Arim sat in his office, his heart still racing from the encounter with Silas. Word was sent out that he was not to be disturbed until further notice, his voice barely concealing the tremors of fear.

As the door closed, he felt the weight of isolation settle upon him.

He sank into his chair, the luxurious padding doing little to ease his tension. His thoughts turned to Nathaniel, his late Master. A man whose obsession with knowledge had cost him his life and left Arim bound in chains of debt and fear. Nathaniel's stern visage haunted him even now, years after his demise.

Arim traced a finger along the intricate patterns on his desk, the carvings a mockery of the once-glorious path he had hoped to tread. His eyes unfocused as memories surged forth—Nathaniel hunched over ancient tomes, eyes alight with manic determination. The countless nights spent in dim light, deciphering notes that no human should have touched.

He raised a trembling finger to his forehead, feeling the cooling effect of one of the stored potions embedded into the grooves carved into his skin. It was a sedative, a necessary thing to ease his mind from the strain of dealing with Senior Ji again. He pressed lightly, and a thin stream of liquid seeped into his system, its calming effects were immediate.

His breath steadied as he moved his chair near the window, seeking solace in the view of Rhysling’s bustling streets below. The city carried on oblivious to his turmoil, its people wrapped in their own lives and concerns. Arim leaned back, letting the potion’s effects pull him into a hazy state of tranquility.

He choose to get some sleep over spending time refining his cultivation at this moment; he couldn't afford to let his mind fail him, rest was necessary.

The shadows outside elongated as twilight gave way to night, and Arim's eyelids grew heavy. The lines between reality and dream blurred as he drifted off into a restless slumber.

In his dreams, he found himself back in Nathaniel's study—a room filled with dusty scrolls and arcane artifacts. The air was thick with incense and candle smoke. His master stood before him, just as he remembered—tall and imposing, with eyes that seemed to pierce through Arim’s very soul.

“Are you paying attention, Apprentice?” Nathaniel’s voice echoed through the dreamscape, stern and unyielding.

Arim’s heart pounded as he struggled to respond. He felt like a child again under Nathaniel’s intense scrutiny. The scene wavered around him as if the dream itself questioned his presence there.

He tried to focus on Nathaniel's face—those eyes that held both knowledge and madness in equal measure—but they seemed to shift and change like shadows. Arim’s mouth opened to speak, but no sound emerged. The dream held him captive in its surreal grasp, refusing to let him break free or wake up.

The old study seemed larger than it ever had in reality, its walls stretching endlessly into darkness. Scrolls whispered secrets he could not decipher, and artifacts glowed with an eerie light that cast unsettling visages across Nathaniel’s stern features.

Arim felt a familiar dread wash over him—the same dread that had plagued him during those late-night sessions with Nathaniel.

The dream shifted slightly, becoming even more real; Nathaniel’s stern eyes never left him as if waiting for an answer Arim wasn’t sure he could give.

“Are. You. Paying. Attention?”

Arim answered, ''Yes Master.''

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

Arim lay ensnared in the web of his own subconscious, deep in a dream that felt more like a haunting.

Nathaniel's imposing figure loomed larger than life. The ethereal study around them seemed alive. Nathaniel's eyes bore into Arim, demanding his absolute attention.

“Good,” Nathaniel’s voice reverberated through the dreamscape as he resumed his lecture. “Pay close attention, Arim. Your path forward hinges on your understanding of cultivation’s depths.”

Arim nodded fervently, his eagerness for knowledge apparent. He watched as Nathaniel gestured grandly, conjuring ethereal diagrams in the air.

“There are four levels of cultivation,” Nathaniel began. “Each level presents its own challenges and rewards, drastically varying across professions.”

The diagrams morphed into images of warriors and paladins in various stages of cultivation.

“A Warrior at the second step,” Nathaniel continued, “can have a lifespan nearing a millennium simply from the power of their base energy. These individuals can combat spirit beasts with their bare hands and lead armies to victory with unmatched prowess.”

The image shifted to a paladin adorned in radiant armor, casting spells that seemed to light up the entire room.

“A second-step Paladin,” Nathaniel said, “can live for twice as long as a warrior and employ energy spells that are as beautiful as they are deadly. Their physiques might may be lesser compared to Warriors, but their adaptability in combat makes up for it.”

Arim absorbed every word, nodding along as if the motion alone could cement this knowledge within him.

Nathaniel’s gaze turned sharper, more focused as he spoke about their shared profession.

“Alchemists like us,” he said with a hint of pride tinged with bitterness, “are somewhat different. At the second step of cultivation, an Alchemist can live for around six hundred years. Our strength lies not in physical might or direct spellcasting but in our unparalleled versatility.”

The ethereal diagrams now showcased alchemists concocting potions and elixirs, transforming mundane substances into objects of power.

“With access to certain rare reagents,” Nathaniel elaborated, “we can craft life-extending elixirs. A second-step Alchemist could potentially extend their lifespan beyond thrice that of their limit. Even a first-step Alchemist can surpass a millennium if fate smiles upon them.”

Arim’s eyes widened at this revelation; he could feel the hunger for such power gnawing at him.

“Remember this well,” Nathaniel said gravely. “Knowledge is your greatest weapon and shield. Use it wisely or it will be your undoing.”

Arim nodded yet again, more fervently this time as if he would engrave each word onto his soul.

Nathaniel's figure seemed to grow even more imposing as he continued his lecture. The air around them crackled with an unseen energy, amplifying the weight of his words.

“Alchemists,” Nathaniel said, “have our own way of naming those that have reached certain levels of accomplishment. Those at the first level are known as Masters. The majority of Alchemists you’ll encounter fall into this category.”

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Arim, ever the eager student, raised a hand as if in a classroom. “What about those who go beyond the first level?”

Nathaniel’s eyes flashed with a mixture of pride and bitterness. “The second level is where we find Sages. Out of a thousand Alchemists, 990 would be at the first step. Only ten would make it to the level of Sage.”

Arim absorbed this information, his mind racing with the implications. “What makes a Sage so special?”

“Sages possess not just skill but an innate understanding of alchemical principles that goes beyond anything a Master Alchemist can conceive,” Nathaniel explained. “Their abilities in potion-making, transmutation, and crafting miracles are exponentially greater than those of Masters. They have the capability to engrave lasting Alchemical symbols onto their skin and utilize the effects of their mixtures as though they were genuine spells. The marks created from consuming the stored mixture can then be repurposed for the same or different substance, provided the Alchemist can endure containing the effects.''

The diagrams floating in the air shifted once more, showing figures covered by radiant alchemical circles, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air.

“What about the third step?” Arim asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Nathaniel’s demeanor changed instantly; rage and frustration marred his otherwise composed visage. “The third step,” he spat out, “is where we find Paramounts. There are only seven known Paramounts in existence. One of them is the Grandmaster of our Empire's Alchemist’s Guild.”

Arim's eyes widened further. “Seven? That’s...”

“Pathetic,” Nathaniel interjected, his voice dripping with contempt. “Of those seven, none have ever revealed how they achieved such power. Six have been missing for centuries—the oldest for nearly a millennium.”

Arim shivered at Nathaniel’s tone but dared to ask another question. “What do we know about their abilities?”

Nathaniel sighed deeply, a sound filled with years of unfulfilled ambition and bitterness. “We know very little about what Paramounts can truly do. What we do know is that their abilities are magnified to a ridiculous degree. Their concoctions can alter the laws of nature themselves; their transmutations defy all known limits.”

“And their lifespans?” Arim probed further.

“Potentially crossing over three millennia,” Nathaniel said with a grimace. “Allegedly.”

The ethereal diagrams now displayed towering figures whose very presence seemed to distort time and space around them.

“And the fourth step?” Arim asked hesitantly.

Nathaniel scoffed, his expression turning almost derisive. “Transcendents? Those are nothing more than myths, legends whispered among Alchemists too scared to admit their limitations.”

Arim could sense the depth of Nathaniel’s frustration and anger but didn’t dare push further.

“There’s no concrete evidence that anyone has ever reached this mythical fourth step,” Nathaniel continued, his voice now a low growl. “It remains an enigma, something that may not even exist.”

The room grew colder as Nathaniel’s anger seemed to manifest in the dreamscape itself, causing Arim to shiver involuntarily.

“Understand this well,” Nathaniel concluded, fixing Arim with a piercing gaze that seemed to look into his very soul. “Knowledge is power—but it is also a curse if you do not wield it wisely.”

Arim nodded solemnly.

Nathaniel's presence began to waver as if he were being pulled back into whatever dark corner of Arim’s mind he resided in.

“Remember what I’ve taught you today,” Nathaniel's voice echoed as his form began to dissolve into mist.

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

Arim's dream shifted abruptly, transporting him to a secluded valley far removed from the eyes of civilization. Towering cliffs enclosed the area, and the dense foliage around them seemed to pulse with life. Nathaniel stood beside him, his piercing blue eyes scanning their surroundings with predatory alertness.

"Today, you will witness the difference between how a first-step alchemist approaches combat and how a Sage does," Nathaniel declared, his voice reverberating through the valley.

Arim blinked in confusion but said nothing as Nathaniel removed his outer robe, revealing a muscled frame covered in intricate alchemical circles. Each circle seemed to pulse with an eerie glow, casting shifting shadows on his skin.

“What do you mean, Master?” Arim asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Nathaniel smirked but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and let out a sharp whistle. From the underbrush emerged a massive spirit beast—a panther with fur as black as midnight and eyes that glowed an unsettling green. The beast’s low growl resonated through the valley, making the ground tremble.

“This beast will serve as demonstration,” Nathaniel said calmly as if discussing the weather. “Now observe.”

The panther charged at them with terrifying speed, its jaws wide open and ready to tear flesh from bone. Nathaniel didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached into his pouch and began tossing potions at the beast. The first flask shattered on impact, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke that made the panther recoil momentarily.

“Watch closely,” Nathaniel instructed as he deftly dodged a swipe from the beast’s massive paw.

Arim's eyes were wide as he observed his Master maneuvering with calculated ease. Nathaniel tossed another potion that exploded into sticky webs, entangling the panther's legs for just a moment. He used that split second to create distance between them.

"This is how a first-step alchemist fights," Nathaniel explained between dodges and throws. "We use potions, evasion, and whatever tools are at our disposal."

Arim marveled at the display but noticed something odd—Nathaniel’s movements were growing less frantic and more deliberate. A sudden shift in energy output caused unease to coil in Arim’s stomach like a living thing.

“And this,” Nathaniel said ominously as he stopped throwing potions altogether, “is how a Sage fights.”

The alchemical circles on Nathaniel’s body began to glow with an intense light. He raised his hands, and from them erupted clouds of toxic haze that enveloped the charging panther. The beast roared in agony as its skin began to blister and peel under the corrosive mist.

But Nathaniel wasn’t done. With another gesture, arcs of electricity crackled from his fingertips, striking the panther with lethal precision. The beast convulsed violently before collapsing to the ground.

Still unfazed, Nathaniel unleashed torrents of fire that bathed the spirit beast in flames. The once-formidable creature was quickly reduced to a charred husk.

Arim stood frozen in awe at the spectacle before him. His Master had transformed into an unstoppable force of nature right before his eyes.

“Look around you,” Nathaniel commanded.

Arim tore his gaze away from the defeated panther to survey their surroundings. The once lush valley was now scorched and poisoned; trees were charred blackened stumps; patches of earth smoldered where flames had licked them clean of life.

Nathaniel turned back to Arim, completely unfazed by the destruction around them. His eyes bore into Arim’s soul as he said softly yet firmly,

“Remember this difference well.” The dream grew hazy once again.

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

The valley faded, and the familiar sight of Nathaniel's study emerged. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and jars of strange ingredients loomed over a large wooden desk cluttered with alchemical apparatus. The scent of musty parchment and potent herbs filled the air. Arim found himself standing in front of Nathaniel, who appeared older, his white beard now no longer peppered with hints of black.

"Drive," Nathaniel began, his voice commanding yet soft. "It is the most crucial element in alchemy. Without it, one cannot hope to progress."

Arim nodded. He remembered countless nights spent here, absorbing every word Nathaniel had shared.

"You see, Arim," Nathaniel continued, "motivation can stem from noble causes or even the most trivial of desires. It doesn't matter whether you seek to heal the sick or simply to amass wealth; what matters is that you have a reason that pushes you forward."

Nathaniel paused, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Arim's. "Alchemy is both a gift and a chain. It allows us to create wonders but also limits our advancement. Unlike others, our path is fraught with unique challenges."

Arim swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Nathaniel's words.

"Now," Nathaniel said, leaning forward, "Meditative techniques… All professions have them—methods to gather and refine energy. For us alchemists, these techniques work well up to the first step. Beyond that? They become nearly useless."

Arim furrowed his brow in confusion.

Nathaniel sighed deeply. "To advance beyond a Master Alchemist, we must refine the energy within us. We must condense it, sharpen it until its quality rivals the quantity of other professions' energy. Only then can we break through to become Sages."

He gestured towards his own chest where faint glowing circles pulsed under his skin. "These are alchemical circles, not just for creating potions but etched onto my very flesh to elevate me higher."

Arim was in awe.

"A Sage bears these marks," Nathaniel explained. "They enhance our potion-making abilities and combat prowess while extending our otherwise short lifespans."

Arim leaned closer, utterly absorbed.

"These circles allow us to produce enhanced effects directly from our bodies," Nathaniel continued. "From emergency body-strengthening potions to grand electric discharge potions for defense—it is this fusion of energy and inscription that sets Sages apart."

The dream shifted once more.

Arim now found himself sprinting through dimly lit corridors towards Nathaniel's study door. His heart pounded as he yelled breathlessly, "Master! A new Paramount has appeared in Rodam!"

The urgency in his voice echoed down the hallway as he burst into the study...