Three days later, Brakar arrived at the shop to find Miles in the cellar, surrounded by an even more elaborate setup of equipment. Dark circles under the alchemist’s eyes suggested he hadn’t slept much, if at all.

  “Have you been here all night?” Brakar asked, setting down a basket of fresh bread he’d brought from the bakery on his way in.

  Miles looked up from a bubbling mixture, his hair more disheveled than usual. “Is it morning? I lost track of time. The initial tests have been fascinating.”

  Brakar peered at the workbench, where several vials of assorted liquids sat in neat rows. “Any progress on the mixture?”

  “The quartz Thadan used is brilliant—it provides a crystalline structure that mimics can bond with for a short period. I also replaced the nightshade with a mixture of aetherium salts, dissolved mithracyte, and trace amounts of alkahest-stabilized quicksilver.”

  Hartwick continued, his tone steady and focused. “Aetherium salts help with energy conductivity. They’re excellent at transferring magical resonance through solid matter, which strengthens the bond between the mimic and the quartz—at least temporarily. Dissolved mithracyte acts as a lattice binder. The quartz already has a crystalline structure, but mithracyte reinforces it, preventing fractures under stress. It’s like rebar in concrete—keeping everything stable so the mimic doesn’t reject the bond.”

  Brakar, who had been listening closely, nodded. “Oh, I see. Then the alkahest-stabilized quicksilver must keep the mixture adaptable. The alkahest prevents the quicksilver from breaking down too fast while still allowing it to shift between states as needed. That way, the mimic gets a structure it can interact with, but once the reaction fades, everything settles back without damage.”

  Hartwick smirked. “I’m glad you get it.” He handed Brakar the vial. “This is a prototype. Much more efficient, non-toxic, and should extend transformation periods by at least fifty percent.”

  Brakar examined the vial with doubt. “This in only three days?”

  “When you’re passionate and have the proper equipment, progress can be rapid,” Miles said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’ve been studying monsters for years, but never had access to this many specimens in a controlled environment.”

  Naia arrived, bringing with her the scent of fresh tea. “Good morning, gentlemen. Any breakthroughs to report?”

  “Miles has created a new formula,” Brakar informed her, holding up the vial.

  “Already?” Naia’s antennae perked up with interest. “That was quick.”

  “It still needs testing,” Miles cautioned. “I’d like to try it on one of the smaller, recent mimics first. Something expendable, in case there are unforeseen reactions.”

  “Nothing here is expendable,” Brakar said with finality. “These mimics are our livelihood.”

  Hartwick held up his hands. “Poor choice of words. I meant something acquired not long ago that hasn’t been assigned a permanent form or designated for sale.”

  Naia nodded, considering. “We do have that small one that came in with the last batch—the one that keeps shifting between bowl and plate forms.”

  “That would be perfect,” Miles agreed. “Small, quite simple transformation requirements, and no immediate commercial value.”

  Brakar still felt uneasy. “And you’re sure this won’t harm it?”

  “As sure as one can be without actual testing,” Miles replied with sincerity. “The theory is sound, and I’ve run several simulations using samples from the larger specimens.”

  Brakar exchanged a glance with Naia, who gave a slight nod. “Alright,” he conceded. “But I want to be present for the test.”

  “Of course,” Miles agreed at once. “In fact, I was hoping you would be. Your unique magical connection to the mimics might provide valuable insights during the process.”

  They fetched the small mimic from its cage in the back room. It had settled into a wobbly bowl shape, its surface rippling now and then as if uncertain about its form. About the size of two cupped hands, it had a mottled green and brown coloration that reminded Brakar of pond scum.

  Brakar took extra care carrying it down to the cellar, where Hartwick had cleared a space on his workbench and surrounded it with various measuring devices.

  “Place it here,” the alchemist instructed, indicating a small metal platform at the center of the arrangement.

  Brakar set the mimic down with caution. It wobbled, then settled.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Now, I’ll apply the mixture on its surface,” Miles explained, preparing a small dropper. “We should see results within minutes.”

  He released three drops of the green liquid onto the mimic’s surface. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the mimic began to tremble, its color deepening to a richer green.

  “Fascinating,” Miles murmured. “The pigmentation response is immediate.”

  The mimic’s surface went smooth, the ripples vanishing. Its form stabilized into a perfect bowl, the edges crisp and defined, while the color shifted into a deep emerald green with subtle swirls of gold.

  “Look at that stability,” the alchemist breathed, impressed with his own work. “And the color enhancement is beyond what I expected.”

  Brakar reached out, his magic sensing the mimic’s condition. To his surprise, the creature felt... content.

  “It’s not fighting the transformation at all,” he observed.

  “Exactly!” Hartwick exclaimed. “Instead of forcing compliance, this formula creates conditions where the mimic prefers to maintain its form. Less energy expenditure, more stability, happier mimic.”

  Naia leaned in for a closer look. “The finish is extraordinary. It looks like fine porcelain.”

  “An unexpected benefit,” Miles admitted. “I hypothesized improved stability, but the aesthetic enhancement is a welcome bonus. I suspect the mixture is allowing the mimic to focus its energy on surface perfection rather than fighting to maintain basic shape.”

  The shop’s bell rang.

  “I should go up.” Naia said.

  “I’ll join you,” Brakar offered.

  “Wait,” Miles interjected, “I was hoping you might stay, Brakar. Your input on the mimic’s condition would be invaluable for my notes.”

  As Naia ascended the stairs, Miles turned to Brakar with undisguised curiosity. “While we monitor the specimen, perhaps you could explain your unique connection to these creatures? Thadan mentioned something about a magical accent?”

  Brakar stiffened. His condition wasn’t something he discussed freely, especially with academics who might view it as merely an interesting anomaly to study. “It’s complicated.”

  “The best things usually are,” Miles replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. “I don’t mean to pry, but understanding your method could help refine the formula further.”

  Sighing, Brakar decided that a partial explanation couldn’t hurt. “My magic developed... incorrectly. When I cast spells, they come out slightly mistranslated, like someone speaking with an accent. It made traditional magic studies difficult. Technically speaking, my magic comes from my secondary core instead of my primary one, which messed up my channels. Because of that, I’ll never be able to open my third gate.”

  “But mimics understand this ‘accent’?” Miles prompted.

  “More than understand it. They respond to it,” Brakar confirmed. “It’s like I’m accidentally speaking their native language. I can communicate intentions directly, rather than forcing them to comply.”

  Miles’s eyes lit with fascination. “Extraordinary. Have you ever considered that your ‘incorrect’ magic might actually be more correct in certain contexts? Traditional magical pedagogy tends to enforce rigid standards that may not reflect the full spectrum of arcane possibilities.”

  The suggestion startled Brakar. Throughout his life, his magical quirk had been treated as a deficiency to be overcome, not a different but equally valid approach. “I... hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Academic institutions can be frustratingly narrow-minded,” Miles said, with a bitter undertone as if speaking from experience. “They label anything outside established parameters as ‘wrong’ rather than ‘different.’”

  He adjusted one of his measuring devices, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. “I’ve long believed that magical knowledge should be more accessible, more democratized. Your ability is a perfect example of how unconventional approaches can yield remarkable results.”

  Something in his tone made Brakar look up sharply. “What exactly did you study at the university, Mr. Hartwick?”

  “Theoretical applications of transformative alchemy, with a focus on practical accessibility for non-aristocratic practitioners.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I believe magical power shouldn’t be hoarded by elites,” Miles explained, his voice taking on a passionate edge. “Common people deserve access to magical protections and enhancements without paying extortionate prices to mages’ guilds or noble-owned apothecaries.”

  The sentiment resonated with Brakar more than he cared to admit. His own struggles with traditional magic had partly stemmed from his inability to afford the specialized tutoring that might have identified his unique condition earlier.

  “And how does that philosophy apply to our mimic furniture?” he asked.

  Miles gestured to the transformed bowl, now gleaming on the workbench. “This is just the beginning. Imagine what else these creatures could become with the right guidance. Affordable magical furnishings for ordinary homes, not just luxuries for the wealthy.”

  “We’re already selling to middle-class customers,” Brakar pointed out.

  “Yes, but you’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s possible,” Miles insisted. “With refined formulas and targeted transformations, you could create pieces with genuine enchantments.”

  “The mimic looks stable,” he observed, returning his attention to the specimen. “I should check on Naia and the customers.”

  Miles nodded, already turning back to his notes. “Of course. I’ll continue monitoring and prepare additional test batches. If this one remains stable, we could try the formula on a larger specimen at a later time.”

  As Brakar climbed the stairs, he found himself both impressed by Miles’s work and unsettled by the man’s intensity. There was genuine brilliance there, but something was off.

  Upstairs, he found Naia guiding a wealthy-looking couple through the showroom, highlighting the unique benefits of their mimic-furniture.

  “And here’s our specialist now,” Naia said as Brakar approached. “Brakar oversees all our custom transformations. If you have any specific requirements for the dining set, he would be the one to consult.”

  The woman turned to Brakar with the polite interest of someone accustomed to being catered to. “We were just discussing whether the chairs could be adjusted for my mother. She finds standard heights uncomfortable for her hips.”

  “Absolutely,” Brakar confirmed, mentally calculating how to instruct the mimic-chairs to accommodate an elderly user.