The next morning, Norman decided to actually start working on the core problem in a more systematic manner. All this time, he had been too focused on his own research and goals, and the promise he had made to the Nightwyrms had fallen aside. Even if it was too complex a problem for him at this point, he needed to start somewhere. And after all, problem-solving was his specialty.

"Wizard level perfection demands machine level dedication." That was the motto of the Illustrious Academy. One that was hammered into the students countless times over the years.

He started thinking about what would actually be needed to make this safe haven a reality. Firstly, he would have to understand the purgatory better. Unlike a lot of other scholars before him, he did have access to a real purgatory he could learn from. But he would need to go there once again - better equipped, better informed. With Remus out of the picture, it was an expensive trip that he had no way to finance.

So he started on a solution to that. He felt an approving emotion bubble up from his companion.

Acquiring a spacecraft was a complex business. But luckily, they still had the ship, which they used, tucked away in a safe location.

The next problem was fuel - Zythramine, whose production and acquisition were highly regulated. Anyone attempting to procure Zythramine had to submit an application with the Protectorate ahead of time stating the purpose and request their approval. Remus had managed to access it through underground channels that his family had access to. But Norman had never inquired about the specifics, and now was too late to ask him.

The next option was to manufacture it himself. Manufacturing production-grade Zythramine was an insidiously complex affair, and chemistry was again not his key area of specialization. However, with the help of intelligent tools and the vast references that the academy provided, he began to explore all possible options. After all, he was Norman. Chemistry may not have been his specialization, but focused, deep exploration absolutely was.

Of course, access to ready-to-use recipes for synthesizing the restricted substance was out of the question. So he would need to synthesize other substances in adjacent families that could be converted to Zythramine. Most of the related compounds were themselves notoriously difficult to manufacture. So, using the academy resources, Norman traced back numerous chains of derivations that could potentially lead to Zythramine. Each chain needed evaluation from cost and risk assessment perspectives, making the task doubly hard.

Norman spent most of the night exploring these synthesis chains.

The exploration went on for the next day. He ate one single meal a day and continued to dissect and analyze. The complexity was also exacerbated by the requirement that any starting material had to be non-regulated, too. Ideally, he would want to get something that could be acquired from academy supplies without raising questions.

The next evening, he had two approaches that looked interesting. Neither was particularly simple, and both required the construction of specialized apparatus that would take many days.

Norman persisted. Days bled into weeks.

Thankfully, Kiri's past experience with industrial manufacturing was potentially useful for the apparatus he needed. Together, over many hit and trials they managed to assemble all the infrastructure that would enable them to synthesize the complete sequence of intermediate compounds leading to Zythramine.

A month later, they had their first cup of production grade Zythramine.

Sure, the process was nowhere as efficient as industrial production, and safeguards were almost non-existent, but it worked. Together, they had managed to achieve something unprecedented.

The next problem was food. Long distance space travel required highly concentrated food tablets where a single tablet could sustain an individual for entire days. Their production was also highly regulated.

But fortunately that was exactly the kind of thing that Arianna had been researching for the past three years. It boiled down to getting the right set of ingredients to post-process the algal extracts into a non-perishable form. Thankfully most of these were not regulated.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Three days later, Norman sat in front of a simmering beaker that contained a bubbling green liquid. For the synthesis of one of the constituents, he needed to let it simmer to a specific temperature. That temperature had been reached two seconds ago.

Norman let it boil.

A red warning flashed into his vision. If left to boil further, it was likely to explode.

Norman steeled himself. And did nothing.

The red flashes in his vision got intense. The liquid was reaching a supercritical temperature now. The Zythramine they had produced before was, unsurprisingly, highly flammable and was also stored in this very room. If the ignition reached the Zythramine, the resulting explosion was guaranteed to take down the entire complex. There was a good reason why the production of Zythramine was regulated.

An emotion of unfiltered deep fury emanated from deep within him. His companion had figured out what was happening here.

"Get out." Norman thought back coldly.

The liquid bubbling in front of him turned red.

Norman's leg exploded in pain. His hands clenched and unclenched in spasms, trying to find some relief from the relentless torment. He clutched the arm of his chair, his knuckles turning white and his nails digging deep into the wood. Still, he did nothing.

Norman had counted on this creature not being able to fully parse the nuances of the human thought process. He did want to manufacture Zythramine. He did want to travel back to the purgatory. But deep within, he was also looking for an opportunity like this.

Norman had formed this plan and acted upon it in a split second. He had not planned ahead on using this particular chemical at this specific time.

A thin flame appeared around the edges of the vigorously boiling liquid. And Norman simply didn't know what to do to stop the combustion at this point. Sure, given enough time, the creature could make him find out what to do, but time was not on its side. He had been denied the privilege to end his own life, and this was his revenge.

Norman forced himself to sit back, despite the wildfire coursing through his veins. His vision began to blur, the edges of his sight darkening as if shrouded in a veil. His breaths grew shorter and shallower, the air escaping him in ragged gasps. He still did nothing.

Tendrils of darkness seeped out of his foot. The surrounding room began to spin, the walls closed in, and the pain intensified a thousandfold. With a final, choked cry, Norman's consciousness receded, his body collapsing in on itself, surrendering to the all-consuming darkness.

The beaker exploded. The explosion splattered the red-hot liquid across the room. The Zythramine didn't explode.

There was a real possibility of it exploding. If the ultra-hot liquid managed to break through the glass vials in which Zythramine was stored. After percolating through the insulated cabinet where the vials themselves were stored. It was not impossible. Just that, the probability of it happening was around 0.00001%. Norman instinctively understood the low probability; he just chose to focus his mind on the possibility of it happening.

The last thing Norman remembered was Celine letting out an utterly painful moan.

When Norman came back to his senses, he was sprawled out on his floor. His skin had numerous burns where the splattered liquid had come into contact with it. The room under him was littered with glass shards, and he was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds.

Celine stood on his chest. The cat had changed. Celine's eyes were glowing red, and dark, flowing tendrils spread out behind her. They writhed and twisted, as if reaching out to ensnare anything that came near. The darkness they carried was palpable—a tangible force that choked the air and stifled the very essence of life.

The once-familiar purr that had once brought comfort to the weary now echoed with a sinister undertone, a sound that promised pain and suffering. The cat's breath was a fetid stench, a noxious cloud that choked the very air around it.

"What the hell?" He uttered. The bulbs in the room flickered as Celine's dark form drank all the light in its vicinity.

A voice projected into his mind - "We need a living soul to mask our identity from the Saan. You forced us to do this to your pet." It was reminiscent of the voices he had heard inside the purgatory. Each word seemed to come from a different direction, at a slightly different pitch and frequency.

"I forced you to do nothing." Norman felt his temper rising again. "You could have chosen death. There are worse fates."

The creature did not respond.

"Is Celine dead?" Norman asked after a few moments of utterly comfortable silence.

"No." The voice reverberated around him, "She is just as alive as you were when we had bonded with you."

"Wait, if I am no longer your host, how can I hear your voice?"

"You have wyrmblood flowing in your veins. You are part of the hive." The voice answered. "It is not easy for us to adapt our responses to your language. But we have been learning."

"A hive? That's basically just the two of us?" As Norman got up, Celine flowed across the room like a specter, guided by the ghostly tentacles.

"For now, yes."

Dusting the detritus off his clothing, Norman looked around the room. Debris and fragments of various sizes, shapes, and materials were scattered haphazardly, some still smoldering or emitting acrid fumes. Soot, char, and scorch marks could be seen on all the walls. Curtains were signed and tattered.

"So, what happens next?" he asked. He just hoped nobody nearby had heard the explosion and notified the authorities.

"You have demonstrated that you are willing to throw away your life. But are you willing to throw away the life of your pet?"

Norman knew the answer. And so did the creature.

"Fulfill your promise to us. Find us a safe-haven. Your pet will not be harmed. We understand that you do not appreciate the extent of our intrusion into your life. We have overreached - and now we withdraw."

"Withdraw?" Norman was obviously skeptical. "So no more tampering with my senses?"

"No. You will be able to talk to us. But your life is your own." The voice echoed. "Our trust in your abilities still holds strong - we do not want you to throw away your life. You may very well be our last hope."