Alchemy is the art of distilling magic. Like artificers and enchanters, we use the natural magic found in all manner of components and bend them to our will. We can bottle health, inject strength, and even pill fortune. - Royal College of Lucendia, Introduction to Alchemy. Corillia Lakin

A Collection Of Tales shook in Darian's hands. Lying in bed, he'd been staring at the same page for hours, reading and rereading it, only to have the words slip away. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the primordial, but when Lys finally got him to stand up and stumble through the portal, it was earlier than they left. The sun had just been rising over the tips of the Redridge mountains.

Darian had felt distant from his own body as he'd forced himself to move, and he'd barely made it up the stairs. Why am I like this? It was so frustrating. He dropped the book on his lap and clenched his shaking hands, trying to steady them. What Kelanthrian had done would have been unpleasant for anyone, but it had been worse for Darian.

The memory of immovable talons and that cold, slimy tongue. The tremors spread from his hands to the rest of his body at the memory. Instinctively, he brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. Desperately trying to replicate something he knew he'd never have.

A comforting touch.

His reaction was embarrassing; that only made it worse for some reason. The shame hurt the most. It was only made worse because it didn't make sense.

His reaction was irrational.

Darian furiously wiped at his eyes, desperately trying to clear his vision. This was stupid. He was stupid. He should get up right now and get back to work. At least then, he would be doing something. Anything would be better than sitting here wallowing in his own self-pity.

He didn't move. Couldn't move.

Darian wasn't sure how long he sat there before the knock at his door broke him out of his stupor.

"Darian," It was Lys's voice. "Can I come in?"

He sat up, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, come in."

The door opened slowly, revealing Lys a look of concern on his face. He hesitated before entering the room. Darian was surprised to see a brief flash of uncertainty cross his stoic features before they flattened back to his regular impassivity.

The scraping of his chair across the floor as Lys pulled it out from his desk made Darian wince. It was a caustic sound. "I… need to apologize Darian. I made one of the very mistakes I warned you against. I proved my own arrogance by leaving the deal with Kelanthrian so open-ended." Lys paused, and Darian raised his eyes only to be met by piercing orbs of turquoise blue. "I am sorry, lad."

Darian tried to speak, but words failed him.

Lys sighed and stood. Again, the chair grated across the floor. The sound made Darian's teeth hurt.

"I'll give you some time," Lys made for the door.

"Why," Darian's voice came out as a croak; it was pathetic. "Why am I like this? You're wise... old... you know things," He looked to Lys. If anyone had answers, then he would. "Why…" He stuttered, his face beginning to burn as unbidden tears welled up in his eyes.

Darian felt his shoulders slump even more at Lys's helpless expression.

"I am sorry, Darian. I have never been a good healer." Lys moved back into the room and sat at the end of the bed. "But I do know what might have caused it."

"You blamed my aunt and uncle. You said they neglected me."

"I do, and they did." Lys let out a long sigh, "From the little I know, physical interaction is an essential part of a child's development. Not long after you were entrusted with your aunt and uncle, your aunt had two miscarriages. I don't know her well, but I have noticed her change. They stopped caring for you beyond ensuring your immediate needs, as they saw them, were met."

Somehow, Darian sunk even lower, "I don't blame them… I've been nothing but—"

"Horse shit," Lys's bark made Darian jump. "Thinking like that insults everything sacrificed to give you a chance—"

"A chance at what," snapped Darian.

"A chance to live."

Darian shook his head, not understanding what Lys meant. Still, he couldn't deny the idea of living, of fighting for that chance. It gave him hope. As long as I can fight, I can win. He had a chance if only he would take it. "What next? You got what we needed?"

Lys nodded, "That and more. As unpleasant as it was, Kelanthrian's gifts will be helpful in the long run. I don't know what the book contains, but considering he didn't want me getting my hands on it…" He trailed off as he eyed the brown book on Darian's desk.

"I can barely read a language I know; how am I supposed to learn one you can't teach me?"

"That was Kelanthrian's second gift. The gift of… tongues," Lys grimaced. "From what he explained, every language Kelanthrian knows, you now know."

Darian's mind blanked as he tried to comprehend what Lys had just said. "So… I know the language the book is written in?"

"That and many more, I suspect. Kelanthrian has been alive for a long time, and his exploits in the material have been wide and long-reaching."

Darian thought about it, trying to dredge up any hint of a new language that he might have. Nothing came. "It doesn't feel like I know anything new."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A book appeared in Lys's right hand, and he offered it to Darian.

The title was written in what Darian would consider aggressive handwriting. It was small and sharp, very different from the duchies' common tongue. Despite the difference in language, the script's meaning was obvious to him. "The Castes And Their Roles In Society," He read aloud.

A sly smile grew on Lys's face, and he made a series of hand motions to Darian, "Work on hand signs?"

Darian opened his mouth to respond, but his words were interrupted when the sign for 'yes' came to his awareness. It was strange, similar to how he didn't have to think of specific words when talking. "This is strange," he signed to Lys.

"Remarkable," Lys said, awe clear in his voice.

"How is this happening? Is a spell translating for me?" The seamlessness of the translations was disconcerting. It was as if they were Darian's native tongues.

"There is no doubt that there was a magical component. Whatever spell it was, it is no longer active." Lys paused, getting a faraway look on his face. "Remarkable… To transfer knowledge in a way that doesn't require maintaining." He shook his head, "Primordial magic is very different from ours. It still surprises me." Lys's gaze focused back on Darian, "You've been given a potent tool. One many would kill or do worse for. Tell no one."

Darian nodded.

Lys shook his head in amazement before a more severe look crept on his face, "There is one more thing. Kelanthrian broke the terms of safe conduct that he and I agreed to. I was entitled to compensation, so I bargained for you to receive a favor from him. One favor," Lys held up a finger, "And while there will be limits, an open favor with him could get you almost anything. I advise you to never use it. Kelanthrian is ancient and cunning. He wins his dealings, even if it takes centuries. Do not go to him lightly."

Silence filled the room as Lys stopped talking. It was awkward, a sentiment that Lys seemed to agree with since he cleared his throat and stood up, "I'm going to get back to the preparations."

"Huh," asked Darian.

"The operation. It needs to happen soon."

Darian swallowed and nodded. He'd completely forgotten the reason they'd gone to the primordial. He stood from the bed in a rush, not wanting to give himself the chance to think about it. "I want to help."

"Good," Lys said with an approving nod.

Hours later, Darian found himself in the kitchen cooking what felt like his last meal. He'd helped Lys arrange the massively complex ritual circle and the different pedestals that housed magical components. Although 'help' might have been too strong a term. The arranging of potions had been quicker, but it was when he'd gotten to laying out cylinders of glass with their long needles that his fear had been rekindled.

He'd mostly been an observer, but it felt good to at least be a part of the process that could kill him. It had, at least, broken him out of the fog clouding his mind after his ordeal with Kelanthrian.

Lys sat down. The sigh he released was the only indication of stress Darian noticed. "What is it going to be like?"

"You'll be asleep through the most painful part. The recovery will be… unpleasant. I'll do my best to keep you comfortable." Lys looked past Darian as if he were peering at something through the wall. "I wonder… what will change," Lys had muttered so quietly that Darian had almost missed it.

Darian's cooking halted, "what do you mean?"

"The operation has physical changes. My eyes were brown, but they changed when I went through the operation. Belmon's skin was striped, and Cassius's skin turned slate grey. It made him look like he was a statue. Sennefer's…" Lys trailed off.

"Sennefer," prompted Darian.

"Her hair went white and shown like platinum."

"Who were they," asked Darian. He was intrigued and a little concerned. I don't want striped skin.

"My fellow students." Lys paused. Darian could tell he was thinking. Considering. "They are the reason Kelanthrian referred to me as 'god slayer.'"

In the aftermath of Kelanthrian's forced gift, Darian had utterly forgotten the title the thief had given Lys. It sent chills down his spine. "What happened," asked Darian.

Lys's eyes practically punched holes through Darian. Their intensity made him want to run and hide.

"They fancied themselves gods. I refused to join their little pantheon. They killed my friends, took my daughter from me, and destroyed everything I had built. I escaped, gathered my strength, and then took them by surprise. He gave me that title because it pains me."

Darian nodded, letting out a sigh of relief before going back to basting his steaks in butter. He almost dropped his spoon when a crazy thought struck him. Three gods, all struck down by one foe… He gulped. It was a crazy thought. Lys was a powerful man but still only a man. They weren't gods if he'd fought and killed them. Only a god or similar being would be able to kill another god, let alone three.

Dismissing that subject from his mind, Darian decided to change topics. It was clear that the subject of his old friends was a sensitive one. "You say my recovery won't be fun. That means you expect me to make it through… alive."

"I hope you do, and I'm planning accordingly."

"My chances are good then," asked Darian, unable to stop himself from asking the question whose answer he'd been dreading for months.

"Not as good as I'd like." Darian turned to see that Lys's eyes had softened slightly. "You didn't have as much time as I'd hoped."

Darian wilted as he felt his meager confidence begin to wilt.

"But I wouldn't put you through the operation if it were hopeless. You have a solid shot."

Darian nodded as he frantically clutched at his fading courage. "How long will the recovery take?"

"If you take as long as I did, then half a year."

Darian laughed nervously, "Guess I'm going to miss Emberfest this year, aren't I?"

"We'll celebrate it properly next year," Lys's comforting smile looked forced and out of place.

Darian served dinner, and they ate in silence. His nerves were taking hold, and he was struggling to eat. Still he was proud of his improving cooking skills. Meager as they were, his meals were still better than anything Lys had cooked.

His meal complete, Lys stood and stretched, "Try to get some sleep tonight."

"I don't think that's going to happen," muttered Darian as he looked at the living room and the ritual arrayed in it.

"Me neither."

The agreement surprised Darian. Was it possible that Lys was just as worried as he was? He's just trying to comfort you. "Can we… start... tonight?"

"The operation," Lys asked in surprise.

Darian nodded.

"We begin then."

They moved to the living room, carefully navigating the reagents, spell components, and markings that lined the room. There was a cot at the center of the ritual.

"Remove your clothes and lay on the cot."

Darian began to strip. He didn't know if it was abnormal or not, but he didn't like being naked. It made him feel… exposed. Still, it was a minor discomfort compared to being touched.

A small vial filled with a mirky violet liquid appeared in Lys's hand. Darian didn't hesitate to drink when Lys offered it to him. He needed to keep moving, fearing his courage might fail if he didn't.

The potion was sour but not unpleasant.

The cot was almost comfortable.

"Good luck."

Darian was surprised at how distant Lys's voice sounded. The world was beginning to grow warm and comfortable. So comfortable he didn't notice the restraints as they looped around his ankles and wrists, neither did he notice Lys marking his body with a strange ink, nor the prick of needles as glass syringes were emptied into his body.

Slowly, the bliss of ignorance took Darian in its grasp and ushered his mind away in a warm blanket of unconsciousness.