After being dragged for a few steps, Moran began walking of his own accord.

  No use in resisting. He’d had quite enough of being beaten, impaled, or harmed in any other way for a while.

  Together, they strode through the seemingly endless corridors, their walls lined with dull, metallic plating.

  The air felt stifling, as though the narrow passageways were trying to crush him between them.

  Though, considering he could still breathe, there had some means of ventilation.

  Everywhere he looked, pipes and tubes snaked along the walls and ceiling, some leaking faint streams of steam that hissed out of tiny cracks.

  The occasional drip of condensation echoed faintly, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

  This was a far cry from the primal simplicity of the Shapeless village.

  Whoever had built this place either had vast knowledge of engineering, or was very good at faking it.

  Moran’s thoughts wandered back to the grotesque puppet he’d had the misfortune of dismantling a few weeks ago.

  Its mechanical innards and sickening blend of flesh and machine haunted him even now.

  Could it be that this was his domain? The Alchemist?

  The idea made his stomach churn, but there was also a spark of curiosity.

  If it was him… well, at least the last minutes of Moran's live would be interesting.

  Not that that provided any condolence...

  After what felt like hours of silent walking, they finally stopped in front of a pair of massive, rusted metal doors.

  The woman reached out and pressed a button beneath a speaker system.

  It was an old, clunky device, the kind with a round metal grille encased by thin vertical bars, its surface dulled by years of wear.

  A faint crackle of static hissed through the air as the connection engaged.

  She stepped back and clasped her hands behind her lower back, standing rigidly in a posture that vaguely resembled a soldier at attention—whatever that was supposed to mean here.

  Moments later, a low "Grrkkkgg" came through the speaker, followed by a distorted, metallic voice.

  The words were garbled, incomprehensible, as if they’d been run through a machine with broken gears.

  “I brought him here,” the woman said firmly, her voice sounding slightly different than before, with a new tone added to it.

  Was that… pride?

  It wasn’t obvious, but there was something in her tone, a quiet eagerness, like a dog waiting for a pat on the head after fetching a stick.

  Either that or Moran was just imagining things. He wasn't the best in reading people, as he had proven regularly in the village.

  The speaker offered nothing in return. No acknowledgment, no praise. Just silence.

  The woman’s stance stiffened slightly, but she said nothing more.

  Without warning, the doors groaned and began to move, retracting into the walls with a grating, mechanical whine that hurt in the ears.

  The sound echoed through the corridor as the darkness behind them spilled into the hall.

  Beyond the threshold lay an immense void, broken only by scattered, blinking lights in various colors.

  It looked almost like a strange, artificial sky, whatever that was, stars that pulsed and flickered in every color imaginable.

  “Bring him in,” a metallic voice commanded, followed by a deep inhale that sounded like the steam coming out of the pipes.

  The woman obeyed without hesitation, grabbing Moran by the arm and ushering him inside.

  As they entered, Moran’s eyes strained to make sense of the barely lit space. His pupils widened again and the lightls slowly became shemes of monitors and buttons.

  Despite never seeing thim untill now, Moran's mind had spit out quite a few of such contraptions during his time pondering in his little hut.

  They were powerfull machines that could set in motion quite a range of things.

  As he walked inside his soles slapped against the metal floor, producing a loud clank with every step.

  The air inside tasted like alcohol. Not the fun one Ogmar sometimes served, but the one you would stuff a dead animal into in order to preserve it.

  The woman paused after a few steps and finally spoke again, her tone an attempt at sounding confident.

  “So what do you want with him?”

  For a moment, silence stretched out, like a bird did his wings.

  Then someone positionined to Moran's left answered. He sounded close but his eye's had yet to get used to the uncertain darkness.

  "That is a private matter. You may leave, Creature."

  Hearing the man’s words, the woman’s shoulders twitched, and her grip on Moran’s arm tightened, just for a moment.

  It was subtle, but it said everything.

  That wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for.

  “I don’t think you should be alone with a stranger,” she said finally, her voice oozing with uncertainty.

  She sounded like a student challenging a professor despite knowing how their grades might suffer for it.

  Before the metallic voice could reply, the sound of metal poles striking the ground cut through the tension.

  The noise grew louder, accompanied by the hiss of machinery and an occasional sharp wheeze that reminded Moran of a broken bellows.

  A figure emerged from the shadows of the massive room, its steps deliberate and unhurried.

  Moran squinted, his heart tightening at the sight.

  Whoever this was, it wasn’t someone he wanted to meet alone.

  The figure’s legs, encased in polished mechanical prosthetics, clinked and hissed with each step, steam venting from hidden valves. Pipes of varying thickness coiled across their body like external veins, some glowing faintly with a pulsing, unnatural light.

  Their face was concealed by a tarnished golden mask, its once-bright surface dulled and scratched.

  From the mask’s mouthpiece, a long, slender tube snaked down into the complex web of machinery covering their form.

  Two yellowed glass lenses, perfectly round and eerily reflective, glinted from within the mask.

  They gave the unsettling impression that the figure saw everything, though Moran couldn’t be certain if there were even eyes behind them.

  The person, thought Moran assumed that thing was a person more then he knew it, stopped several feet away

  Once again silence took hold of the scene, completely domaniting the vast room, except for the faint hum of the machinery around them and the occasional wheeze.

  The woman at Moran’s side hesitated, her posture rigid.

  Her hands twitched as if debating whether to let go of him.

  “I really think—” she began, but the figure cut her off with a slight tilt of its head.

  “Thank you again for your service, Creature, but you are no longer needed,” the metallic voice rasped, this time coming directly from the figure.

  There was no anger in the tone, no warmth either.

  Just indifference. “Leave.”

  For a moment, the woman stood frozen, her defiance battling her obedience.

  Then, reluctantly, she released Moran’s arm and took a step back, her lips pressed tightly together.

  She nodded her head slihglty. "If he gives you any trouble...," She started again and got interrupted just the same.

  "He won't," The metal thing said, sending shivers down his spine. "I have already finished your adhesive Creature. I suggest you take it before withdrawal becomes apparent."

  She lingered for just a second. Then she nodded, shot Moran a gaze that made it clear she wanted nothing more to gut him and, without another word, she left the room.

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  The massive metal door sealed behind them with a low, final "Clank", swallowing the cone of light that the hallway lamps had projected into the room.

  Moran stood frozen, his shoulders tense.

  If this man was truly the Alchemist, being left alone with him was the last thing he wanted.

  The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.

  If this man was even half as monstrous as his creations, and the stories he had heard indicated he was, in fact, much worse, Moran was not too keen on meeting him.

  The man in the mask stared at Moran through his round lenses, the metal in front of his face hiding all emotion.

  Then, with a sudden burst of energy, his arms shot out wide, as if he were about to embrace the air.

  “Welcome!” he said, his voice startlingly cheery.

  The shift in tone hit Moran like a slap. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  A chuckle followed, metallic and grating, like steel wires grinding together.

  “I was a little worried Ixaridion might be poisonous for you,” the masked figure continued, his hands gesturing vaguely, tubes hissing with every motion.

  “But as I hoped it is really just a potent sedative. Tell me, do you feel any side effects? No nausea? Pain? Perhaps a touch of delirium?”

  Moran blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up.

  The bizarre warmth in the man’s voice clashed violently with his earlier demeanor, his looks and the scene as a whole.

  Every instinct screamed at him to tread carefully. So he did.

  “My head hurts like hell,” Moran said cautiously, “and my joints feel like they’re on fire.”

  The man froze, then clasped his hands together with a resounding "Clank".

  “Ah, headaches!” he exclaimed, almost gleefully, like a student that had just gotten a very satisfying answer to a very wierd question. “Fascinating! Truly fascinating!”

  The masked man tilted his head slightly and leaned forward, studying Moran’s face like a drunkyard the last bottle of booze.

  “Ixaridion,” he said, the word rolling out like a greeting to an absent classroom.

  “Do you know what that is?"

  He gave Moran exactly half a second to answer, before continuing.

  "Of course, you wouldn’t, I invented it, after all!”

  He let out a harsh, metallic chuckle as if the statement itself was worth applause.

  “It’s distilled from the blood of Night Dragons,” the Alchemist began, his hands moving as though conducting an orchestra. One he no doubt was too delusional or drugged to realise wasn't there.

  “Terrifying creatures, their veins brimming with raw lightning. Stand too close, and you’ll feel your flesh sizzle. But the energy they generate? Nothing short of magnificent. And their blood...it’s like holding the secrets of the storm in your hands. Electricity of this intesity generated by biological creatures. That is nothing short of mesmerizing.”

  He paced a little, his mask glinting as he turned. “Of course, they’re usually mindless engines of destruction, attacking anything that dares breathe in their presence. But with their mate? An entirely different story. Their bodies create powerful calming hormones, soothing even their fiercest instincts. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  He stopped, turning sharply to Moran. “I captured a pair, studied them, and extracted their blood. Refined it carefully...well, mostly carefully...into what I hoped would be a sedative. And it seems it worked!”

  Moran said nothing, his eyes tracking the man’s erratic movements.

  His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together.

  This person had not only injected him with some untested concoction, but one made out of, as far as he was concerned, animal blood. The sheer recklessness of it was staggering.

  Despite his insistance earlier that he was glad he made it here, he hadn't spared any effords risking his live.

  All the germs and diseases that blood could have contained. And considering it was based on hormones he surely hadn't properly boiled it or they would have lost their potentcy.

  A surge of fury rose in his chest.

  It wasn’t just careless, it was downright homicidal.

  Realising Moran's less then ecstatic expression the masked figure stopped abruptly.

  For a moment, he was completely still, like a puppet awaiting its next command, his limps dangling of his torso.

  Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he spun to face Moran, his arms spreading wide as though to welcome him into a grand theater.

  “Ah, where are my manners?” he exclaimed, his voice warm and almost playful, entirely at odds with his unnerving appearance.

  He placed a hand on his chest and gave a slight bow. “I haven’t introduced myself. Very rude of me, don’t you think?”

  Straightening up, he continued, “The people here have taken to calling me the Alchemist. I didn’t choose it, of course, but I must admit, it has a certain... charm. And, well, if they insist on such a dramatic title, who am I to deny them?”

  He chuckled, the sound distorted and metallic through his mask.

  “And you, my friend? What shall I call you?” He snapped his fingers, producing a "Clink" and leaned forwards as if he expected to her a secret of the greatest importance.

  “Moran,” the other man simply answered, trying to keep his voice steady.

  The Alchemist tilted his head, as if considering the name.

  “Moran. A solid, dependable name. Not bad, though a bit out of the ordinary here. Did you choose the name yourself?”

  Moran shook his head, causing the Alchemist's to hop up and down.

  "As expected, as expected. For some strange reason, call it fate or just coincidence, none of us travelers recall our original name. And all of us get named by someone else. Be that friend or foe."

  He jerked his head back, waving it from left to right as if he was following a silent melody.

  "You see we travelers are mostly rejected by the natural habitats. It's tradition for them to give us labels like the Great Fisher, Firechild or, well, the Alchemist. So for someone to give a regular name like that...it's very novel."

  Moran shrugged. He had no intention of telling this person that his name was simply a hidden insult, with Kai having replaced the second O with an A.

  After a moment of silence, it became clear the Alchemist had no intention of continuing his lecture.

  Moran decided to cut to the one thing he actually cared about, aside from figuring out how to escape.

  “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, his tone coming out more confrontational than he’d intended.

  The Alchemist’s head snapped sharply to the right, then to the left, before he grabbed it with both hands and forced it to face Moran again.

  “Urgh... I hate when that happens. What was your question again?”

  “Why did you...,” Moran began, his tone shifting from antagonistic to annoyed, but the Alchemist interrupted him like an overeager student trying to impress a teacher.

  "Ah yes, why you are here, of crouse, of course, of course."

  His golden lenses gleaming faintly as they reflected Moran along with the blue light that radiated out of a consol behind him.

  “You’ve impressed me a lot over the last weeks. You know, that little autopsy of yours on my drone? That was awesome!”

  Moran’s stomach clenched. How the hell did this man know about this. Had he spys inside the village?

  Before he could dwell on the thought, the Alchemist turned abruptly, waving him toward a console nearby. “Come, I must show you something. I think you’ll appreciate this.”

  Moran hesitated, his legs heavy with apprehension.

  But when the Alchemist glanced back expectantly, he forced himself to follow.

  The console was a crude mix of pipes, dials, and gauges.

  One particularly large gauge caught his attention, its needle sitting calmly in the green zone.

  “Ah, the pressure gauge,” the Alchemist said, tapping it with a finger.

  “This little beauty monitors the cell I kept you in until earlier. The livest...shapeless woman that followed you actually has the heart of a phonix. Could you believe that? A frigging phonix!"

  The Alchemist giggled like a child speaking about a a new toy.

  "She’s been attempting to melt her way out, you see, but she won’t succeed.”

  He gestured toward a bundle of pipes overhead, which snaked along the ceiling like metal veins.

  “These pipes circulate Agoron, or known to the shapless as the water of the Hungry-Ocean,” he explained with exclamationmarks in his voice.

  “It’s an extraordinary substance,” the Alchemist said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

  “In fact, it’s not water at all. What you’re seeing is a colony of minuscule organisms, living creatures that merely mimic the properties of it.”

  A chill ran down Moran’s spine as the Alchemist’s words sank in.

  The memories of him sinking down into the dephts of the Hungry Ocean resurfaced in his mind and thanks to the words he had just heared the event was reframed to him in a new layer of horror.

  It hadn't been water, but a swarm of organism. And they had been all over him!

  The Alchemist, oblivious to Moran’s unease, continued.

  “They’re fascinating hunters. Their strategy is to swarm and envelop their prey, compressing it into a tight ball to render them immobile and completely helpless. Then, ever so slowly, they dissolve the trapped mass and absorb its nutrients.”

  “N-nice,” Moran mumbled, his voice thick with disgust.

  The Alchemist clapped his hands together, ignoring Moran’s tone.

  “Isn’t it, though? Of course, they aren’t without their flaws. They’re sensitive to heat. Unlike water they avoide contact with it as much as they can. A fire for example. Normal water would extinguish it and the energy of the fire would only extinguish some of it. If Agoron comes into contact however they try to scatter instantly. Thus the same energy produces a lot more results then when it comes to normal water.”

  He tapped a nearby pipe with a gloved finger, the faint clink of metal echoing in the room.

  “I’ve turned that quirk into a strength. By controlling the temperature in these pipes, I’ve created a perfect cooling system to keep my cells safe from any excessive heat.”

  Moran’s eyes darted to the walls, the pieces clicking into place.

  The smooth, seamless metal of his own cell suddenly made sense. Heat could easily transverse it and sink into the pipes where the sudden shift in pressure along with some no doubt genious engineering transported the excess energy away.

  Lira might have been able to melt her way through a normal surface, but here, the Alchemist’s system would neutralize any attempt to escape.

  “See this?” the Alchemist said, gesturing to the pressure gauge. The needle hovered steadily in the green zone.

  “Your fiery friend has been trying her hardest, but this system is far too efficient for her to generate enough heat to even make a dent.”

  Moran nodded, feigning interest while his mind worked overtime.

  “Of course,” the Alchemist went on, “this isn’t the only marvel I’ve created from nature’s raw materials. Come, let me show you something else!”

  Moran followed reluctantly, his eyes flicking to every pipe and contraption as they walked. If he managed to cuff of the cooling system, Lira might be able to burn her way out of here.

  He run his teeth over his lips, biting down on a dry part of skin and began peeling it off slowly. The weak pain helped him to concentrate. Helped him to think.

  The Alchemist stopped at a table cluttered with strange devices and specimens, his movements suddenly brisk and purposeful.

  “Here we are!” he announced, picking up what appeared to be a large obsidian plate.

  “This,” the Alchemist said, holding it up like a proud parent showing off a prized trophy, “is a sample of Ignis Flakes. Harvested from the scales of juvenile Firelickers. They react violently to electricity, heating up excessively while remaining mostly conductive.”

  Something about that set Moran’s teeth on edge.

  It didn’t sound right. He hesitated, but the words slipped out before he could stop himself.

  “That’s impossible,” he blurted, his tone more definitive than he intended. Why was this important enought for him to speak out?

  The Alchemist froze.

  Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the plate and turned his masked gaze toward Moran.

  The metallic faceplate tilted slightly, as though he were peering at Moran from some hidden vantage point.

  “Impossible?” the Alchemist repeated, his voice a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Do elaborate, my friend.”

  Moran’s mind raced.

  He hadn’t planned on challenging the man, but now that he had, the least he could do was to defend his statement.

  “If it’s producing heat,” he began cautiously, “then it’s losing energy. Heat is wasted energy, which means the material can’t remain as conductive as you’re saying. The resistance would increase as the temperature rises, reducing its ability to conduct electricity efficiently.”

  The Alchemist stood perfectly still, as if processing Moran’s words. Then, to Moran’s surprise, the man erupted into a joyous laugh, the sound metallic and jarring.

  “Indeed!” the Alchemist exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

  “Absolutely marvelous! A traveler with a brain! Oh, this is a rare delight!”

  Moran blinked, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.

  "Wha...," He began but the Alchemist had no intention of stopping his rambling.

  “Do you have any idea how many travelers I’ve encountered? Exactly one dozen and two so far. And they all harness the powers of their homes. Spitting fire or manipulating people by a shooting a few firelights out of their fingers and calling themselves a prophet! But their minds?”

  He tapped his mask with a metallic clink.

  “Empty. Most have nothing but brute force or flashy tricks. They wield power, but they don’t understand it. Maddening!”

  He stepped back and gestured grandly to the cluttered table.

  “But us, my friend, we are not like them. We see the questions this world proposes. The secrets it keeps!”

  The alchemist pointed towards the obsidian plate. "Those properties aren't possible, yet this material possesses them. Same goes for the livestock. There is no basis or mechanism on which simply stuffing anothers heart into you should provide you with the ability to transform into that beeing, yet these things do it every single day."

  He shook his head violently, his words sounding angry, like he was offended by the fact that something dared to act in a way he did not understand.

  Moran supressed the urge to take a step back, to distance himself form this delirous man.

  "No matter how many of them I cut appart, I do not understand it. And yet I want to so desperatly."

  The Alchemist's head shot around to face Moran again.

  "But now you are here! Oh, my friend, there is so much more I want to show you! So many conversations we can have."

  Without waiting for Moran the Alchemists walked deeper into the room, waving insitantly for the other man to follow him, like a child showing his new dog his room for the first time.