knowledge like this without demanding something in return. Usually it came with strings attached, favors owed, debts to be paid. But Nyssara had simply... left it.

A tingling sensation drew his attention inward, to his status window. The text shifted and reorganized before his eyes:

[ACTIVE SKILLS]

Potion Brewing LEVEL: 4 -> Glyph Potion Brewing LEVEL: 3

Essence Distillation LEVEL: 3 -> Essence Distillation LEVEL: 5

Potion Ward Drawing LEVEL: 2

Basic Runecraft LEVEL 1

Catalyst Stabilization LEVEL: 3 -> Ward Stabilization LEVEL 1

Poison Synthesis [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL: 7

Resin Synthesis [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL: 3

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Skills didn't just change like this. Some had vanished entirely, replaced by new ones he'd never heard of. Others had jumped in level far beyond his actual experience. The Nematode's influence ran deeper than he'd realized.

His hand shook as he touched the status window, watching the numbers and categories shift. Whatever was happening to him, it went far beyond normal skill progression. The parasite was changing him on a fundamental level.

----------------------------------------

The monotony of the past few days blurred together in Fendrel's mind as he measured ingredients and bottled potions. His lab had become both sanctuary and prison - the familiar smell of herbs and chemicals his constant companions. The Blackthorns kept their word, providing materials and protection, though they didn't pay him much gold.

He transferred the latest batch of healing potions into glass vials, careful not to waste a drop. The red liquid caught the afternoon light streaming through his workshop windows. At least he'd managed to establish a routine that kept the parasite satisfied without drawing too much attention.

The few poison batches he'd sold to the Black market and Ironmire had been odd transactions, the black market people provided him with what he ordered, but started asking about healing potions and tonics instead of poisons.

He avoided the cabal entirely - their contact disappeared for days. And the church... better to stay far from their scrutiny.

Fendrel's boots crunched on loose cobblestones as he made his way back from the alchemy guild. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows between the buildings. His mind wandered to the new formulas he'd need to try-

"Master Solinar!"

The voice cut through his thoughts. A group of young people emerged from an alley ahead, their clothes worn but clean. At their head stood a tall youth with bright eyes and an earnest expression.

"I'm Elian," the youth said, stepping forward. "We sent word days ago, but when you didn't respond..." He spread his hands. "I decided to come find you myself."

Fendrel's stomach dropped as fragments of memory surfaced - a suspiciously delivered note laid forgotten in one of his drawers. He'd completely forgotten in the chaos of recent events.

"Look," Fendrel said, "there's a reason I didn't answer your message." He tried to step around the group, but they shifted to block his path.

"Please," Elian said. "Just hear us out. The people need-"

"No." Fendrel cut him off. "Whatever cause you're fighting for, whatever grand plans you have, I want no part of it. Find someone else."

The word hung in the air between them. Elian's face fell, but his eyes hardened with determination.

Elian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The people in the lower districts are suffering. While nobles feast in their mansions, children go hungry. When they fall ill, they can't afford the simplest remedies."

Fendrel shifted his weight, glancing down the street. The youth's words struck uncomfortably close to memories he'd rather forget.

"Your potions could save lives," Elian pressed. "Not just those who can afford to pay. We've seen what you can do - heard about your work before..." He paused, choosing his words. "Before you started dealing with the upper districts."

"You don't understand what you're asking." Fendrel's fingers traced the edge of his satchel.

"We're tired of bowing and scraping to the Voss family's every whim. Of watching the Blackthorns squeeze coin from desperate people. The upper districts treat us like we're nothing." Elian's companions nodded, their faces set with quiet determination. "We're organizing, gathering support. With someone of your skill-"

"Stop." Fendrel raised his hand. "Whatever you're planning, it's suicide. These families have guards, influence, money. They've crushed attempts like this before."

"This time it's different. We have people inside their households, sympathizers in the merchant's guild-"

"I said no." The words came out sharper than intended. Fendrel couldn't risk losing his arrangement with the Blackthorns - not when they were the only thing keeping him supplied with the materials he needed.

Elian's shoulders slumped, but his eyes remained steady. "If you change your mind - if you want a chance to use your skills for something that matters, for making lives better..." He pulled a folded paper from his vest. "You know how to find us."

Fendrel ignored the note, pushing past the group.

But as he walked away, Elian's words echoed in his mind. Once, he'd dreamed of using his knowledge to help people - to make medicines accessible to those who needed them most. Before the parasite, before everything went wrong. The note seemed to burn in his pocket, a reminder of paths not taken.

Fendrel's footsteps echoed through the empty lab as he entered, his mind still churning from the encounter. The grimoire caught his eye from its perch on the shelf - a dark leather-bound tome he'd barely explored since acquiring it. Something about Elian's words had sparked a forgotten curiosity.

He pulled the book down, dust cascading from its spine. The pages crackled as he opened it, revealing densely packed text and intricate diagrams. His fingers traced over the chapter heading: "Energy Flow and Toxin Interactions."

The technical language swam before his eyes - discussions of essence transfer and spiritual resonance that might as well have been written in another language. But as his eyes glazed over a particular formula, the parasite stirred, suddenly alert.

[EXPERIMENTAL POISON PROPOSED (Xytril Nematode)]: Eclipsebane Toxin

Brewing Method: Spiritweave Infusion, Essence Tethering

Ingredients set one:

* Venomlily essence, 6 grams

* Duskshadow Extract, 8 grams

* Moonspore dust, 3 grams

* Crushed ironvine bark, 2 grams

Ingredients set two:

* Drained bloodoak sap, 6 drops

* Shredded swampbriar vines, 8 grams

* Powdered nightshade berries, 2 grams

* Charcoal of duskfern, 1 gram

The recipe sprawled across two pages, accompanied by detailed brewing instructions he'd only ever heard about in theory. Spiritweave infusion. Essence tethering. The terms meant little to nothing to him, yet the parasite's reaction suggested otherwise.

The parasite writhed beneath his skin, sending waves of awareness through his consciousness. For the first time, its presence felt less like an invasion and more like... anticipation.

Fendrel slammed the book shut, a cloud of dust rising around him. "Might as well see what happens." His voice echoed in the empty lab. "Time to stop letting others dictate what I can and can't do."

The words tasted different on his tongue - not quite defiance, not quite surrender. Something in between, something new.