Swimming in Chemistry

It was time to head back. Eric smiled faintly; the visit hadn’t gone as he’d expected, but perhaps that was the point.

The journey home would take a few hours. Everyone seemed ready to move on—and truthfully, so was he. As they passed through the gate, a merchant appeared ahead on the road, his cart creaking beneath the weight of goods, an armed guard pacing beside him. The group drifted naturally into step, the rhythm of boots and wheels filling the quiet.

Behind them, the gate groaned shut, sealing off the hum of the town until it became nothing more than a memory swallowed by open country.

Eric caught up and lifted a hand. “Excuse me—mind if we travel with you? We appear to be heading the same way.”

The merchant glanced over, assessing them with a quick, practiced eye. He looked to be in his forties—broad-shouldered and weathered, a neatly trimmed beard shot through with gray. His coat was patched but sturdy, the sort worn by men who’d crossed too many roads to care about the condition of the fabric, only that it held.

Beside him, the guard shifted her spear to her other hand but didn’t break stride. Her armor bore fresh scratches and soot marks—the kind earned recently, likely one of the defenders from the gate. When her gaze passed over Eric’s group, a flicker of recognition crossed her face—so brief it might’ve been imagined—but she said nothing, only kept walking.

The merchant's hand idly turned a Skyl across his knuckles as he studied them, oblivious to his guard’s reaction. “Road’s roomy enough,” he said, friendly but cautious. “Name’s Brann. This is Marla. We’re bound for Grovehaven before sundown.”

He squinted at Eric, recognition flickering. “Wait… you’re the ones who helped defend the settlement, aren’t you?”

Eric smiled. “Yeah, that was us. Our group’s heading to Alyen—though I’ve got no idea if Grovehaven’s even on the way.”

Brann chuckled. “Aye, yes—we’ll be passing by there. I’ll be happy for the extra protection while I have it.”

They fell into step together. The merchant’s beast, an animal Eric had seen before—a broad-shouldered creature somewhere between buffalo and rhinoceros—chose that moment to plop a steaming heap onto the road and flick its tail.

Eric sidestepped, grimacing. Evolution is interesting, he thought drily, moving a few paces farther from the cart.

The silence between them carried the fatigue of mortal danger and the restless edge of adrenaline that hadn’t yet burned away. Eric let it settle around him, but his thoughts wouldn’t stay still; they kept circling back to the battle.

Why was I so eager for the fight? he wondered. What’s going on with me?

If I were back on Earth, I never would’ve charged in like that.

My risk aversion is broken, apparently.

He exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh. And I didn’t even think about dying—the thought never crossed my mind. I just moved.

It’s like I’m acting like a teenager again.

Eric paused on the road for a few heartbeats. He looked down at himself, lifting a hand and turning it over. The skin was smooth, unlined—young. I suppose I am, he thought.

Welyvyne, walking just behind him, slowed. “Are you okay, Eric? Did you see something?”

Her voice broke the quiet, drawing every eye. Kaelen turned, scanning the tree line on instinct. Lyren drifted closer to the cart.

Eric shook his head. “Nope, I’m not okay. I just realized something. I’m not crazy—my mind’s being hijacked by my own chemistry.”

Lyren snorted. “What does that even mean?”

Welyvyne snickered. “Probably means we’re about to get a science lesson.”

Eric threw his hands up, laughing under his breath in disbelief. “It means I’m swimming in chemistry—testosterone, adrenaline, cortisol, probably a dopamine spike for flavor. My body’s treating near-death like a reward loop. No wonder I’m acting like an impulsive teenager.”

Kaelen shook his head. “I don’t understand half of what he said.”

Welyvyne smiled. “I swear he makes words up.”

Lyren smirked. “If he does, he’s really good at it—and besides, we know he knows what he’s talking about.”

Brann eased the merchant cart alongside them, the wheels creaking softly on the packed road. Marla walked beside him, her expression faintly amused, eyes flicking between the group as though watching a traveling show she hadn’t paid for.

Brann glanced over his shoulder, the reins loose in one hand. “Everything all right back there? I heard some commotion.”

Kaelen answered with a faint smile. “No emergency—unless you count this guy’s chemistry as one.”

Brann scrunched his face. “Chemistry? That some kind of monster?”

Eric threw up his hands. “No—but it sure feels like one!”

As they walked toward the crossroads, Eric noticed the overturned cart. The animal that had pulled it was already a skeleton—bones scored with tooth marks, bits of dried flesh still clinging in small, stubborn clumps.

He grew somber as the memory of that day flickered through his mind.

“The wild animals didn’t waste time cleaning the corpse,” Eric said quietly, glancing at Kaelen.

Kaelen only shook his head. Welyvyne frowned, and Lyren turned her gaze down the road in silence. The group stayed quiet for most of the journey, Lyren’s soft voice the only sound as she explained what had happened to Brann and Marla.

Eric’s thoughts drifted elsewhere—to home. To the impossible question of how he could bring his family here. He had no idea where to start, no clue what kind of power could open a portal or bridge two worlds. Still, he knew one thing: where to find his octave. Maybe that was a kind of dimensional frequency, a key.

If he could just see them again—even for a moment, just to know they were safe—he’d take it.

They crested a gentle rise, and the spires of Alyen appeared on the horizon—sharp against the sky, glinting in the afternoon light. They could see them long before the city walls came into view, tall enough to mark the end of their journey. It wouldn’t be long now.

They had already crossed onto the uneven cobblestone road before Eric noticed. His thoughts had drifted far from the present—caught somewhere between the memory of what he’d lost and the impossible hope of bringing it back.

Then, an unexpected surprise—Aurwin was walking toward them, waving. He wore a wide straw hat that shaded his face, the same easy grin spreading as he spotted them. The man hardly looked like the sparring partner Eric remembered—barefoot, shirtless beneath a pair of worn overalls, the sun giving his skin a deep bronze. For all his strength, his posture belonged to a farmer, not a warrior.

Aurwin met the cart with a wave. “Aye, Brann—did ye get them seeds I asked for?”

Brann barked a laugh. “Aye, got ’em right here. Don’t suppose ye plan to plant ’em before winter hits?”

Aurwin’s grin widened. “Ye know me—never could keep still. Dirt’s as good a teacher as any, long as ye listen proper.”

Eric couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Somehow, Aurwin looked more at home among soil and sunlight than he ever had on the sparring field.

Aurwin finally looked past the cart and blinked in surprise. His expression brightened, the grin breaking wide as recognition set in.

“Oh—oy, Lord Kaelen! Eric! I didn’ see ye back there.”

His gaze swept over them, lingering a moment too long before his brow furrowed. The warmth shifted to open concern.

“Wha’ in da seven threads happened to ye!”

Kaelen chuckled. “We helped defend the human settlement northeast of here from a rift break—got to test our group in an actual fight.”

Aurwin’s brows drew together. “Ye were at the human settlement tha’ go’ attacked then? I saw people movin’ that way.” His gaze shifted to Eric, concern softening his voice. “Ye look like ye go’ torn up bad. Ye alrigh’, lad? I know ye haven’t much experience in battle.”

Eric smiled softly. “No—I don’t have much experience, but I seem to have a knack for it. Besides, I was in good hands with my friends here. Lyren patched me right up afterward.”

Lyren snorted, giving Eric a look that hovered somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “A knack, he says. Eric’s terrible at being modest—he was an absolute monster out there.”

Welyvyne beamed with pride. “Yeah, Eric did well—he scared me a little, but he did well.”

Kaelen folded his arms, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re all going to give him a complex. He did do well—but he could’ve been killed, jumping in the way he did. I’m thankful, but he’s got no regard for his own safety.”

Eric grimaced; he knew exactly what Kaelen meant. “Yeah, I could’ve thought that through a bit better.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I could’ve done anything different—but I didn’t think to look for a better way, either.”

Kaelen nodded. “Good — I’m glad I’m not talking to a wall here. You could’ve grabbed my shield or had Lyren put up a wall.” He sighed. “Still, it’s easier to know where you’ve been than to know where you’re going, I suppose.”

Aurwin glanced between them, a grin spreading across his face. “Seems ta’ me like ye’re all doin’ well, then. I’ve got ta go — was a pleasha seein’ ye again.”

And just like that, he was off again, a sack of seed slung over his shoulder, humming as he went.

Eric smiled warmly. “I really do like that guy. Hope I’ll see him in dueling class.”

Eric turned to Brann. “Thanks for letting us walk with you. Safe travels to Grovehaven.”

Brann smiled. “Aye, good havin’ you with us — quite the entertainment, you lot. Listen, if you’re ever needin’ something, just ask. I’ll do my best to get it for you.”

With that, Brann and Marla continued down the road, cart wheels creaking softly as they disappeared into the distance.

The group passed through the gate not long after. Kaelen and Lyren offered their farewells, leaving just the two of them.

Welyvyne glanced at Eric. He wasn’t looking toward the Arcanum — his eyes lingered on the market instead.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. “You’ve got something on your mind.”

Eric smiled softly. “I suppose you’re picking up my tells, huh? I was thinking I should find out what these mana crystals, rift-forged plates — well, everything else — are actually good for.”

Welyvyne shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “Why not just ask us? The mana crystals are used to supply a large amount of mana to enchantments. The plates are tough — common from rift beasts, actually — and they’re better than sylverium for enchanting. The rest of that haul? Mostly alchemy materials.”

Eric blinked at his own stupidity. “Why on earth didn’t I think to ask my friends?” He shook his head, then brightened a little. “Alright, that said — I should have a blacksmith forge a chest plate from my rift plates. I’ll need some paper and something to write with so I can sketch it for them. Between that and the mana crystals… I’ve got an idea.”

He looked down at his coat and shirt, tugging the fabric between his fingers. “Hmm. I should probably replace these with something tougher while I’m at it.”

Welyvyne laughed. “Was that you thinking out loud? Anyway, have fun — I need a hot bath and a long rest.” She waved and turned toward the Arcanum.

Eric caught himself watching her a beat too long. He sighed and muttered, “Ugh… I’ve really got to get these hormones under control.”

Before long, Eric found himself in the middle of the market. It was getting late, and the streets were quieter than usual. Many stalls were already closed or in the process of shutting down.

He spotted Kyllian packing up his booth but didn’t have time to stop—he was looking for a blacksmith. Then it struck him: all he had to do was listen. Sure enough, the faint rhythm of hammer on metal carried through the evening air.

As he followed the sound, a glint caught his eye. Turning toward a nearby vendor’s table, he saw a large locket — silver-white syvarium with gold filigree curling along the edges, a bubbled glass front, and a hinged cover. It hung from a simple neck chain, clearly meant to hold an image inside.

“That looks perfect,” he murmured.

A young elven woman was boxing up her remaining wares. Eric approached. “Excuse me — how much for this locket?”

She smiled. “Ten Skyls.”

“Perfect,” Eric said, matching her smile as he summoned the coins. With that, he turned and continued toward the steady tink of the forge.

Inside, he didn’t find an elf as he’d expected. Instead, a dwarf stood behind the counter — short, broad-shouldered, and solid with muscle, his beard long and braided, metal rings glinting at the ends.

Huh, Eric thought. That… is exactly how I expected a dwarf to look.

The steady tink and hiss of metal carried from the back of the shop. Eric looked around at the wares — not the piles of weapons and armor he’d expected, but rows of hinges, latches, and sconces.

He turned to the shopkeeper. “Do you make armor, by chance?”

The dwarf huffed. “Of course we make armor — weapons too, if yer inclined. Mostly around here, we work to order. What d’ye need?”

Eric smiled. “I need a chest piece made from rift-forged plates. I’ve got a design in mind — if you’ve got something for me to draw on.”

“Aye, we can do that,” the dwarf said, reaching under the counter. He produced a charcoal pencil and a bundle of thin parchment. “Here you are. Draw it up, and I’ll get yer measurements after I see what you’re lookin’ for.”

Eric spent twenty minutes sketching a fairly standard chest plate. The lines came easily — layered plates across the torso, tapering toward the stomach. When he reached that point in the design, he summoned a mana crystal from his storage and held it up.

“Could I have this embedded in the chest?”

The shopkeeper’s beard shifted with a grin. “Plannin’ on enchantin’ it, are ya?”

Eric nodded, returning to his drawing. When he was finished, he slid the plans forward with the crystal resting on top.

“That should do it.”

He summoned the plates from his inventory, setting them beside the drawing with a faint metallic thud.

The dwarf studied the sketch, his expression thoughtful.

“Might have to adjust it a bit. I can tell ye’ve never made armor before — that all right with ye?”

Eric grinned. He always appreciated it when masters of their craft made his life easier. “Absolutely. You’re right — feel free to make it better.”

The dwarf’s grin widened. “Good. You wouldn’t believe how many folks think they know best what they want.”

Eric chuckled. “Oh, I understand that all too well.”

The shopkeeper pulled out a set of measuring tools and began marking notes directly on the parchment. “Aye, that should do it. Since yer supplyin’ the materials, we’ll only charge for the labor — ninety Skyls, and it’ll take about four days to finish.”

“Sounds good.” Eric summoned the payment and handed it over. “I’ll see you in four days. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The dwarf dropped the coins into a small box and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Eric turned and stepped back into the quiet street, the air cooling with evening. For the first time since the rift horde, he felt like things were moving forward again. He smiled faintly and started toward the Arcanum, ready for another week.