28. Tristan: Four Years Later

  Four years had passed since that talk with Ifrit – the one where he had displayed the severed heads of the Holt couple, warning Tristan never to show weakness again.

  And he hadn’t.

  That single act of cruelty made Tristan understand firmly who his father really was – a man who wouldn’t shy away from killing innocents who he himself had dragged into his schemes.

  Since then, Tristan proceeded cautiously, learning, adapting. He became hardened.

  Rosalina remained at his side, guiding him through all Dalina could challenge him with. More often than not, the so-called challenges he faced turned out to be more tests set by Ifrit. He was yet to let him deal with an actual issue regarding their family business.

  Academically, all of Tristan’s tutors had been replaced with those capable of teaching high-school level material. But even they struggled to keep up with him. He was only ten, but everyone agreed that he was ready for university-level study – if not beyond.

  Magically, however, his Inner Eye remained closed. He was unable to enter it again since that faithful day when he turned six.

  Dante continued teaching him the complex craft of Thread Reaving, and Tristan had now reached the point where he could pass a Reaver Worm through the Thread Priming process. It was a grueling, technical procedure that required steady hands and an intricate knowledge of the worm's anatomy and biology. He had yet to succeed in every Thread Priming attempt – but he was close, succeeding more times than failing.

  As for using a Reaver Worm…that still hadn’t happened. Tristan had resisted the urge, and his father’s pressure, time and time again, a decision that irritated Ifrit more with each passing month.

  Speaking of alchemy – Zacharia of Ostia had arrived at the estate three months after that fated conversation with Ifrit and had taken up semi-permanent residence. Each week, the alchemist presented a new potion he came up with that he claimed might finally awaken Tristan’s dormant magic.

  Each one failed.

  But Ifrit had a lot of patience for Zacharia. He was convinced the alchemist would eventually succeed – and so, the experiments continued.

  Why had ifrit trusted Zacharia so much? The reason for that lay in their shared past.

  Back when Ifrit was still young, feared for his aggression and explosive fire, and disrespected because of his young age, he had sought one thing from the alchemical world - something that would boost the speed of his conquest of Dalina's underworld: a truth serum.

  Truth serums had already existed, but they also had countering potions for them - things that many people who were holding important information took as vaccines. Ifrit needed something subtle and undeniable. Something new that will break the existing rules.

  Every alchemist in Dalina and the rest of Stulan had turned him away, too afraid or too proud to work with a volatile teenager carving his name in blood and fire.

  But Zacharia didn't.

  The foreign alchemist had no clue who ifrit was, nor did he have a side in Dalina's underworld wars. He was a mad scientist of sorts, accepting the challenge for the sake of alchemy.

  Zacharia listened - and delivered. Not just a truth serum, but something far beyond what ifrit had imagined. The serum was so potent, it didn't just make people susceptible to questioning, it made them spill their deepest secrets - even things they weren't directly asked about. It made Ifrit the richest man in Dalina - rich with dirty secrets of every crime lord and noble under the sun.

  But things turned even better for Ifrit. In studying how the serum worked, he had an epiphany. It became the foundation for something greater: the awakening of his Mind Reading Magic. He managed to weave his first Thread by understanding Zacharia's formula.

  That moment cemented everything. Zacharia didn't just provide a tool - he changed the course of Ifrit's evolution. And that's why Ifrit always trusted him. Because Zacharia doesn't just give you what you ask for. He gives you what you didn't know was possible.

  Today, Tristan was headed to meet Zacharia. To try the weekly potion. And to also deepen his understanding of alchemical theory. After all, Zacharia wasn’t just his father’s guest – he was his alchemy teacher now.

  And Tristan, as always, intended to learn everything he could.

  Tristan pushed open the heavy oak door that led to Zacharia’s chambers and immediately wrinkled his nose.

  ‘He kept the windows closed again…’

  The room was large – larger than most in the estate, reserved for honored guests – but whatever dignity it once held was long forgotten, buried under chaos incarnate.

  Glass vials littered the floor, some empty, some broken, others filled with odd looking liquids. Scrolls were piled haphazardly everywhere – even on the chandeliers above, while opened books covered most of the floor, turning into a makeshift carpet. A chalkboard was rested against the closed windows, scribbled with symbols only Zacharia could understand – he called it the ‘Zachalanguage’. A language he created and used so no one could copy or steal his work.

  It was smart…in a way. The problem was that since the language could’ve been learnt by others, he added a changing element, updating the meaning of each symbol once a month. That indeed made his language incomprehensible to anyone else, but it also posed an actual threat of knowledge loss as even Zacharia would sometimes forget what each symbol meant in any given time frame.

  In the center of this alchemical disaster lay a bed – almost completely buried in parchments and discarded cloth. And on that bed, somehow curled in the only free space on it, was Zacharia – or Zach, for short.

  Tristan tilted his head at the sight. Zach was lying sideways, his upper body twisted in one direction while his legs were folded beneath him. His face was buried inside a stack of notes, mouth slightly open, a metallic spoon on top of his head.

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  Tristan blinked. ‘How is anyone even capable of sleeping like this?!’

  He cleared his throat, hoping it would wake the alchemist, but it didn’t. So, he picked up the metallic spoon from his head and flicked it sharply against a glass beaker he found on the floor.

  The resulting sound echoed like a bell, bolting Zach upright instantly. “I’m awake! I’m awake! I’m totally awake!”

  Tristan stepped back slightly as Zacharia looked around him wildly, his hair sticking out in all directions like it was struck by lightning. His beard was uneven, as though he was distracted mid-trim a week ago and still didn’t get back to it. His robes were stained with ink, wax, ash, and something that smelled faintly of vinegar, and…onions?

  Tristan wished it was just the result of a rough night’s sleep, but that was not the case. This was how Zacharia looked ninety-nine percent of the time.

  Zach blinked at Tristan, as if finally realizing he was there. He gave him a sleepy grin. “Oh. It’s you. Good. I was just running some checkups on the relation between deep sleep and mana regeneration.”

  “You were drooling on this stack of papers, Zach.” Tristan said flatly.

  Zach wiped his chin with his sleeve, looked at the mess around him on the bed, and nodded. “And how else would one know I was in a state of deep sleep if not for the drool?”

  Tristan sighed. ‘Somehow, this man was the one tasked with fixing me…’

  “Riiight.” Tristan said, shaking his head. “So what are the major findings?”

  It didn’t take him long to regret asking anything.

  “Well, aren’t you curious, dear student of mine?” Zach replied, scrambling out of bed and stepping directly on several crumpled parchments without the slightest hesitation. “As you know, research is a delicate process. Give me some time to test the theories, to gather test subjects, to run at least a few experiments. You can’t just ask me to give you my findings like this, out of the blue. That would be extremely unprofessional on my part, and extremely rude on yours. And don’t even get me started on the psychological toll of rushed genius – “

  “It’s okay, Zach. I didn’t actually care.” Tristan interrupted flatly, sharply changing the subject. “What do you have for me today?”

  Zach froze mid-gesture, then spun around with a sudden, overly enthusiastic grin. “Ah! Yes, of course. This week’s concoction! A special blend I worked tirelessly to make. Designed to stimulate your mana outputs through minor sympathetic resonance and…and a tiny bit of phoenix feather – don’t ask me how I got it.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. “So we’re back to mana outputs instead of targeting my Inner Eye?”

  Zach shrugged casually. “We’re attacking from all directions. Eventually something will stick.”

  “You’ve been saying that for nearly four years…” Tristan rolled his eyes. He was long past believing any of the potions would truly work. He always assumed there was a tiny – likely less than one percent – chance that one of them would work, but at this point, he kept trying mostly to keep Ifrit’s expectations managed – and because, despite his madness, Zacharia hadn’t killed him yet with a side effect.

  “For cryin’ out loud, you’re only ten!” Zach threw up his arms dramatically. “What’s the rush? We’ve got time! We could keep testing these for years!”

  Tristan stared at him, eyes narrowing. “You do remember you’re actually supposed to treat my condition and not just endlessly test your theories, right?”

  “Duh! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?!” Zach chuckled, completely unfazed, then dove under a pile of papers on the floor.

  After a moment of muffled cursing, clinking glass, and something that definitely sounded like a rodent squeak, he resurfaced holding a vial filled with pink, bubbling liquid.

  He grinned. “Ta-dah!”

  Tristan stared at the contents, watching it churn and shift in a way that made it seem alive.

  “What’s it made of again?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. “Outside the phoenix feather, of course…”

  “To say ‘again’ implies I had already told you the first time,” Zach replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But if you recall, dear pupil, all I said was ‘special’ – which could mean – “

  “Zach.”

  Tristan was used to the man’s endless ramblings. He had learned very early that if you hadn’t stopped him in time, he would actually mute you out and continue for hours.

  Zach cleared his throat. “Right, right. The actual breakdown: base solution is a stabilized blend of aether-laced riverroot and purified moonshade sap. That gives us the necessary mana conductors and viscosity. I steeped them for three hours, just as any competent alchemist would. Then, for the resonance effect, I added powdered fireblossom – freshly picked, not the dried junk from the markets of your fancy capital.”

  Tristan nodded slowly. “The fireblossom explains the pink hue.”

  “Indeed!” Zach exclaimed. “Then I introduced a crushed shinyscale shell – only a pinch, of course – for mild amplification, and lastly, the phoenix feather – again, don’t ask me how I got it – was boiled in a mix of quicksilver and mercury to extract its magical properties into the blend. The result: bubbling, mana-reactive, and completely safe!” He coughed a few times, sneaking in a subtle “In theory”.

  Tristan crossed his arms. “How much powdered shinyscale shell did you use? Because too much of it will make me vomit for hours, and last time was enough – “

  “Just a pinch!” Zach said defensively. “A respectable pinch, I swear!”

  Tristan sighed. “And did you temper the mercury and quicksilver with soulvine? Otherwise, it might knock me out for days.”

  Zach’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “…Of course I did. Who do you take me for?!”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Zach…”

  Zach narrowed his eyes back and they were locked in a stare-off, until eventually, he broke. “Okay, maybe I didn’t! but it doesn’t mean it’ll kill you or anything!”

  Tristan sighed again, deeper this time. “This might be drinkable – if you have the neutralizing agent on hand. The one you brewed last month – dawnleaf extract? It’ll nullify the mercury’s poison.”

  Zach’s face lit up with excitement. “You are wise beyond your years, mini-Ifrit! Really warms my soul to see how much you’ve learned – and you’re only ten!” He dropped to his knees, lifting scrolls, books, and stained beakers off the floor. “I definitely had it somewhere here. Unless Fletcher took it again…”

  “Fletcher?” Tristan raised an eyebrow. “I thought he died last week.”

  Zach exhaled through his nose like he’d heard something ridiculous. “Oh, please, Tristan. Fletcher’s an opossum. That’s all those bastards do – fake their deaths for sympathy and free snacks. He's here somewhere.”

  Despite himself, Tristan chuckled.

  “Oh! Found it!” Zach exclaimed, holding up a small vial of navy-blue liquid – dawnleaf extract, just like Tristan remembered it.

  Then, he handed Tristan the pink potion.

  Tristan stared at it for a moment, hesitating…and then took a deep breath.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he uncorked the vial and downed the contents in one gulp.

  The taste hit him like a punch – quite literally.

  It had a burning bitterness, followed by a sharp sweetness from the moonshade sap, and then an oily, metallic aftertaste from the mercury and quicksilver. It coated his throat like warm wax. By the time the phoenix feather’s essence surged through him, he felt the concoction tear its way into his gut.

  His head spun violently.

  For a moment, it was as if the floor beneath him began collapsing, and his stomach twisted.

  Zach leaned in, eyes wide. “Well? How do you feel? Try entering your Inner Eye again!”

  Tristan nodded quickly, driven by a strange flicker of hope.

  Dropping into a lotus position, he closed his eyes, focused inward, reaching for the elusive space he had chased for years. He felt sparks – faint pulses of magic flickering behind his eyes, like a door was opening.

  But the door remained shut.

  Then the spinning returned – worse than before – and the twist in his stomach sharpened into a pressure that felt like a stab.

  His eyes flew open.

  “The…agent…” He choked out.

  Zach moved fast. He uncorked the navy-blue potion and pressed it to Tristan’s lips, practically forcing it down his throat.

  Tristan swallowed it, gagging slightly, but the effects came quickly. The nausea dulled. His head cleared. The heat inside him faded.

  He exhaled slowly.

  Zach crouched beside him, rubbing the back of his own neck. “I assume…that one didn’t work either, huh?”

  Tristan didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head.

  He didn’t even feel disappointment. Just quiet certainty.

  ‘It would never work. Nothing conventional would.’

  “Well!” Zach clapped his hands, optimistic as ever. “We try again next week!”

  But Tristan wasn’t listening. His gaze was distant now – not on Zach, not on the empty vial, but on something far beyond – something in his past.

  He knew the answer wasn’t in alchemy.

  He needed to find Gartan.

  And now, at ten years old, he was finally old enough to begin the searches.