Chapter 65 – Stage of Flames
The arena roared like a furnace with an open fire.
Eighty alchemists stood inside its bowl, each within a glowing circle of runes carved into the glass-stone floor. Ranks of furnaces lined the outer rim, their flames held in mirrored tubes so the heat shimmered upward without wind. Overhead, banners of the three Associations rippled against the pale-gold sky.
The smell of steel, powdered herb, and ozone rolled together until it tasted like anticipation.
High above, three thrones of light waited beneath a canopy of crystal.
Elder Seraphine Vel sat in the center—silver robes coiling like liquid mercury, eyes bright and unreadable. To her right lounged Calvin Sparks of Rina, a broad-shouldered man with a beard like burnt bronze and an aura that pressed down like summer heat. On her left, precise as a line drawn with a ruler, was Alex Burrow of Valin Academy, spectacles glinting, every movement neat enough to insult dust.
Between them shimmered a table of suspended glass panels showing each competitor's station.
Calvin leaned back, voice rough with amusement.
"Still teaching children to fail at alchemy, Alex?"
Alex didn't glance his way. "Says the person with off brand students."
Seraphine, quiet but sharp: "Gentlemen. Let's keep it civil this time."
The crowd's cheers thinned as the announcer's voice carried through the runic amplifiers.
"Contestants! You will craft a Tier 2 Meditation Potion. Purity, resonance, and stability will be judged. Time limit—one hour!"
The floor pulsed once. Eighty furnaces answered with flame.
The first few minutes were chaos dressed as precision. Bottles clinked. Fire cracked. A dozen hopefuls tried to impress the judges with speed—bright colors, and flashy gestures.
Half of them burned their mixtures into tar. Another quarter produced something drinkable only for ghosts.
One young man shrieked as his cauldron spat molten liquid; the rune beneath his circle dimmed—eliminated.
Seraphine: "Already lost a quarter of them."
Calvin: "That's normal with this tournaments."
Alex: "especially for your students Calvin."
Steam drifted through the air like ghosts leaving their bodies.
Among the survivors, the real alchemists began to show—steady hands, unhurried motions. One woman folded light into her potion until it glowed a soft green. Another worked with powder and ice, calm as prayer.
The number on the scoreboard dropped: 80 → 54 → 41.
A hush spread before his flame even lit.
Jackson Green stepped forward—slim, 18 maybe, cloak trimmed in white-blue. His eyes held the clean indifference of winter. When his hand moved, frost followed.
He set no coal. Instead, he breathed across the cauldron, and vapor crystallized along its rim. The essence inside froze into slow-moving glass.
The audience leaned forward as he traced runes of Rina's alchemy, feeding them threads of spiritual energy. The potion swirled once, then settled—mirror-clear, humming with a tone only the sensitive could hear.
Calvin smiled, pride quiet but obvious.
"Discipline forged in Rina's branch. Every line perfect."
Alex: "I have to admit he's very talented."
Seraphine: "he's going to have a great future with alchemy."
The sound was a note—thin, beautiful, endless.
The rune beneath Jackson's feet flared bright silver. The crowd erupted.
High in the viewing box, J-Crew leaned against the rail.
Blake let out a low whistle. "Hes not too bad."
Mara nodded, impressed despite herself.
But beside them, Tamara had gone utterly still. She lowered her hood until only the edge of her hair showed. Her knuckles whitened around the railing.
Blake caught it, eyes narrowing. "Is that who I think it is?"
She didn't answer. The crowd's noise filled the silence she left.
Where Jackson was frost, Frank Gottem was absence.
He walked to his station without a word. The Valin Academy uniform fit him like silence—white and gray, no mark of color.
Instead of a furnace, he extended one hand. A circle of runes bloomed in midair. Essence poured from his palm in threads so thin they looked like silk spun from moonlight.
The ingredients rose from their containers and dissolved, turning into motes of gold and violet that orbited his hand. The mixture never touched metal.
Gasps rippled through the stands as the potion condensed—suspended, gravity forgotten. It spun, a perfect sphere, every impurity forced outward into a thin dust ring that fell away and vanished.
When it stilled, it was so clear it looked like a glass bead filled with light.
Alex, smiling faintly: "My student. Minimal waste. True control."
Calvin: "Control that fragile snaps in a storm."
Seraphine: "And yet, if it survives the storm, it becomes art."
The rune under Frank's feet burned blue-white—near perfect.
Applause swelled, refined, almost reverent. Even Calvin clapped once, slow and respectful.
The scoreboard shifted again: 41 → 29.
John was just just walking up to get started.
No uniform. No crest. Just soot-stained sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes rimmed red from too many hours awake.
The announcer's tone was polite, bored.
"Independent alchemist, John Caster seems to be warming up."
A few spectators murmured. Others looked back toward Frank's glowing sphere, still hovering in the judges' glass.
John ignored them all.
He set his hands on the table, closed his eyes, and breathed once. Alaric's voice stirred behind his thoughts—steady as an old heartbeat.
Alaric said in his mind.
"The crowd is noise. Remember the flame."
He opened his eyes.
Instead of striking a match, he pressed his palm to the rune etched into the stone. A thread of pale energy spiraled upward, then folded back into the cauldron like light being poured.
The flame lit itself—white, then silver, then blue so pure it didn't cast heat.
Whispers broke through the audience.
John lifted the first vial, tipped in three measured drops of spirit resin, and began the Aetherforge sequence—small runes connecting the cauldron, the air, and his own core. Essence flowed through him, not around him. His heartbeat became the rhythm.
The potion responded like it had been waiting for him.
Every stir sent ripples through the flame, and every ripple bent back into the mixture, perfect feedback.
The scent shifted: mint, rain, metal, something luminous.
Seraphine, leaning forward: "That technique…"
Calvin, frowning: "He's channeling essence directly. That'll cook his nerves."
Alex: "His master must be someone on another level."
Seraphine: "Aetherforge. I haven't seen it before.This is a very old style of alchemy."
Down on the floor, John's skin glowed faint gold where the energy threaded through his veins. The rune ring beneath him brightened until its light reached the arena's edge.
The potion thickened, turning from liquid to liquid-light, every impurity folding inward and vanishing.
Then—stillness.
No sound. No flame. Just a soft radiance, like dawn deciding to hold still.
He lifted the vial. The meniscus trembled once, then froze in place—absolute stability.
A breath later, the rune under his feet flared bright blue—the mark of a perfect synthesis.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena forgot to breathe.
Then the world caught up.
The noise that followed hit like thunder.
Even Calvin stopped mid-sentence.
Alex, voice low: "A dark horse."
Seraphine: "No. A storm."
Calvin: "what a monster."
The three of them watched as John sealed the vial, bowed once, and stepped back without flourish.
Alex: "He used Aetherforge as if he were born with it."
Calvin: "It was banned for instability."
Seraphine: "Because no one could survive the backlash. Yet he's still standing."
The J-Crew box had turned into chaos.
Blake was shouting loud enough to wake the next district. "That's our guy! That's our guy!"
Sera covered her mouth, eyes wide and bright. "He never knew he was so good at alchemy the crowd is going nuts—"
Ember roared, sound rolling through the box until nearby spectators flinched.
Even Mara's usual calm cracked; she grinned without meaning to.
Only Tamara stayed seated, hood low. But the corners of her mouth curled—small, private pride.
"You really are something else, John."
More contestants finished, but the crowd barely noticed. Most were average—functional potions, unstable mixtures, one small explosion that made everyone cheer out of pity.
The scoreboard froze at 25 remaining.
The announcer's voice cracked through the haze of sound.
"Round One complete! Only twenty-five competitors advance! Leading performances—Jackson Green of Rina Branch, Frank Gottem of Valin Academy, and John Caster—Independent!"
The three names hung in the air like sparks refusing to die.
Down on the floor, John exhaled, sweat cooling across his skin. Alaric's voice drifted through him again—calm, certain.
"You've stepped onto the map, boy. They'll see you now."
"Good," John thought back. "Let them."
Above, Seraphine's gaze stayed fixed on him long after the applause began to fade.
The three judges fell silent as the light dimmed for intermission.
The contestants filed out through separate corridors, guided by assistants carrying rune-lamps. The audience's noise echoed behind them, half-song, half-thunder.
In the waiting hall, John set the sealed potion on a tray. The clerk who took it looked nervous, as if touching a live current.
Vulgrat appeared moments later from the Tier 1 wing, face flushed with triumph. "Master! First place! I smoked them!"
John smiled faintly. "Good."
Vulgrat's eyes darted past him toward the arena lights still flickering. "You too?"
"Something like that."
They exchanged a short laugh that sounded almost like relief.
In the judges' chamber, the three masters stood before the table of floating vials—each glowing a different hue.
Seraphine's fingers hovered over John's. "Stable at a purity of 96 percent. No residue, no spiritual turbulence."
Calvin: "Impossible. Tier 2 purity never breaks ninety-three."
Alex: "Unless the formula itself evolved mid-process."
They exchanged looks that said trouble.
Seraphine: "Keep his sample separate. I want it tested after the finals."
Calvin: "Planning to recruit him already?"
Seraphine: "You say that like your not already foaming at the mouth."
When John returned to the holding corridor, he could still hear the crowd chanting faintly above. His name, distorted by distance, mixed with the other two.
"Green—Gottem—Caster!"
He leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed, and let the echo settle into his bones.
Alaric's voice came like the first flicker of a new flame.
"You set yourself above the rest."
John smiled, slow and sharp. "Then let's burn brighter."
Epilogue beat
Up in the royal stands, Seraphine Vel watched the empty floor long after the spectators began to leave.
Alex: "You're still thinking about him."
Seraphine: "I'm thinking about what he'll do when he runs out of limits."
Calvin, half-grinning: "Then the world will finally have a reason to watch an alchemy tournament."
Outside, the desert wind caught the banners and filled them like sails. The city shimmered under noon's glare, its noise still shaking the air—hungry for what came next.
And beneath it all, the memory of one flame refused to fade.