Chapter Fifty-Two: Spooky McGee

  As the evening deepened, Jace felt the tension in his shoulders begin to loosen, unraveling with each moment spent in Alice’s company. There was something comforting about her, a quiet curiosity that seemed to smooth out the edges of his unease. Their conversation meandered through topics as naturally as the shifting in the lab.

  Unbidden memories of his foster parents surfaced—the cozy warmth of their tiny kitchen, the inviting scent of freshly baked treats filling the air. Baking had been his refuge, a practice that required focus and patience, grounding him when he felt adrift.

  He could still hear their gentle voices guiding him, helping him find balance when his emotions threatened to spiral out of control. Alex had always been the calm in the storm, the steady hand that kept everything from unraveling. How he wished Alex was there now. But as he moved through the familiar motions—measuring, mixing, the heat of the fire mingling with the scent of the ingredients—he felt something shift. In the repetition, in the practice, he felt closer to Alex, and for the first time in a long while, he felt himself let go.

  Jace nearly jumped out of his skin as a notification blinked into existence before his eyes.

  Status Update

  500 EXP has been allocated to Attribute Improvements.

  200 EXP has been allocated to the Word of Power: Soul.

  Ability Unlocked: Alchemical Focus

  Congratulations!

  You’ve discovered the tranquil flow within the art of alchemy, achieving harmony in its precise and deliberate process.

  By embracing the moment and fully committing to your craft, you’ve unlocked the ability to channel your aether and allocate EXP while practicing a skill.

  Description: Harness the calming nature of alchemy to fortify your aether and channel experience. Instead of traditional EXP allocation techniques, this Focus allows you to cultivate your aether through the practice of alchemy itself. While slower than dedicated methods, this path provides a steadier, more consistent approach to growth.

  This Focus allows you to convert EXP at a rate of 20% of dedicated allocation methods.

  “Eureka!” Jace’s voice burst forth with the excitement of someone discovering a hidden treasure, startling Alice so much that she nearly dropped a precariously balanced vial, the liquid within sloshing perilously close to the edge.

  She shot him a wide-eyed look, her heart still racing from the near disaster. “What happened?”

  “My EXP—I just started spending it!” Jace couldn’t keep the glee from his voice, the thrill of it buzzing through him.

  Alice began to smile, but then her expression shifted into something more incredulous. “Wait a minute… You hadn’t spent it yet?” Her glare could have cut stone.

  “Whoa, hold on there, Spooky McGee,” Jace said, raising his hands in surrender. “I tried, okay? It just wasn’t working for me. But… just look.” He quickly shared the notification about his newfound EXP allocation system.

  Alice’s stern look melted into a smirk as she read it over. “Hmmm, a likely story,” she teased, while her eyes held a flicker of genuine amusement. “You’ve picked up an EXP Focus.”

  “A what now?”

  “Here, I’ve got something similar, but yours seems a bit faster—more focused and specific,” she said, pulling up her interface and sharing it with him. “This is mine.”

  A notification flickered in front of him.

  Precision Focus

  Through intense focus and deliberate study, you’ve unlocked a method to allocate small portions of EXP, converting concentrated effort into progress.

  Currently spends at a 10% rate compared to dedicated EXP methods.

  Jace stared at the text, marveling at how it seemed to fit Alice perfectly—her approach to growth was just like her: precise, deliberate, and maddeningly meticulous. It wasn’t flashy or fast. No, this was a slow burn, steady and reliable—like a candle that might never go out. It demanded patience, a quality in short supply. But for Alice, it was as natural as breathing.

  In contrast, Jace’s method struck a balance—partly intentional, partly effortless. It activated whenever he immersed himself in alchemy, a practice he was quickly growing to enjoy. It was a method that kept him progressing steadily, without the risk of burnout, even if it didn’t quite reach the intensity of the truly dedicated.

  He glanced at Alice, now lost in thought, her eyes distant, as if gazing into a world beyond. Then it clicked—her constant immersion in books wasn’t just a habit; it was likely tied to her method of spending EXP. Or maybe her cultivation ability evolved because of that habit? In Terra Mythica, it was hard to say which came first.

  Alice closed the prompt and looked at Jace, her gaze sharpening in realization.

  “Spooky McGee?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yep, that’s your nickname now. Just decided.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to be a thing.”

  “Okay, Spooky,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

  She shook her head, suppressing a smile, and returned to her potion. “Not a thing.”

  “Definitely a thing,” Jace muttered.

  Hours passed unnoticed, their focus so intense that only the persistent growling of their stomachs finally broke the spell. With reluctance, they conceded it was time for a break. By the time they reached the dining hall, it was a ghost town, the tables bare and the scent of dinner just a memory. Unfazed, they ventured into the kitchen at the back, where the faint aroma of spices still lingered like the echoes of a feast.

  There, amidst the gleaming countertops and hanging pots, stood an older man, his face etched with the lines of a life spent over a stove, his chef’s hat perched like a crown that had seen better days but still held a certain dignity.

  “Are you the only one still on shift?” Jace asked, glancing around the empty kitchen.

  The chef let out a hearty laugh, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls before he launched into a tirade, his words tumbling out in a thick accent with a rugged lilt reminiscent of the Scottish Highlands.

  “Shift? Ha! I’m the only one who works here. Been asking for an assistant for ages, but do you think they’ll give ol’ Ruddoff a break? Not a chance. Not with all you Travelers always whining about this and that. ‘Oh, it’s too bland… oh, I don’t like it… oh, there’s a nail in my food.’ Bah! I’ve had it up to here, I tell ya.”

  Alice and Jace exchanged a wary glance, instinctively edging back toward the door as they realized they might have bitten off more than they could chew. But Ruddoff wasn’t about to let them slip away that easily. He took a step forward, his presence expanding to fill the room. “Eh, where do you think you’re going? You two look like you haven’t eaten in days. And if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a hungry student. I won’t have it said that ol’ Ruddoff let anyone go hungry on his watch.”

  “Um, I think we’re fine,” Alice said, trying to sound convincing.

  Ruddoff wasn’t having any of it. He marched over to the pantry and then to a massive fridge, swiftly filling two plates with an assortment of foods, stacking them high before thrusting them into their arms. “Here, eat up. Can’t have you wasting away. You’re already thin as a twig, lass. Another day or two, and I’d be lucky to get a copper for you at the butcher’s.”

  Alice and Jace nodded, murmuring their thanks, but Ruddoff wasn’t done yet. He continued piling food onto their plates, darting back and forth to the pantries, stacking their arms higher and higher until it bordered on the absurd. For all his grumbling, the man was anything but stingy when it came to feeding people.

  “Uh, sir, just out of curiosity—and not that I don’t believe you,” Alice began cautiously, her voice tinged with a hint of disbelief, “which I totally do—but how do you manage to feed nearly five thousand people a day all by yourself?”

  Ruddoff’s grin widened, a mischievous twinkle sparking in his eye as he gestured grandly behind him. “Take a look, lass. What do you see?”

  They turned, and the kitchen seemed to come alive. Pots stirred themselves, ladles danced through bubbling cauldrons, and knives chopped vegetables with the precision of a maestro at a symphony. The space was alive with the hum of enchantments, every tool and utensil working in perfect harmony.

  “I’m just the conductor,” Ruddoff said with a casual wave of his hand, “Magic does the rest. One man can feed thousands, as long as you’ve got enough aether and the right tools.” He nodded toward the enchanted equipment, each piece glowing faintly with the telltale shimmer of magic. A couple of ladles hovered mid-air, almost as if they were eavesdropping.

  “Back to work!” Ruddoff barked, punctuating his command with a swift kick to the table. The ladles quickly resumed their work, plunging into their pots and stirring with renewed vigor. “Utensils,” he muttered, shaking his head and gesturing at them with a weary thumb.

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  Jace’s eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration, a grin spreading across his face as an idea took hold. They lingered just long enough to gather some of the less-than-exciting food they were sure would show up at breakfast the next morning before making a quick exit.

  “Thanks for the food!” Jace called over his shoulder as they made their exit, arms loaded with an assortment of snacks. They hurried back to the lab.

  “What’s going on, Jace?” Alice asked. “Why are you running?” She tried to keep up, losing at least a few bread rolls in the process.

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Jace hunched over the alchemy table, his thoughts a chaotic whirl, ideas flaring up and crashing down like sparks from a bonfire. “You know that potion you just made—the one with the thing and the name?” he asked.

  Alice looked at him, one eyebrow delicately arched. “You mean the Elixir of Sight?”

  “Yeah, that one,” Jace said, his focus intensifying. “I think I’ve figured out why the food around here tastes like chalk.”

  “I thought that was just how things were here. Bad coding, or something. Either that or some programmer had a love for unseasoned chicken,” Alice quipped.

  “But not everything tastes like that. I had this cherry-filled cookie from the Archmage—“

  She cut him off with a playful grin. “Taking sweets from strangers, Jace? I thought we’d been over this.”

  “Seriously,” he insisted, leaning in closer, “it tasted like a real cherry. Like, the kind you’d find back home, not that synthesized, plastic-flavored nonsense. The kind that grows on a tree. And it got me thinking—maybe the problem isn’t the food itself. Maybe it’s how it’s being prepared. If some poor sap is churning out meals for the entire campus, things are bound to go wrong somewhere along the line. It’s like trying to make a gourmet meal with a fast-food assembly line.”

  Alice leaned in, her interest piqued. “You think something’s getting lost in translation?”

  Jace grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “Exactly. Cooking’s just alchemy with better smells, right?” His hands dove into their supplies with the fervor of a child rummaging through a treasure chest. “What if we tweak the Elixir of Sight to, I don’t know, enhance the taste?”

  Alice hesitated, her fingers lingering on the worn edge of her alchemy book, her brow knitting together in thought. The wheels of her mind began to spin faster. “Full disclosure? This is way out of my league. We’d be walking into uncharted territory. Sure, we could try swapping ingredients, but who knows what we’ll end up with? And I’m pretty sure others have attempted this kind of thing before.”

  “Maybe they have,” Jace mused, “but who’s to say? Back home, people are always inventing new foods and combinations. Ten years ago, no one had even heard of a pineapple maple bacon burrito.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in her voice. “That’s hard to believe.” But before she could say more, her words trailed off, her eyes glazing over as something unseen stole her attention—an unmistakable sign of a prompt appearing in her vision.

  “Wait… something’s happening…”

  Jace tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “What is it?”

  “I just got a quest. A mystery quest. From my deity,” Alice replied, her tone tinged with awe. With a quick swipe of her hand, she shared the quest with Jace.

  New Quest

  Onto Something

  Jace has suggested there might be more to discover about the food in Terra Mythica. This could be completely unimportant… or it could be the key to something much larger. Explore to find out more.

  Jace’s grin stretched wider. “Well, that’s... ominous.”

  Alice’s eyes lit up, her earlier hesitation melting into excitement. “Yeah, I’m in. But where do we even start? I’m not exactly an expert on food alchemy.”

  Jace shrugged, but Alice already pulling out jars of exotic spices and vials of shimmering liquids.

  “You think I am?” he asked. “We’re just two mad scientists with a kitchen full of potential disasters.”

  With an eager nod, Alice flipped open her alchemy book, her fingers skimming over ancient recipes with the precision of someone who actually knew what they were doing. Jace, on the other hand, dove into the mixing process like a mad scientist on a sugar high—half genius, half chaos. The truth was, he had no idea what he was doing, and without Alice’s watchful eye, he was one bad ingredient away from turning the lab into a smoldering crater.

  “I have no clue what’s going to happen,” Alice admitted, a mix of thrill and dread in her voice as she watched Jace add a dash of something green that fizzled ominously.

  “And isn’t that the best part?” Jace replied, his grin as bright as the sparks flying off the concoction in front of him.

  For hours, they tinkered and toiled, each experiment more daring than the last. The first batch left them puckering from the sourness, the second was so bland it tasted like disappointment, and the third—well, that one congealed into something that smelled disturbingly like old gym socks. But with every failure, their determination only grew, stoked by the laughter that echoed through the lab and the clinking of glassware as they pressed on, like two kids playing with the universe’s chemistry set.

  Their fifth attempt at the potion simmered in its cauldron. Jace twisted the final ingredient into the bubbling brew, his focus unbroken by the clatter of the chaotic lab around him. But when the first drop hit his tongue, his face contorted in an involuntary grimace. The flavor was intense, all right—like someone had boiled down a century’s worth of misery into a single, unholy essence.

  But Jace, unfazed by the setback, merely shook his head, determination flickering brighter than the lamp flames. Every failure was a step forward in their understanding.

  He and Alice shared a medley of scavenged snacks—crackers, candied nuts, whatever they could find—each bland bite a small comfort, fueling their resolve as the hours slipped by. The lab, once orderly, had become a whirlwind of alchemical tools and half-finished concoctions. The air was thick with the mingling scents of herbs, and spices, and the unmistakable aroma of magic.

  Eventually, Jace’s hands moved with the confidence of someone who had failed enough times to finally master the basics, the rhythmic grinding of herbs in his mortar becoming almost meditative. Fortunately, Alice had a tendency to hoard ingredients and supplies, giving them more than enough to experiment with.

  As they worked, Jace felt the familiar tingle of his experience points draining away, the subtle shift as they flowed into his attributes and abilities. It was a quiet reminder that even in this mad dance of trial and error, progress was being made—each failure and success adding up in ways that couldn’t yet be fully seen but were deeply felt.

  Alice’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of curiosity and something deeper as she watched Jace work, his hands moving with a kind of unstudied grace. Each motion was fluid, almost instinctual, like he was more part of the ingredients than separate from them. There was a quiet in his movements, a calm she hadn’t associated with him before—this Jace was different, more at ease, as if the usual edges were smoothed out.

  “Where’d you learn to do all this?” she asked, her voice breaking through the soft hiss and bubbles of their concoctions.

  “Honestly, I’m just winging it,” he said, sniffing the air before adding another pinch of green to the mix. He stirred absentmindedly, his focus divided between their concoction and the memories that had surfaced. “We used to camp a lot. Fishing, foraging… making do with whatever we could scrounge up. We didn’t have much, but we learned how to make it work. My brother and I… we didn’t have a choice. We had to get creative.”

  The atmosphere thickened with the weight of his words, the past creeping into the present.

  “It sounds like you made something special out of it,” Alice said softly, her voice a gentle nudge, coaxing him to share more.

  Jace nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile curving his lips. “We did. We had to. My brother and I… we grew up in foster care. Never knew our real parents, but the people who took us in—they didn’t have much, but they had heart. And they knew how to turn nothing into something.”

  They continued to work in tandem, the night cocooning them in a blanket of muted sounds—just the bubbling of the pots and their quiet conversation. Words flowed between them as easily as the concoctions simmering away, stories twining with the scent of herbs, and the occasional clink of glass. Jace, almost without realizing it, began to unravel parts of himself, his past slipping into the present like an uninvited guest.

  His gaze drifted, the room fading as memories took hold, vivid and unfiltered. “They’d take the simplest ingredients and turn them into feasts. Fresh fish over a campfire, seasoned with whatever we could find… it wasn’t just food. It was an adventure. We’d set traps to catch what we could. And Dad—he was the kind of guy who’d look at a can of beans and a hot dog and see a banquet. Ever had hotdog fried rice? Probably not, but to us… it was the best thing in the world.”

  As he spoke, the lab around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only the glow of the lamps and the shared space of their stories. The night stretched on, and a warmth that seeped through him, more potent than any fire. It was the warmth of connection, of shared memories, and the comfort found in the presence of someone who cared enough to listen.

  Alice smiled, a gentle curve of her lips that carried the weight of understanding as she carefully measured the liquid into the beaker, each drop a silent acknowledgment of shared burdens. “What happened to them?”

  There was the briefest pause before Jace spoke. “A car accident.” His voice was brittle with old pain. He added a pinch of ground herbs to the mixture, watching as the colors swirled and shifted—a silent alchemy mirroring the turmoil inside him. “A drunk driver hit them and vanished into the night.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Alice whispered, her hand brushing against his arm, a tender gesture that spoke volumes where words could not reach.

  “It’s okay,” Jace replied, his smile a faint, well-worn shield. “It was a long time ago. After that, they tried to shove us back into foster care, but we couldn’t do it. My brother and I slipped through the cracks, disappearing into the city’s shadows. We worked any job we could find -lived off scraps. But food... food’s always been more than just sustenance for me.”

  Alice nodded, her stirring slowing as she absorbed his words, the rhythm of her movements reflecting her deepening empathy. “And your biological parents? Do you remember them at all?”

  “Sometimes, I think I catch a scent, or hear something faint... but who knows if any of it’s real?” Jace’s voice trailed off, the uncertainty in his tone matching the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  Alice nodded, her hands moving with practiced precision as she measured out another ingredient, but her mind was clearly somewhere else. “I get that,” she murmured. “My mom... she died giving birth to me. Dad always said she’d been sick for a long time, that the doctors warned her she couldn’t have a child. But she didn’t care. She was stubborn like that.” A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips. “Dad said even the doctor cried when I was born—called it a miracle.”

  Jace’s smile was gentle, an unspoken encouragement, sensing that she needed to let this out. He didn’t interrupt, giving her the space to find her voice.

  “But how could it be a miracle,” Alice whispered, her voice trembling, teetering on the brink of tears, “if it meant losing her?” She tried to sound casual, but the raw pain in her words was unmistakable. “Sometimes, I think I remember her scent.”

  She paused, shaking her head as if trying to clear away the memories. “Dad and I run a diner now, out on the East Coast. I still help out when I can, but he wants me to focus on this—on being here. I’m their only chance at something better, if I make it. This isn’t just a game for me.”

  Jace’s hand found hers, his touch warm and steady, a silent promise that he understood, that he was with her in this. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “It’s not a game for any of us anymore, if it ever was.”

  The words hung between them, weighty with unspoken fears and shared burdens, yet somehow lighter for having been voiced.

  “That’s why I’m always studying,” she admitted, her voice tightening under the strain of unspoken desperation. “I need to be great. I have to be. My dad spent everything…” Her voice faltered.

  “We’ll make it,” Jace said softly. It wasn’t just a reassurance; it was a vow, a pact against the odds that loomed over them. As they returned to their work, the lamplight seemed to flicker a little brighter, casting a warm, hopeful glow over the lab, as if even the room itself was rooting for them.

  The night deepened, the air thick with the rich, heady scents of herbs and simmering brews. Jace leaned over the workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration as he measured the final drop of nightshade extract, its dark liquid catching the light for a fleeting moment before vanishing into the mixture. Beside him, Alice adjusted the flame beneath their cauldron with a careful hand, her eyes darting between the potion’s simmering surface and Jace.

  As the hours wore on, exhaustion began to creep into their bones. Alice, usually so bright with focus, now showed the unmistakable signs of weariness—her eyes heavy-lidded, her movements slowed to a deliberate pace. She leaned against the workbench, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face as she stifled a yawn that threatened to escape.

  Still, they pressed on. The night stretched endlessly, but somehow it felt a little less cold, the flickering lamplight a little less harsh. The potion simmered, and amidst it all, hope continued to bubble, stubbornly refusing to let exhaustion win.

  Every so often, Jace glanced at his EXP gauge, watching as it steadily drained, fueling his skills and abilities. A subtle surge of energy coursed through him, and he noticed his constitution had ticked up a point.