The steaming water of the wooden bathtub swirled around Celia's shoulders, sending a wave of profound relief through her tired limbs. After weeks of non-stop trekking, this was pure bliss.
She leaned her head back against the rim and closed her eyes as the warmth seeped into her muscles. For the first time in days, she had a full stomach from a properly cooked meal, and the grime of the road was finally melting away.
Is this really the place Ki wanted me to go? Celia thought, staring at the ceiling as the condensation gathered into tiny droplets. Or did I just stumble into a stranger's house by pure accident? He gave me that riddle, but nothing here makes sense yet.
A faint creak broke the silence of the bathroom.
Celia blinked and glanced toward the door. It was slightly ajar, just by a hair's breadth. Through the tiny vertical gap, a single, wide violet eye was staring directly at her.
This kid... Celia thought, a sweatdrop forming on her temple. Is she really an Alchemist at that young age? She's only nine years old.
Celia remembered her own party back at the capital—The Feeble Soul. It was a group entirely comprised of absurdly talented, eccentric young kids.
Yet again, Celia mused internally, it doesn't even feel that strange to me anymore. I'm far too used to dealing with prodigies who lack a common-sense.
"What are you doing, Lyssa?" Celia called out flatly.
The door flinched. The violet eye widened in a sudden panic, darting left and right. The girl outside frozen for a second, realization dawning on her that she had been utterly compromised.
"Oops. I've been discovered," Lyssa said, her voice completely deadpan despite the words.
Instead of running away, Lyssa boldly pushed the door wide open. She was holding a notebook and a charcoal quill, already scribbling furiously onto a piece of paper.
"I'm just taking notes because I'm curious about an elf's body," Lyssa explained, not looking up from her writing. "I've never seen one in person before. The muscle density must be documented."
Is she making records of my body right now? Celia's ears twitched uncomfortably. That's kind of creepy.
Trying to defuse the awkwardness and regain some semblance of modesty, Celia sank deeper into the bubbles.
"Why don't you join me then?" she proposed with a strained smile. "Let's take a bath together. It's much better than trying to peek through a door."
"No, thank you," Lyssa declined instantly, shaking her head. "It wouldn't be fun if I'm not peeking."
"Wha—?!" Celia stammered, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and sheer disbelief.
Before Celia could even argue, Lyssa stepped backward, grabbed the edge of the door, and closed it slightly until only a tiny gap remained. Then, she immediately resumed jotting down notes, her single violet eye reappearing in the slit to resume her observation.
Celia was left entirely speechless as she stared at the door.
That girl is definitely weird.
---
Over the next two days, an odd routine established itself in the isolated cabin. Lyssa, despite her claiming to dislike people, developed an intense, borderline unhealthy obsession with Celia's ears.
Whenever Celia was sitting down to read, resting, or simply doing nothing, Lyssa would silently creep up behind her like a violet-haired ghost.
Squish. Stretch. Fold.
"Lyssa, what are you doing?" Celia asked, lifting her eyes from her book as she felt her left ear being gently tugged upward.
"Fascinating," Lyssa muttered, completely ignoring the question as she pinched the tip of Celia's pointy ear, letting it snap back into place. "The cartilage is incredibly resilient, yet softer than human tissue. Does it twitch when you hear high-frequency acoustic waves? Let me test it."
"It doesn't twitch on command," Celia sighed, though she didn't pull away.
She was surprisingly okay with it.
Having lived for centuries, she found the child's curiosity somewhat endearing, even if it left her deeply confused as to why someone could be so utterly fascinated by a simple body part.
Later that afternoon, the two of them sat across from each other at the small wooden table in the main room. A porcelain teapot sat in the center, surrounded by a small plate of freshly baked berry cookies.
Clink.
The distinct sound of the teacup hitting the table echoed softly through the cozy room as Lyssa set her cup down. She lifted the teapot, tilted it carefully, and poured a fresh stream of steaming liquid.
Glug... glug... splash.
The rich aroma of herbal tea filled the air. Celia picked up a cookie and took a neat bite.
Crunch.
"You know, Lyssa," Celia said as she swallowed the sweet treat. "Your baking is incredible. It's hard to believe you live all the way out here by yourself."
"Baking is just tasty alchemy," Lyssa replied, taking a sip of her tea.
Slurp.
"It's all about precise measurements, temperature control, and the correct order of reagents. If you mess up the flour-to-butter ratio, the structural integrity collapses. It's a failure, just like my distillation experiments."
Celia smiled softly.
Despite the girl's cold, clinical vocabulary, these quiet moments were incredibly peaceful. They were slowly forming a quiet, comfortable bond in the middle of the isolated wilderness.
Of course, the peace never lasted for very long.
On the second day, Celia was sitting at the table, enjoying a quiet morning, when the entire cabin suddenly shuddered.
BOOM!
The walls rattled, and dust drifted down from the ceiling beams.
"Lyssa!" Celia shrieked, instantly panicking. She bolted from her chair and rushed down the hallway into the lab. "Are you alright?! Was that a magical backfire?!"
She burst through the door to find Lyssa covered in soot, blinking through a cloud of yellow smoke, calmly writing in her notebook.
"Experiment 447... exothermic anomaly," the child muttered.
Celia let out a long, exhausted breath, as she rubbed her temples.
By the third day, the novelty of the danger had completely worn off.
Celia sat at the table alone, holding a delicate porcelain teacup halfway to her lips. She took a slow, deliberate sip.
BOOM!
A massive explosion rocked the back of the house. The teacup rattled violently in her saucer.
Rattle, rattle, clink.
A shockwave blew open the kitchen cabinet doors, and a faint smell of burnt sulfur wafted through the floor.
Celia did not even flinch or bother to stand up. She did not even turn her head.
With a perfectly straight face, she calmly set her teacup back down on the table.
Clink.
She picked up another cookie, and took a slow bite.
Crunch.
"She really needs to work on her reagent-to-mana ratio," Celia muttered to herself, completely unfazed as a second, smaller explosion rattled the windowpanes.
Pop!
That night, the forest was beautifully still. Celia stood out on the porch. She leaned against the railing as she stared up at the pristine, unclouded northern sky. The stars were brilliant, scattered like diamond dust across a dark velvet canvas.
"I've been comfortable here," Celia whispered to the night air, her expression turning serious. "Lyssa is good company, and this place is safe. But I can't stay forever. I have to solve the riddle Kian gave me."
She clenched her fist. "I have to leave tomorrow."
---
The morning of the fourth day arrived. Celia packed her leather traveling pack, tightening the straps and slinging it over her shoulders. She walked down the familiar hallway to Lyssa's tiny lab, intending to say a proper thank you and goodbye to the eccentric little Alchemist.
But when she pushed the door open, she noticed Lyssa was frantic. The young girl was rushing between shelves, her short violet hair disheveled, rapidly mixing various colorful fluids into a large glass beaker.
Celia walked toward the chaotic workstation. As she drew closer, her eyes fell upon two iron cages sitting on the edge of the table. Inside the first cage was a standard, glowing-eyed Dungeon Rat—a pest she recognized instantly from her early Adventuring days. But in the second cage was a small, round monster that looked remarkably like a tiny, chubby bear cub.
"What is this beast?" Celia asked as she leaned in closer to inspect the creature.
"Oh, you're here," Lyssa said without looking up, her hands blurring as she measured out a yellow liquid. "That beast is called a Myrkub. It's a Fodder-class monster. I'm going to extract sweat from it to use as a catalyst. It's already my 448th failure, but I'm hoping to get some kind of stable reaction if I mix it into a hydrolized ether solution."
Celia looked at the cute-looking beast. It had big, glassy eyes and soft, dark fur.
"It's adorable," Celia said, tilting her head.
"Don't let that cuteness fool you," Lyssa warned, her voice dropping into a stern tone. "Even if this cub is incredibly weak by monster standards, it's still a monster. It possesses feral instincts that could easily kill a weak civilian, like a human child."
But you're a child too, Celia thought, a sweatdrop rolling down her neck. Is she seriously keeping dangerous monsters in her house like they're common pets?
Without a hint of hesitation, Lyssa pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. She unlatched the first cage, reached in, and grabbed the squirming Dungeon Rat by the scruff of its neck. Then, with her other hand, she opened the second cage and hoisted the snapping Myrkub out into the open air, completely disregarding the danger.
To an Adventurer like Celia, handling such weak creatures was trivial. But in Celia's eyes, Lyssa was nothing more than a fragile human civilian child.
Does this little girl not have a single shred of a sense of danger? Celia thought, her heart skipping a beat as the Myrkub bared its tiny, sharp teeth inches from Lyssa's wrist.
Lyssa calmly carried the two thrashing beasts over to the center of the table and dropped them both into an enclosed, rectangular glass prism that looked like a fish aquarium. She slid the heavy glass lid shut and sealed them inside.
The two little monsters immediately bumped into each other, startled by the sudden confinement.
"Why did you put them together in one container?" Celia asked, stepping forward anxiously. "What if they start a fight to the death?"
"They will not," Lyssa said dismissively as she tapped the glass with her quill. "I put them together because a Myrkub has to be physically beside a Dungeon Rat in order to produce sweat. That's what the Magical Researchers discovered roughly a decade ago. Ever since that discovery, its sweat has been heavily sought after and used in high-grade alchemicals."
Celia's eyebrows knitted together in sheer confusion. "Why does one beast need an entirely different species near it just to sweat?"
Lyssa noticed the profound look of confusion plastering the elf's face.
"Just watch," Lyssa said, pointing a gloved finger at the glass prism.
Curious despite herself, Celia leaned down, her sharp eyes focusing intently on the two beasts inside the enclosure.
Then, it happened.
A faint, unmistakable yellow glow began to emanate from the skin of the Dungeon Rat. It pulsed softly, a standard phenomenon. But in the blink of an eye, the glow vanished from the rat. The very next moment, the Myrkub suddenly began to radiate the exact same vibrant, yellow light.
Celia was completely stunned. Her breath hitched in her throat as she recognized the nature of the glowing energ