On her list of improbable things that Vettie wished would remain in the realm of nightmares, having an Alchemist class give her their undivided attention was right up there with finding out that dragons were not only real, but building a hoard in a room she would have to clean.

The temptation to close her eyes, slump into a heap on the floor and feign unconsciousness until their attention drifted to the rest of the room rose in a tight knot in her chest. Dizziness drug at her limbs. There was a student to her right supporting her. His arm looped around her waist, feet planted for extra support. Vettie realized she would not be standing without him. A new wave of nausea hit. Her face flushed with embarrassment. The students had arranged themselves in a carefully crowded semi circle around her. They took a cautious half step back. Close enough to hear even the meekest of explanations but far enough away to be safe from possible retching.

It was too late to back out now. Her eyes were open. They had seen her first blink back to consciousness and they bent themselves forward into question marks. The inevitable what and how, and worse yet why, remained unasked only because no one in the class wanted to be the first to step forward and ask a question the others thought was foolish.

Vettie hoped they took her expression for the bewilderment of an innocent servant and not a person who had done wrong. The room leaned towards her, waiting. Vettie leaned against the student holding her up. A maid was supposed to clean unseen, unknown. Now they stared at her with more interest than any classwork.

The mind fog was lifting, pain was underneath. Her long sleeved cotton dress had shielded her arms from the worst of the damage, but the back of her hands were scratched and bloody. Starlight fragments of glass twinkled in her palms. Pieces fine as sand slid down her back from her dress collar. Her long black braid, pinned up to encircle the base of her head, had come undone and hung down her back. She heard glass fall from it as she swayed.

She took a long blink to steady herself in the refuge of her own personal darkness. Breath in, breath out. Then back into the room she emerged. A remnant of pressure remained behind her right eye. It caught the daylight from the open window and began to stream with tears. She winced as she wiped it.

“I can stand.” She said, patting the arm that looped around her for support.

The arm retreated then gripped her again as she stumbled forward. She pushed it away.

“No use making a nasty fall a double. Teacher will be here soon, I’ll hold you up till then. Floors got glass all over.” Said a familiar voice.

Vettie shouldn’t have moved her head so quickly. She shouldn’t have moved at all. Every joint protested, more glass slid down into her dress, but panic is sobering and she snapped to the immediate when confronted with the past. The voice now had an owner. Krakio. His dark hair was pulled into a ponytail away from his sun brightened face. The cynical tone to his voice had been replaced with concern, reflected in his gaze that met hers without waivering. He reached forward to steady her arm and an earring, oblong sea glass hanging from a tight gold hoop, caught the light.

Above all, he was uninjured, except for a nick more likely to be from shaving than from what had hit her. Which meant it hadn't hit everywhere. But what had hit?

Empowered by urgency, Vettie took in the state of the room. The walls weren’t charred from a blast. The tables were in the original position. Even her bucket, still containing water, was in the same place. But every glass vial, every window, had shattered. The tables and floor glittered with glass remnants in an even coating. She scanned the faces in the group. There were twelve - a mix of ages, ranging from older teen to early twenties. None bore any cuts or dishevelment, none were the boy who had been here with her, who had gasped at the same pain and might have known its source.

“How did this happen?” Vettie gasped. The question that hung in the air rippled through the classroom. It was better, to ask the how and not the why. Why could only end in them assigning her guilt.

“I was hoping that you would be able to help explain this mess.” Said a voice. Hewasn’t the boy she was looking for.

The student to her left hovered by her elbow. He was younger than most in the group, his brow releasing a furrow without holding its memory. His hair was perfectly styled to appear casual. His uniform had been washed, pressed and ironed professionally. His silver buttons gleamed, each bearing the insignia of the Private Hart Academy for Alchemic Arts, two intercrossed hands holding up, or grasping towards, four stars above them. A silver pin with blue stone inset was attached to his left side and designated him the head of the class.

“My deepest apologies.” She said out of habit.

“What are you sorry for?” said someone from the group.

A “what” was still safer than a why, but not by much. The questions were pointed at her. The class wanted answers and they would supply their own to feed their curiosity. She cursed herself for offering an apology that might be seen as a sign of guilt.

“I wouldn’t want you to detracted from your lessons so I’ll clear the room and be on my way. I’ll let the staff know to come back and clean up this glass. Thank you for the help.” She nodded to Krakio and ducked her head to go.

“The Professor will be here soon. Stay here till she tells you otherwise Maid.” Said the Head of Class. “You may not know this but I” - he gestured to his pin - “am head of this class and as such have an obligation to make decisions when the teacher isn't present. You are to stay here until she, or I, allow you to leave.” He crossed his arms.

“There weren’t any bubbles coming from the Distiller was there?” chanced a girl from the back of the group in the quiet that followed. She gestured towards the wall that once held the device with glass tubing. It was now little more than a metal skeleton.

“No, it had been used at one time. The bottles had residue but I didn’t disassemble it.” Vettie said.

“Did you see bright lights? Or sparks?” said another student with a deep complexion.

“Don't be stupid, course there weren’t sparks.” Replied another. He was in the back and shorter than the rest so Vettie could only see a jangle of red hair peeking through to the voice.

“What would be stupid is if you didn’t look at all the options available before drawing conclusions.” Said another high toned voice.

More barbs were traded. The conversation had begun to devolve and the energy from her initial shock at seeing Krakio again was threatening to give way to weariness. Vettie wasn’t an alchemist, hadn’t read any books on the subject since she was ten, but a gut feeling told her these people weren’t much of one either. That they asked their questions loudly didn't help her headache.

“Can I sit down?” she said to Krakio.

He nodded, arm around her in case she stumbled, and led her away from the group to a stool in the corner. The seat was covered in glass same as the rest. She sat before he could sweep it off.

“I could’ve wiped it you know. No need to be getting more glassed up unneeded.” Krakio said, scowling.

They watched the conversations become more pointed as it turned inwards. Head of the Class, Krakio told her his name was Seth Lune Voe, stood on the outside looking important but offering no advice.

Terilia was the birthplace of Alchemy. It had been an artisan village, known for it exports of fine goods; pottery, fabric, jewelry, and glass. The seven great families, along with the Crown, had founded the village. They refined their artisan expertise and held a natural monopoly on their specific export. Then the world had shifted. There had been a new king and a new purpose. Now each wealthy family, with priority given to the seven, sent their children to The Private Hart Academy for Alchemic Arts in hopes of making them into a notable Alchemist.

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From her seat she could start to see the resemblances to the great families take shape. The red hair of a Morn Ler, known for jewelry. Seth’s lithe stature of the Lune Voe family. They worked in fabric and wove fine cloth, worn by both King and Academy. The deep set eyes of a Vae Kal, stone masons and builders. And, standing tall next to her, the Vae Kal’s oldest allies, the San Tet family, who owned the surrounding forests and dealt in lumber. The Uhm Sek family had skin fair as the porcelain they made in lofty studios.

And Krakio, Vettie suspected, was from the glass making family of Ku Vot. He was the only one with an glass earring, an unusual jewelry choice amongst students who preferred to wear the noble metal gold. She hadn’t known many in his family when she still had a last name. They had always kept to themselves and weren’t often in the King’s court.

There were no Ker Sens here. Could be none. They only attended level six through ten classes which were held on a different campus, separated from the one through five level building by a low stone wall, a thick woods and a single road that was guarded at all hours. Vettie doubted a Ker Sen had even seen into this building, except maybe at it’s founding. To that stroke of vanity, Vettie was perpetually appreciative.

“Level threes.” Said Krakio after a few minutes. “We’re all level three, but everyones acting big because we’re on the fourth floor.”

“Is it that important?” Vettie said. She pulled her dark hair in front of her and began picking the most offensive glass fragments out of her braid.

“Of course it’s important!” Said Seth, stalking over. “Distinctions are always important. Otherwise you could mistake fire for water, earth for air.”

“No one is mistaking a rock for a breeze.” Krakio said.

“They could if they aren’t careful. The symbol for earth, a triangle pointing down, and the symbol for air, a triangle pointing up, could be easily confused if you aren’t looking at it properly.” Seth said.

“I know that.” Krakio said.

“Sure you did. Just as you knew last week in Metals II that tin needs to be aligned with lead to make it survive transmission and otherwise you get soup.”

“You aren’t the teacher.”

“It’s called Supplementation.”

“I have an idea you can supplement.”

Vettie rubbed her right temple and sighed. Attention was finally off her. The spotlights of their view had shifted to each other and she rested in her preferred place in the conversation, which meant she didn’t have to talk and no one was looking at her. But tempers were rising and no teacher, no figure of authority whose job it was to corral the students, was present and time ticked on. That she was the most calm person in the room irritated her even as she was grateful for it.

“When was the teacher set to arrive to class?” Vettie said, rising on wobbly legs to stand between them. She clasped her hands together and straightened her back to stabilize herself. “I’m not sure the time but it must be near ten at this point.”

Her voice chipped through the antagonism and Krakio faced her with a glower that gave way to a look of recognition. He cleared his throat and drew back his sleeve to check his dark green leather watch.

“It’s nine forty five. That’s late even for her.” Krakio said.

“I’m sure she’s very busy.” Seth sniffed in reply. He gave Vettie a withering look. “Now that I'm thinking about it, before she gets here, I’d like to ask. You seem to be more in control of your faculties now so you should be able to answer. Why are you here? And what happened? It need not be detailed.”

Vettie regretted her words. It would have been easy to let them tear each other apart. “Why” was a trick question, a question that led to more questions which led to more questions. There was no end to why. Things happened and it was enough to sit in the present and deal with them.

“It was Requested.”

“By whom?” Seth said.

Vettie shrugged.

“You don’t know? Why?”

“Because I didn't need to read it. It was official, bound with Purpose. There would be no point.”

“If you care so much you can look up who did it Seth. It’s public knowledge, check the log before you go pestering people.” Krakio said.

“Interesting that in a house of knowledge there would be such ignorance.” Seth regarded her like he had bit into a wormy apple.

“Interesting that the head of the class wasn’t gifted with leadership Purpose.” Vettie said before she could help herself. “Look.”

The class behind them had reached a crucial moment. Divisions had formed on what questions were the right questions and who was the right person to ask them. They stood in their respective groups in a race with the others to see who could speak the loudest and point the most. Stragglers meandered around the room scuffling in the glass. One girl, tall with long black hair, was standing half obscured behind the curtain. Another boy was opening all of the boxes in the room and haphazardly pulling out the contents. His uniform didn’t have any buttons.

“Be that as it may, what would you know of Purpose? Maid.”

“More than you. Apparently.” Vettie tried to make her voice casual.

Krakio snickered and Seth, realizing he was out numbered, huffed off to bring order to the group. They ignored his efforts.

“He always yaps like that, don’t let him ruffle your hair. Big head on him to start and now he has a fancy brooch so it was made official.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t look at Krakio as she said it. Apologies and gratitude were the first things a servant learned to give and to give up. The smart ones learned without punishment, but Vettie had not always been smart. A maid needed to be self reliant, which meant being the one who gave help and never the one to receive it. The word, and the warmth that followed it, was as genuine as it was unfamiliar. Vettie rubbed her arms absentmindedly. A memory of chill.

“I don’t think I introduced myself yet. I’m Krakio Ku Vot.” He said extending his hand down to where she sat.

Vettie took it in a polite shake. A dandelion of pride brought warm spring back to her arms. She didn’t allow herself to show she had known.

“It’s a pleasure. I’m Vettie.”

“Short for?”

“Just Vettie.”

“Mind if I call you Just.” Krakio laughed. “It’d suit you.”

Vettie made a noncommittal chuckle. Krakio continued to talk and she let herself merge into the background.

———

The Professor entered the classroom at twenty past ten. She breezed though the door, raised her hand in the air, and with a shrill whistle, a hush descended on the classroom. The button-less boy stood and brushed himself off as if the last hour hadn’t been spent on the floor. The girl behind the curtain slotted herself back into the group. Seth stood in the front, head held high.

Vettie had seen her share of Professors, always from a comfortable distance; across a courtyard walking with a gaggle of students streaming behind them, looking down through a window at the white haired professor bent over a pot of liquid pungent enough to singe nose hairs even from a distance. She had always been obscured by a broom handle or cleaning cloth. Here there was no where to hide.

This Professor radiated a relaxed quickness, like she had all the time in the world and she still chose to do it as fast as possible. Her wavy blonde hair was cut short and bounced as she moved throughout the room.

She wore the official Academy jacket of an Alchemist, tight fitted and floor length, with deep umber weave and gold buttons. It was fully undone and underneath was a linen shirt and casual black trousers. The long sleeves had been shoved half way up her arms. The shirt was tucked only in theory, the cuffs on her pants rolled above mud crusted boots with heavy tread.

The Professor pivoted on her heels, spinning in a complete uninterrupted circle to survey the room around her before her boots snapped back to facing the class. There was an impressed whistle.

“You really did a number on this place.” She said with a clap of her hands. Then before Vettie had time to respond she advanced forward. The throng of students flowed to part around her.

“Hi, Call me Professor Nelianna Lune Voe. Or Professor Lune Voe. Or Professor Nelianna if you really really must. But never, hand on heart, call me just Nelianna got it? It’s a pleasure.”

She extended her hand and Vettani took it, not wanting to cause offense. Professor Lune Voe’s hand was rough, the hand of someone who needs to wash them frequently, and warmer than expected for this time of year. Vettani suspected she had jogged to get here.

“We found her here, Professor. On the floor and unconscious. We helped her up.” Said Seth

“I helped her.” Krakio muttered.

“We have yet had the opportunity to ascertain her reasons for being here.” chanced a voice from the crowd, the red head from before.

“You all did an excellent job. She can tell me the rest herself.” Professor Lune Voe’s dropped to a pause. She raised an eyebrow. “Miss -?”

“Vettie.”

“Right, Miss Vettie is going to tell me all about what happened before you arrived to class. After that was there anything else of note?”

Then everyone was speaking. All voices scuffing against each other in an effort to add something new. Krakio stuck his hands in his pockets and said nothing. The professor held up her hand for silence in a practiced motion. A thick gold ring with yellow stone flashed on her middle finger.

“Good job. It is always best to start at either the beginning or the obvious and work outwards. You all have started at both.” She turned to Seth. “This classroom is not in a state where we will be able to use the Distiller for formulations today. Check down the hall and see if one of those classrooms has one properly set up, or something to the effect. Look for lots of tubes. If not, we will have to move to the main lecture hall.”

“Professor Morn Ler has his level 4 Combinations class today.” Seth said in careful neutral tone.

“Then they will just have to share.”

With a crisp apple smile and a broad gesture to the door, Professor Lune Voe cut a path through any further conversation and ushered Vettie to follow.