Two days in, and the ceiling of Rowan’s train roomette was practically mocking him. How could days in this room overlooking gorgeous rolling hills and forests be so mind-numbingly boring? If he read another page from his books, he was going to gouge his eyes out, and he couldn’t believe he thought that was possible. He’d spent years locked away in college, but nothing compared to the torment of stuffing cotton into your ears and locking yourself in a room where you could touch both opposing walls with outstretched hands. He craved escape.
The last time he freed himself from his self-dubbed “broom closet”, the train was packed with other travelers. Granted, since then, more and more people left the train than stepped on. But the memory of grouchy glares because of his mostly dirt-covered apparel as he squeezed his way through the filled observation deck and sleeping cars to a locked car five cars down was enough to keep him secluded in cabin 1A.
Finally, his restlessness winning out over caution, he let out a hefty sigh and pushed himself up to his feet, gingerly stepping out onto the carpeted floor. As he’d hoped, the hall only had one woman, with a wrinkled and pinched face, waddling back into her roomette. The observation deck was more occupied than he’d hoped, with a scattering of passengers, but he could at least pause and take a look up through the glass and see a gray covered sky.
All the booths were still taken with people far too focused on their mugs of coffee or newspapers to truly enjoy anything beyond the glass. However, there was one table in particular that caught his eye. A young woman, a little younger than himself, hunched over a makeshift fort constructed of books atop the table. As he approached, he saw a small pinprick of light hiding between the books, casting a slight glow on her blue eyes, soft freckled face, and blond, braided hair.
Rowan cleared his throat. “Mind if I join you?”
Doing exactly the opposite of what Rowan had intended, she jumped, sending a tower of books cascading down. A green tome fell right into the light, and for a moment it hovered in the air while the other books clattered onto the table. Then it collapsed in on itself, vanishing along with the light.
“Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” she shouted, drawing disapproving glances from the other occupants.
Rowan looked down at the table, noting the clear markings of an alchemy sigil. While many people in Neosilica revere alchemy in all its glory, the further north you get, the less supportive people become. Especially when it’s done near them, on a train, where they can’t escape if something were to go wrong.
Acting on instinct, he slipped into the booth, shielding her exposed sigil work from the prying eyes of the few passengers present.
“What was that?” Rowan whispered, his gaze fixated on the fading symbols. The complexity was mesmerizing, especially the recurrent elemental symbols intertwining in an intricate dance.
“It’s… nothing,” she mumbled, a little too quickly, clearly flustered. “Professor Valeria warned me about practicing on the train. I’m dead if she finds out I lost her copy of Aether to Quanta.”
Rowan picked up a few of the books, reading titles like Quantum Alchemic Paradigms and From Cauldrons to Quarks: An Alchemical Guide to Improbability. “Name’s Rowan,” he said, smiling up at her. “Recent grad from Flamel.”
Elara sighed, looking around the room as she pushed the books aside. “Oh, good. Flamel? Me too, second year. Elara Frost.”
Rowan held up a paperback with a rather lewd image on the front, and the title: Briefs and Bosons: The Story of My Quantum Entangled Underwear. “Quantum, I take it?”
Elara’s cheeks flushed, and she snatched the book out of his hand. “Dr. Phomen writes some… questionable books, but he has some real practical uses in them. I mean, his personal life is a mess too, cheated on his partners after that came out.”
“Really? Well, I for one am shocked,” Rowan said, exaggerating as he clutched his chest.
Elara laughed, shoving some of her books into her bag. She looked out at the rolling green hills. “Just six more months, then I’ll be back in class. Back where I can actually make a simple space fold without making everyone panic.” She looked back at him and frowned. “You graduated, right? What are you doing going north?”
“Post grad study,” Rowan said. “Dean Vayu has me checking on some greenhouse in Frostfern. Ever heard of it?”
“You could say that.” Elara looked down and smiled. “My mom’s the mayor.”
“Oh!” Rowan said, a little louder than he intended, based on the grumbles from the other patrons in the car. He leaned in close and whispered. “Wait, how does a kid from Frostfern get into Flamel? I mean—” he stumbled over his words, seeing the look on Elara’s face. “I mean this far north, with the magic and all, how?”
Elara looked away and shifted in her seat. “I wish I could say it was talent, but my mom got me in. Hard to say no when a mayor, even a small one, from the north is willing to send her daughter to school at a magic academy.”
Rowan nodded to the stack of books. “But quantum? You’ve got to be a genius to get any of that stuff.”
For a moment, she smiled. “Try telling that to my mom. Quantum alchemy? Might as well tell her I’m throwing my education away. We northerners aren’t stupid. We know about alchemy. We just care more about the practical ones. Ores, electrical, heck, even automaton studies would have been better than quantum.” She looked him up and down, her eyes stopping on a few stains in his shirt. “What’d you study?”
“Botanical.”
Elara leaned back and grinned. “Ah, you’ll fit right in then. Better watch out for Mr. Tiller; he’ll talk your ear off if you can help his crops.”
Rowan smirked, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “That might be a nice change of pace.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elara said.
“Botanical alchemy is a dead art. Even after my final, the scouts walked right past me. Not that I expected anything different, but I mean you’re in quantum for a reason, right? Maybe the people up here won’t roll their eyes when they find out what I studied.”
Elara smirked. “Oh, they’ll still do that. They don’t love alchemy, but help them out here and there, and you’ll turn them around. You’re moving into that old greenhouse, right?”
“I am,” Rowan nodded. “Why?”
“Because the last guy who was there got the crops to grow out of season. I don’t remember it much when it happened, but people now complain that we ran the alchemist out of town when things were getting good.”
“Well,” Rowan said, laughing to himself. “They better watch out if they try to run me out of town.”
Elara frowned.
“Remember the sentient fungus?”
“That was you?!” Elara shouted.
A man behind her turned around and glared. “Keep it down,” he hissed.
Elara crouched low to the table. “That was you?” she whispered.
Rowan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “The one and only. Took a whole year to get it all.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side. I remember Professor Berms was stuck working out of a closet for four months because of that.”
“It wasn’t my finest moment,” he admitted.
She wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “It was nice meeting you, Rowan. Just don’t make yourself a stranger. I might lose my mind if I can’t talk alchemy to someone.”
Rowan grinned. “As long as you don’t collapse me into some space fold.”
She smirked, gathering her books. “Deal. And in return, no sentient fungi.”
“Deal.”
Hours turned into days as Rowan and Elara took up residence on the observation deck. Others slowly filtered away, and soon enough, it was just the two of them. Rolling hills turned into mountains, and the train slithered up and through stoney corridors until all Rowan could see were snow-covered mountains and dark green blotches of a valley forest below.
“We’re almost there,” Elara said as they both settled into the booth early in the morning on their last day. She sat across from him, holding onto a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
“Is it always this cold?” Rowan asked, clutching onto his two layers of button down shirts.
Elara chuckled. “Up here, yeah, but Frostfern is down in a valley.” She looked out the window and straightened up. “You should see it in a second.”
Rowan leaned in close to the window as the train rounded another corner. Below them, between jagged mountains and snow, was a valley that looked like it was taken straight out of a fairy tale. Clusters of homes, each topped with a smoking stone chimney and sharply pointed roofs covered in moss and splotches of lingering snow, huddled together between cobbled streets. Even from this distance, Rowan could see the buildings were colored in pale pastels and light flickered from within as the town woke.
Following the streets with his eyes, Rowan found a downtown lined with glowing lamp posts and trees just budding, late into the season. People moved about slowly, opening up their shops and setting up a market in a large open square.
Surrounding the town, creeping up the sides of the mountain, were farms, slightly browned, but mingling among the dense trees that cascaded up the stone.
On the other side of the valley, a massive waterfall streamed down, crafting a river that cut the landscape in half before vanishing out into the forest.
“It’s… beautiful,” Rowan breathed.
“It’s Frostfern,” Elara said, sipping from her mug. “Home, sweet home.”
“I swear,” Marley heaved, sweat dripping down her face. “If you only packed books and no clothes, I’m going to kill you.”
Rowan’s heart pounded in his chest as he waddled up the marbled steps of Argentum Station backward in a sweat-covered button-down and slightly oversized pants only held up by a pair of suspenders. His fingers ached as he clutched onto his one and only suitcase that would accompany him on his journey. “There’s dirt in it too,” he said.
“Dirt?!” Marley shouted, slamming her end of the suitcase down on the stairs. She adjusted her grease-covered overalls and pulled back her purple locs into a ponytail. “Who the hell packs dirt?”
A tinny voice echoed next to them, sounding from one of the many tall metallic automatons lining the stairwell. “Please, do not hinder the flow of traffic. Proceed up the stairs.”
Argentum Station was packed, and even though they kept closer to the line of automatons than the rest of the crowd, their momentary stop on the stairwell already resulted in three shoulder checks from passing people.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Marley grumbled, yanking up the suitcase and begrudgingly walking up the stairs.
“It’s a botanical thing,” Rowan said, finding purchase on the last step up onto the platform.
“What?” Marley asked, pushing through the last few steps. Immediately, she let go of her end, and the wheels bounced on the solid stone with a loud clunk.
They paused for a moment, catching their breath before weaving through the crowd of people in various forms of dress. Argentum Square, although newly built, quickly became the hub of Neosilica, providing the fastest transportation to some of the farther-reaching cities and villages. All that meant to Rowan was more people in his way as the two of them settled under the sign for Platform Three, the exact spot Dean Vayu had instructed him to wait.
“It makes alchemy easier,” Rowan said, holding the stitch that formed in his side. “Botanical Alchemists get accustomed to local dirt. For all I know, they’re sending me off to the coast, and I doubt they considered the time it takes to acclimate to a region’s soil composition. So, I brought dirt.”
Marley elbowed him before leaning up against the smooth marble wall. “You better take care of yourself. You hear me? If it’s two months in and I’m not hearing about some boy you’re chasing after, then don’t come whining to me because you only have two pairs of dirt covered clothes.”
“What?” Rowan said, spreading his arms wide, showing off the various lines of dirt that had already found their way into his clothes. “The rustic plant daddy vibes don’t do it for you?”
Marley snorted, “Plant daddy? More like sprout twink, if you’re asking me.”
“Hey, who are you calling a sprout twink, my little grease mommy?” Rowan retorted, falling into a fit of laughs.
“I’m going to miss this,” Marley said after the laughter died down. “You got your ticket?”
“No,” Rowan said. “The Dean said he was sending someone to meet me.” Rowan watched people pass by, eyeing people with significantly smaller luggages, hopping onto a large two story train, crafted by the finest metallurgical alchemists to travel up to the far north. A knot formed in his stomach and he looked down.
Marley bumped shoulders with him and said, “It’ll be fine. You said it’s a week north of here right? I mean, I’m visiting, obviously. As soon as I get a break from this internship.”
“Hold up,” Rowan said, a smile stretching across his face. “It’s official?”
Marley stood straighter and cleared her throat. “Yep. You’re looking at the newest employee of Titanium Innovations, the shinier and better version of Steelwright Automatons.”
“When were you going to tell me? Congratulations!” Rowan dove in, wrapping arms around her, taking in the acrid scent of burnt metal and grease.
Marley grunted and wriggled free from his bear hug. “I just found out this morning. You were caught up in—”
“Rowan Mosswood?” A gruff voice said behind him, cutting Marley off.
He turned, and came face to chest with a tall, broad-shouldered man adorned in a deep blue uniform with gold cording and the crest of Flamel University embroidered on the chest.
“Uh, yes?” Rowan said.
The man held out a train ticket and a sealed, cream-colored envelope. “Courtesy of Dean Vayu.” He nodded to the double-decker train. “Better board, they’re leaving soon.”
“Uh, thanks,” Rowan said, taking the ticket and envelope from the man. “What’s in the—” he started, but before he could finish, the man turned and vanished into the sea of people.
“Well, bye,” Marly shouted after the man. She turned and pulled the ticket from Rowan’s hands. “So, where is it? Are they putting you on some beach?” After a long pause, she looked up. “Frostfern Valley?”
“Where the hell is Frostfern Valley?”
“Second to last stop,” Marley said, squinting at the ticket. “Somewhere in the Ferra Mountains.”
Rowan spun around, eyeing a large map with a red line trailing up and into the coast. On it, was one tiny dot way up in the mountains, spread far apart from the other stops. “That’s the middle of nowhere! Are you serious?”
Marley handed him back the ticket. “Yep, and they put you up front. Better get some earplugs.”
A horn sounded, echoing loud onto the platform.
Rowan looked over at the train, then back at Marley. “Well. I guess this is goodbye?”
“Don’t make it weird,” Marley said, diving in for a hug. “It’s just a year. And I’ll come visit. I promise. Even if it’s a five-day ride.”
“You’re right, it’s just a year,” he squeezed her back.
“You’ll do great, Mosswood,” she said, grabbing him by the shoulders. “And if you don’t, and you destroy Frostfern Valley with another one of your sentient fungus stunts, I’ll be sure to make you look good in your biography.”
Rowan laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Any time.”
He gripped onto his suitcase, giving Marley a last wave before starting toward the train.
It loomed over him, the fine dark metallic train glimmering in the sunlight. A conductor automaton, dressed in full garb with a deep red woolen three-piece suit, took his ticket and helped him heft his suitcase onto the train. Inside, the floor was carpeted with the same deep red color and the corridors were lined with rich mahogany paneling, making for a stark contrast to the cold metallic exterior.
Rowan navigated through a few cars until he reached the front, stopping at sleeper car 1A tucked right at the front of the car. As he slid the door open, he saw just how small the room was, with a bunk that would cause him to sleep in the fetal position across from a small drop down wooden table that would only work if he sat hunched over on the bed.
The sharp scent of burning coal wafted into his room, a strong undertone that intertwined with the pleasant woody smell of a newly furnished train that Rowan could get used to.
Atop his bed were two packaged earplugs, which Rowan promptly stuffed into his ears as the churning engine rumbled his room. He tucked his suitcase away underneath his bed and leaned in toward the small window, looking over heads until he spotted the purple hair in the crowd. He waved, eventually catching Marley’s gaze, and she waved back, sending him a big kiss in the air.
The train whistle blew one last time, and the train started its slow churn away from the station.
Rowan’s chest tightened, and his neck grew hot. This was really happening, and for the next five days, this would be his home. Then what? Frostfern Valley? What would even be there waiting for him? Would he fit in?
He slowed his breathing, and his eyes fell on the envelope, still sealed with a wax imprint and the crest of Flamel University.
He cracked it open and dumped the contents out onto the table. Aside from a letter, a few stacks of crisp banknotes and an ornate brass key with an intricate leaf design clattered onto the desk.
He’d packed everything he had in his suitcase, including what little money he had to hold him over until he found himself a job. But now, with the money in front of him, he wouldn’t need one. At least, not for a while.
He quickly stuffed the banknotes back into the envelope and wedged it beside his suitcase. Something for him to worry about later.
He looked over the letter and read:
Dear Mr. Rowan Mosswood,
I trust this letter finds you earnest and prepared as you embark on your postgraduate studies. First and foremost, I must reiterate that you are traveling as a representative of Flamel University, and all future certifications and degrees for your studies will depend on how you represent our fine establishment.
We have assigned you to study the depletion of magic in the northern expanse, in the small town of Frostfern Valley. We at the university have been aware of this depletion, even studying it a decade prior, but funding for the previous research halted. Anonymous donors have provided the funding for the research due to Neosilica's industry’s interest in expanding infrastructure and connectivity.
Enclosed within this envelope, you will find the funding that will serve as the stipend for your year long study. You will also find a brass key. The previous researcher in Frostfern Valley owned a greenhouse and laboratory just outside the city. The university has continued to fund the upkeep and care of the building, but as I have not personally visited, I cannot speak on the level of disrepair that the building may have after a decade of vacancy.
We expect updates on the status of your research on a monthly basis. We would like to know if there is any biological correlation between the natural ebb and flow of magic in the north, and how to predict, leverage, or potentially restore balance. All tests, methods, procedures, new alchemical discoveries, and field notes will be sent back to the university for review.
At the end of your studies, we will grant you an opportunity to publish your findings in the Journal of Alchemical Arts. If your research provides insight into this anomaly, then you will be considered for entry into the Grand Alchemist’s Guild.
Mr. Mosswood, I have the utmost confidence in your abilities and look forward to your findings. May your work in Frostfern Valley be a testament to the profound relevance of Botanical Alchemy in our world today.
With warm regards,
Dean Vayu
Flamel University
Grand Alchemist of the Ethereal Arts
Rowan leaned back in his chair. Entry into the Grand Alchemist’s Guild? He couldn’t believe it. If he was in a guild like that, then he’d never have to worry about a job again.
He looked out the window, his heart racing as the city melted away into the countryside.
Graduation day at Flamel University was not filled with happiness and cheer, but dread and tears, as many potential graduates failed their final in front of the public. Rowan Mosswood watched in horror as automatons carried the third student off the stage in Cobalt Square and tossed them into the back of an ambulance. This time, a young, and rather ambitious student thought they’d try translocating a pound of gold, but they must have calculated the destination point incorrectly, and it ended up fused inside their arm.
Cobalt Square was packed, crammed with students, the public, and a slew of news and business automatons recording the events. This was a highlight in the bustling city of Neosilica, the day Flamel released only a handful of students. Scouts from throughout the city would descend on graduates the moment they stepped off the stage, looking to scoop them up before any other business did. Yet others in the crowd were far more interested in what kinds of explosions and injuries would befoul the square before the dean called the day off.
Rowan adjusted his baggy sage green button-up shirt, the same color as his eyes, and rubbed his tanned hands together. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for this two years ago when he last attempted to graduate. Granted, botanical alchemy has fewer risks than other disciplines, but last time he embarrassed himself when he accidentally created a rapidly growing invasive type of sentient fungus. The crowd had to flee when it overtook a news automaton and started beating a portly businessman over the head. Of course, the dean had to step in, dismantling nearly a decade of mechanical alchemy and leaving behind a heap of fungal infested metal. Rowan spent nearly a year tracking down and crawling into rather unseemly places to find and eradicate the remaining mycelium.
He tapped his foot, looking back at the line of students. Hundreds, all waiting for their turn to get on stage. Some students camped out the day before, just to ensure the dean would see them. He wasn’t as desperate, but he arrived before sunrise, and stood in line as the sun drifted up high into the sky, bouncing off the tall, windowed skyscrapers around them.
Four people were in front of him now, and if she didn’t show up, he’d have nothing to show. He pulled at his collar, sweat beading on his brow. He was going to fail again.
Shouts came, just in earshot. “Ugh, gross! What is that? Stop pushing!”
Rowan stood up on his tiptoes and spotted the sea of students parting, plugging their noses as purple hair bobbed between them.
Marley, a short Black woman with a silver nose ring and a thick pair of overalls on, appeared in front of him, plugging her own nose as she held up a burlap sack. “You’re lucky we’re friends.”
Rowan couldn’t agree more. After nearly two years at Flamel with no friends, he’d found Marley, and she made his next four years worth it. He swiped the bag from her and stuck his hand inside, fishing around until his fingers wrapped around a glass jar.
He shut his eyes and begged the universe, “Please, please, please work.” When he pulled it out, the jar was nearly empty, with only a small blue seed at the bottom. “Yes!”
“You gonna tell me why you have a bag of manure in your bedroom?” she asked.
Rowan tucked the small jar in his pocket. “Had to sit somewhere dark and quiet. Not all disciplines are metal and oil, you know.”
“I nearly died!” Marley shouted at him, arms flailing. “How can someone have that many books just thrown on the floor? Why haven’t you packed?”
Rowan shook his head. “After last time, I’m not hoping for much. Just that the dean might pity me and keep me for another two years.”
Marly grunted, pulling out a bottle of liquid silver from her pocket, and turned it over. “I mean, would it hurt you to switch disciplines? Nano and quantum are out of the question, but metallurgic alchemy is still in high demand. I heard the dean has a quota to pass each year or his donors will stop funding.”
“Would if I could,” Rowan said. “But my mom wanted me to do this. I owe it to her. ‘The world will always need Botanical Alchemy, even if they don’t know it.’”
“But Neosilica doesn’t need that. Now that we have nano and quantum. Did she even see an automaton before she passed?” Marley asked.
Rowan dropped his head, remembering the small house just outside of Rosen before they renamed the city. “No, she didn’t”
Marley lightly punched his shoulder. “Ignore what I said. You’re right. And you’ve got the talent. No matter what the dean or that piece of garbage ex-boyfriend thinks.”
Rowan’s cheeks flushed as that pretentious, know-it-all Calder Steelwright with his big dumb perfect jawline and platinum hair surfaced in his mind. He looked down at the ground and said, “Thanks.”
Marley punched his shoulder. “Hey! None of that self-wallowing. You’ve got a diploma waiting for you and you’re gonna kill it. So just get—”
“Next, we have Marley Argentum,” a booming male voice, Dean Vayu, called from up on the stage.
Marley turned and glared at Rowen. “You signed me in before you?”
“Seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Rowan said.
Marley rolled her eyes and hopped up on the stairs. “We’re both graduating this year and finding us some sugar daddies to fund our research. You hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good luck!” Rowan shouted.
Rowan watched as she jumped up on stage. She nodded to Dean Vayu, a tall Black man in purple robes, before pulling chalk out from behind her ear and deftly drawing a sigil on the stone slab in the center of the stage. The dean stood behind her, scribbling notes on a clipboard as she worked.
Before Rowan knew it, Marley uncorked and poured out the contents of her bottled silver and placed her hands on the sigil.
White light glowed from the slab, and Rowan shielded his eyes. Moments later, the crowd let out a cheer. Rowan peeked behind his fingers, spotting a small silver ferret hopping up into Marley’s hands.
She held it up for the dean and said. “This is still a prototype, but this sigil and silver combination allow for automatons without seams. I think with a few more resources and years, I could work something larger.”
Dean Vayu held out a hand, running a finger along the ferret, then nodded. He traced a sigil in the air with his finger, purple light trailing behind. When he was done, the light descended onto a sheet of paper.
“Marley Selene Argentum,” Dean Vayu shouted out to the crowd. “By demonstrating your mastery in your selected discipline, I am proud to grant you with this seal of approval, denoting you as an ‘Alchemist of the Metallurgical Arts’ of Flamel University. As you step into the world beyond these halls, may your accomplishments reflect the excellence of our beloved university.”
Dean Vayu handed over the certificate to Marley. Marley grinned ear to ear, looking back at Rowan and waving it in the air before walking off the other side. Two men and a woman, all dressed in suits, flocked to Marley the moment she stepped off stage.
A crew of rusted automatons raced to the stone slab, pouring water over the top and scrubbing it clean of any residual markings. As they did that, Dean Vayu flipped through his clipboard, sighed, cleared his throat, and said, “Next, for his second attempt, we have Rowan Mosswood.”
Rowan gripped onto his burlap sack and shakily walked up the steps and onto the stage.
He approached the slab, averting his eyes from the crowd and the dean, but he still saw the man take a step back, no doubt wincing from the odor emanating off the sack.
Rowan breathed in and focused only on the slab, ignoring the sea of people watching him. He reached inside, pulling out a wad of wet, grimy manure.
As expected, the crowd groaned. There weren’t many botanical alchemists for a reason, and the people of Neosilica were looking for a spectacle. Little did they know, Rowan expected this.
He started on the sigil, using the manure to craft a large square representing earth. Wavy lines intersected two opposing edges of the square and triangles pointed outward from the other two edges, representing both water and fire. Spirals tailed inward, representing aether as they formed the inner circle.
He scooped out more manure, carefully drawing a seed in the center, branches shooting out, and markings he’d practiced and studied for years for growth, change, and transformation.
When it was done, he stepped back, running the sigil over in his head one more time. This was the culmination of years of study. It had to be precise, right down to which portion was drawn first. He looked back at the Dean, who frowned at the slab, slowly taking notes.
Rowan pulled the last component from his pocket, a jar containing the small metallic blue seed, and placed it in the center of the sigil. He took his position, kneeling down and placing his palms on the edges of the square.
He focused, magic pouring out of him like cold liquid, tracing along the lines he’d drawn. His mind stretched and followed, coursing through a labyrinth of turns and curves until it reached the seed. Fractals filled his mind, unending patterns and possibilities flashing. He was the sigil, and the sigil was him. He was the lines, the curves, the manure, and the seed. Magic vibrated in his heart, and energy pulsed from the slab.
First, he heard the crack ofstone. Then a rush of air as the seed burst. The connection between him and sigil broke, and Rowan fell back as roots drilled into the ground and a trunk twisted up to the sky.
One moment, the sun was looking down on him, and the next branches covered his view. Thin, blue leaves sprouted, sharp serrated edges stretching long like willow leaves. A kaleidoscope of blue painted the ground, and the crowd was silent.
Then, as quick as it had grown, the leaves came clattering to the ground, and the tree crumbled into dust.
Rowan looked up at the dean, who sighed and scribbled a note onto the paper. Rowan had to move quickly, before the dean announced his failure.
He reached into the pile of dust, feeling the edge of a leaf cut into his skin. He pulled it out and held it up. “This,” Rowan shouted. “Is the final.”
Dean Vayu raised an eyebrow.
“They named Cobalt Square after the rich deposits of Cobalt that have since been mined. However, plants have a way of absorbing trace minerals and metals. I’ve been working on a project that can dredge up and deposit them in the leaves. The process is still unstable and time consuming, but I believe we can bring botanical alchemy back to Neosilica.”
The crowd burst into laughter, but as Rowan stared out at them, he found several people carefully kicking aside the dust and inspecting the leaves.
He turned to Dean Vayu, who pursed his lips. “You broke my slab,” he grumbled.
“Sorry, Dean Vayu. I didn’t—”
The dean cut him off, quickly drawing a purple sigil in the air and shouting out to the crowd, “Rowan Hawthorn Mosswood, you have demonstrated your... abilities in your selected discipline. I hereby grant you with this seal of approval, denoting you as an ‘Alchemist of the Botanical Arts’ of Flamel University. May you remember the excellence and expectation of all graduates of Flamel University as you step into the world beyond these halls.”
Rowan pocketed his cobalt leaf and wiped off his hands before grabbing on to his certificate. He’d finally done it, he’d finally passed. But before he could take the certificate, Dean Vayu leaned in and whispered, “There is still the matter of your loans.”
“Right,” Rowan said, biting his lip. “I can pay them back. I promise.”
“We have something else in mind,” Dean Vayu said. “The university would like to put you out on assignment. A small place, a week’s travel north by train. Consider it your... postgraduate research.”
Rowan’s eyes widened. “Assignment? And my debts?”
“Paid in full, after you report back to us in a year.”
“A year?” Rowan asked. “But that far north? Does magic even work there?”
“That is for you to find out, but I need an answer now,” Dean Vayu said, his grip tight on the certificate.
This paper was everything Rowan wanted. Everything his mother wanted for him. He ran the offer through his head, looking over to Marley, who was laughing as she spoke with a businesswoman with a long red braid. It was only a year away from Neosilica. From city life. From Marley.
“I,” Rowan stuttered. “I’ll take it.”
