Slowly, realization settled in. Perhaps it was unfair, but apparently, that was just the way it was. It had been foolish of him to believe that things would be different here than in Mistpine. If anything, back in Mistpine, there had been at least some people who accepted him. People like Merrick. Kraghtol was glad his foster father couldn’t see him now. Three days. Three days in Winterstone were all he had needed to lose everything. He had no place to stay, no friends, no admission to the guild school. He still had a bit of money, but without a job, that would be gone fast, including the gold coin he didn’t want to spend.
It was all too much. His mind was racing. He was tired and so frustrated he wanted nothing more than to shout until his throat was sore. Everything here was too loud, too bright, too — He needed to get off these busy streets, now!
His gaze fell on the nearby clock tower. Kraghtol hadn’t moved one step after receiving the answer from the messenger, so he was standing right on the border between the central Commercial Quarter and the Oldport. The tower was a few dozen meters away, and the narrow alley separating its larger base building from the rest of the city was a dark, empty gap in the otherwise bright and lively street. It was a place as good as any to calm — or break — down, and the half-orc’s legs carried him there almost on their own.
It was cold and moist, and the surrounding old brick wall muffled most of the sounds of the city. A small puddle of dirty water had formed on the ground where the sun couldn’t dry it. Kraghtol leaned his head against the cool stone. How could everything have gone wrong so quickly and completely?
His trembling hands were clenched into fists, and no amount of willpower would be enough to unclench them again, and he only realized that he had punched the wall in front of him when he felt the blood running down his knuckles. He was a failure. How could anyone like him evenconsider—
A dark crack in the wall in front of him suddenly interrupted his train of thought. He squinted his eyes and only now saw the outlines of a wooden door in the otherwise even brick wall, a door that had just opened a bit due to being hit on the door frame brutally. It was just as grimy and dusty as the rest of the alley, blending in perfectly with the wall. It would have stayed invisible had it not been for his punch. The door had a lock on it, but it was so old and rusted that it had broken by the force of the impact.
Kraghtol hated the fact of how easily distractible he was, but this time, he was glad to have his mind latch onto the new mystery instead of drowning in the sea of self-pity. Without further thought, he pushed the door open and stepped inside the building. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he could quickly make out the outlines of a large room. Dust and filth covered old and rusted tools and tables, and after taking a few more steps, Kraghtol was certain this used to be a workshop of some sort that had been deserted for decades. Curiosity was taking over now, and his tired mind tried to understand the obvious question: Why was the building deserted like that? Why had nobody tried to break in, especially in this location? Someone had nailed the windows shut with wooden planks, and even walled up the main door. Only the faintest fingers of light cut through the dusty darkness, making it difficult to discern the original purposeof the place. Most of the light came in from the still-open door behind him, illuminating his direct vicinity.
The half-orc felt uneasy. Whatever this was, he shouldn’t be here. That much was clear. He could easily get into even more trouble if anyone saw him. But even the mere thought of going back out there now made him feel sick, so he did the next best thing. With a creak and a thud, the small door fell shut again, plunging him into near absolute darkness. Good.
The relative silence and darkness of the deserted workshop made it a lot easier for Kraghtol to calm his mind, and after a while, his breathing and heartbeat had slowed down, too. The world had stopped spinning so fast, and after what had probably been an hour, Kraghtol could think again. He was tired. Really, really tired. He wanted to rest. But there was something else that had caught his attention a few minutes ago and was gnawing on his consciousness. Besides the door he had entered through, he barely sensed there was another passage leading out of the room, and Kraghtol could feel a slight draft coming from it as well as a quiet humming and clicking.
Carefully feeling his way, the half-orc followed the sound and soon found himself at the bottom of a narrow staircase. The stairs creaked ominously under his weight as he ascended, but Kraghtol was focused on another sensation. Something up there was glowing faintly. And if he was not mistaken, the dim light had an unnatural blue shine to it. There was just no lantern or candle that burned so steadily — or in this peculiar color. After another dozen steps and a few turns of the stairway, the narrow passage opened up into a room that was bigger — about as large of a room as one could fit into the clock tower itself.
The room was nothing short of a marvel. A complicated pattern of intricate clockwork covered the walls, ranging from big cogs that he wasn’t entirely sure were moving at all to miniature ones whirling and spinning so fast he could hardly follow them with his eyes. But the most wondrous part of the whole contraption was what powered it: a single metal rod set into the center of the clockwork, spinning in its socket apparently all on its own while emitting the steady blue light that was illuminating the room.
Kraghtol had never seen anything like it; as far as he was concerned, this was nothing short of a miracle. There was no explanation of why —
No. There was one explanation. Slowly, he realized. This had to be alchemy. Real-life alchemy, hidden away in a deserted clock tower, making the entire city tick for troll knows how many years now. Working so reliably that it did not seem to require maintenance at all. It was beyond fascinating. And it stung.
Knowing that he, Kraghtol, the half-orc, would never be able to create something like this was sobering. Of course, most people in the world wouldn’t be able to, but…
But what? Did he deserve better just because it had been his dream? Because he really wanted to? No, this was just delusional. He wasn’t special, at least not in a good way.
He sighed and ripped his gaze from the alchemical marvel in front of him. Next to the ticking clockwork, there was another flight of narrow stairs ascending even higher into the tower. Driven by his curiosity, he started climbing higher, although the sounds that his footsteps made evoked even less trust up here than on the lower flightof stairs. The wood was old and brittle and creaked with every step, making Kraghtol nervously shift his weight to the outer edges. If he were to crash through the rotten wood, he would surely break more than one bone. Miraculously, the stairs held his weight, and the only thing Kraghtol hurt was his head as he found the trapdoor at the end of the stairs. Cursing under his breath, he felt around until he found a latch on the underside and pushed it open. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes, and he had to blink as he climbed through the opening.
He was at the very top of the tower now, on some sort of wooden platform slick with bird droppings. The city spread under him like a glittering sea of red roofs and light gray walls. The clock tower wasn’t the highest building in Winterstone, but it was a lot higher than any other point Kraghtol had been on in the city, and he felt strangely free like that. Merrick had told him about the elves and how they built their homes as high as possible, trying to get closer to the moon and the stars they revered so much. And right now, Kraghtol kind of understood them. He was still tired, but at least his mind was more at ease. The rejection from the Alchemists’ guild still hurt, as did the loss of his room and his job. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Wasn’t this exactly what the mysterious patient had predicted back in Mistpine? And he even gave him the solution for that.
Carefully, Kraghtol reached into his bag and produced the small vial filled with swirling darkness, but furrowed his brow. Attached to the vial were a short piece of string and a note that definitely had not been there before. The writing inside was legible but clearly lacked practice.
“Kragh,
I hope that when you’re reading this, you are already in Winterstone. I wanted to steal your potion as compensation for the missed opportunity tonight. In fact, I have already taken it, and you have not noticed. You are just too trusting, big guy. But your story moves me, and even though you shouldn’t need this, I have the feeling the guild might see that differently. But you know what, Kragh? Fuck the guilds.
You deserve your dreams, and if you need to lie to chase them, then lie. Lie until the people who really matter see what you’re worth.
Love, Liva.”
A bittersweet smile crept onto Kraghtol’s tusked face. Liva. Surprisingly, he felt no hard feelings towards her, almost stealing his potion. Perhaps a part of him had already suspected her to be like that. Liva was just… Liva. He envied her for her ability to just do what she wants and not care at all about the consequences. And perhaps he envied her for her freedom, too. He didn’t know she could write — illegally, of course — but it didn’t surprise him much. Rules, after all, didn’t seem to apply to her.
But that was only part of it. She had also called him a friend and had wished him good luck. He wasn’t alone. Perhaps he would never see her again, but it was good to know that there were people who liked him.
He inspected the mysterious, swirling black liquid. Lie until those who matter see what you’re worth, huh? Of course, there was also Merrick, with all his fatherly wisdom. He wanted the world to change, not his adoptive son, and the memory of their talk made Kraghtol swallow. He just wished more people in the world saw it this way.
Carefully, a green fist closed around the vial. Liva was right, he decided. He would chase his dreams, and if it took a little lying, then he would do just that. Having decided, he descended to the clock room again, away from potentially prying eyes. He left the hatch open to get some light in the room below, which was brighter than the blue glow of the alchemical core powering the clockwork alone.
It still wasn’t exactly bright compared to the sunlight outside, but bright enough for Kraghtol to examine the vial and its contents more closely. The black liquid inside looked as mysterious as it had the first time, and for a moment, he just watched the swirls turn on their own like the blue glowing metal rod in the clock. Hewouldbe able to create something like that. If not as Kraghtol the half-orc, then as Kraghtol the ordinary human.
Without further thought, he uncorked the vial and downed the liquid in one go. It tasted bitter, with a bit of an earthy touch to it that reminded him of the forest in Mistpine. A tingly feeling crept through his entire body, and his stomach turned. Kraghtol grimaced. He wasn’t sure if this was supposed to happen.
Suddenly, the tingling intensified, and blue fire erupted from his skin, illuminating the room in a flickering dance of light. Kraghtol automatically began to scream before he realized that the fire did not burn him. It wasn’t hot at all, and it didn’t hurt. Instead, his whole body felt like it was being stretched and compressed by an invisible hand, and his skin crawled as if an army of ants marched under the surface.
All on their own, his hands went to his face and arrived just in time to feel his mouth - and his teeth - changing. His tusks, the hatedremnants of his father’s ancestry, were shrinking under his palpating fingers. But they were not the only things changing rapidly. His brow, his nose, his ears… everything was finally becoming normal.
