Gray took a deep breath and kept his gaze on the stone floor as he filed in to take the final alchemy exam of the year.

He’d never been so unprepared.

He trailed after Alistair. Alistair sat at a desk in the front row, sprawled in the chair, and he ruffled his curly hair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Alistair winked.

Gray eyed the massive back of Longwark, ignored the butterflies jumping in his stomach, and flashed a small smile back.

As though sensing joy, Longwark turned and pinned Gray with his intense stare. Gray quickly slouched in the chair next to Alistair, tugging at his frayed leather wrist wrap, running formulas through his head.

Longwark walked between the desks and cauldrons.

Longwark was barrel-chested, with blue runes tattooed over his left eyebrow and in the crook of his ear and wrapped down his neck. He always had two sets of eyeglasses stashed in his wild hair. He looked like a Northern-warrior-mad-professor hybrid dressed in a protective tunic.

He came to a halt in front of Gray and Alistair’s desks. ‘What are you doing here?’

Longwark had a soft voice for a man so large. But he didn’t need a loud voice. Everyone were always still enough to hear his barest whispers.

Gray risked lifting his gaze to meet Longwark’s intense ice-grey eyes. ‘Pardon me?’

‘Not you.’ Longwark’s steely gaze fixed on Alistair. ‘Him.’

Hot red crept up the back of Alistair’s neck. ‘I’m here for the exam, Mr Longwark.’

‘No. Get out.’

‘What, Mr Longwark?’ Alistair’s voice had gone unusually soft.

Gray was impressed that Alistair was able to speak at all when faced with a seven-foot-seven angry northerner. Longwark was the only mage in their town - the only resident mage around for miles - and he’d been a mage soldier in the fight against the sorcerer Krupin. Everyone gave him a wide berth.

Why he’d chosen a job like alchemy teacher was a mystery to Gray. Mages could walk into any job they wanted, and usually, they walked into prestigious roles like scribes or healers, or ran their own businesses.

Alchemy didn’t even require magic.

Teaching a bunch of kids how to convert rocks, clay, and other substances into jinxes, curses, and brews you could bottle, didn’t seem to be enjoyable to Longwark.

Alchemy was enjoyable to him. The loving caress in Longwark’s voice, when he talked about how anyone could use their breath and intent on the end of a conversion to activate it into a curse, was undeniable.

This converts into that.

This balances out that.

This is why that.

But, teaching?

Longwark seemed to resent most of his students.

Elona had always said Longwark was messed up because of the war.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Barin always said Longwark was just a dick.

‘You failed the preliminary exam last week,’ Longwark said. ‘You can’t be here.’

Alistair refused to move, his fingers curling around the edge of his chair.

He’d failed the preliminary? Alistair’d never told Gray.

They told each other everything.

‘Alistair Keep.’ Longwark leant forward, his fingertips on Alistair’s desk. ‘You. Can’t. Sit. This. Exam.’

For a second, Gray thought Alistair was going to stand.

But, he hesitated.

Gray understood why Alistair was hesitating. Failing alchemy meant having a permanent mark against his name. It meant being on the bottom rung when he got the hell out of this school after his final exams.

It’d mess up his stat numbers under intelligence. It’d screw his job prospects. It’d completely fuck up his applications for upper schools next year outside their isolated town, and honestly, that’s all either of them had.

‘I’ll pass the exam.’ Alistair’s voice steadied. It even had an edge to it. ‘I’ve studied. You’ll see. If I get an A, that’ll bring up-‘

‘Your abysmal past performance?’ Longwark interrupted. His lips were getting tight. ‘Because of all the past times you’ve shown me you can get an A? You think you can keep up with these kids?’

Someone behind them sniggered.

Alistair’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the sides of his chair. He stayed resolutely sat.

Longwark shifted his huge weight, his ice-grey gaze narrowing, his arms folded over his protective tunic. ‘Get out.’

Gray darted a glance at Alistair.

He was beet-red in the face, now. But still unmoving.

Longwark raising his voice was rare, and not good. If Longwark lost his temper, Alistair would have worse than a fail mark against his name. Longwark had a habit of going from zero to one hundred with almost nil warning. Last year he’d smashed a jar of pickled toads against the wall because a girl fell asleep in his class.

Gray stood up, clasping Alistair’s elbow, urging his step brother up with him. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Gray.’ Longwark’s voice was sharper than a dagger’s blade. ‘Sit down.’

‘I’m just taking Alistair outside.’

He roared at Gray, then, sudden enough to make him flinch. ‘Leave, and I will fail you.’ Spit sprayed from his lips. He unleashed a torrent of northern profanities that hung in the air between them, hot and heavy, and thicker than day-old beef stew.

Longwark finished. He huffed out once, twice, his breath lifting straggles of his wild hair from his face. He leant forward, still huffing heavily enough for Gray to smell his humid breath.

‘Well?’ Longwark said.

Gray wavered, the weight of thirty curious stares on his back.

Gray’d never admit it, but he loved alchemy more than anything. Gray had secretly worked so hard at alchemy that the headmaster of the school had been grudgingly forced to accelerate Gray. The headmaster had even made Longwark put Gray in the advanced class with the seniors because the high scores were good for his own stats.

The sorcerer Wilde had failed alchemy, at school.

Alchemy could combat magic, at high levels.

Gray couldn’t touch magic.

He refused to.

But, alchemy?

Alchemy was everything to Gray. It was going to give Gray an edge over the man who’d murdered his family.

Slowly, Gray sagged back into his seat.

Gray never looked up. Not even when Alistair stood so fast, his chair toppled over with the force of it. Not when Alistair slammed the door.

‘Start,’ said Longwark, as though from a great distance.

Gray stared at the instructions, unable to understand the words.

Dragon Clay Conversion Practical.

Did that even make sense? Gray squinted, tugging his exam paper closer, his heart in his mouth.

Create Dragon Clay from the provided ingredients. Then, convert the Dragon Clay into either

* A Dragon Stone

* Firebreath Fire

* Dragon Curse Fury

Gray fumbled with the ingredients set out on the desk, spilling a pot of crushed apple seeds that he knew - dimly - he could use to make firebreath fire. But, he wouldn’t make the firebreath fire, he wanted to aim bigger, he’d make the most complicated conversion on that list and he’d do it perfectly, because screw Longwark.

He just needed to calm his rabbiting pulse.