Corda stamped faster, grinding each flame out. Embers fought for life underneath the relentless pounding of her boot. Her gaze darted frantically between the door and smouldering book.


    The clacking grew closer.


    Louder.


    The cover crisp, charred and slightly curling. A faint accusing trail of smoke waffling up to join the haze.


    A rattle came at the handle.


    Corda scurried to pick the loose pages up, scrunching them in her hand as she tried to shove them back into the body of their own. But, the journal was having none of it--seeming to give up on life, it allowed more pages to slip free as Corda cradled its limp spine in one hand, clearly ignoring her quiet pleads for cooperation.


    The handle twisted.


    The door opened.


    Corda shoved the evidence behind her back.


    And there she was: Seraphina Corvel.


    Number one: student.


    Number two: pain in Corda''s arse (and general annoyance).


    Number three: perfection in human form.


    Seraphina stood in the doorway like a celestial punishment sent by the Gods themselves. Neat. Composed. Every inch of her radiated precision—immaculate uniform, not a single wrinkle out of place, notes clutched in perfectly manicured fingers, her dark auburn hair twisted into braids so flawless they looked like the Gods themselves had woven them.


    The star student of Eldranth’s Alchemical Guild. Favoured by professors. Cursed by Corda.


    And yet, beneath all that refinement, Seraphina’s expression was already sharpening into something murderous. Corda could practically hear the internal calculations—assessing damage, cataloguing crimes, preparing the verbal guillotine that would land directly on her neck.


    "Oh, joy," Corda muttered, straightening slightly, adjusting the scorched journal behind her back like a criminal concealing stolen goods.


    Deflect. Distract. Deny.


    "Seraphina! What a surprise," she said, voice light, entirely unconvincing. "You are looking—" Corda hesitated, scrambling for anything that wouldn’t immediately set alarm bells ringing. Her eyes dragged over the immaculately white apron. "Incredibly clean today."


    Seraphina raised a slim brow. A small, barely perceptible twitch of muscle, but Corda might as well have set off another explosion for the way it sent warning bells through her mind.


    It wasn''t a lie. Seraphina''s robes were still crisp from this morning’s starching, untouched by ink stains or singe marks. The emblem of the Guild gleamed gold on her lapel—her perfect badge of honour, despite the fact her was not even an official member yet.


    Seraphina sharp eyes swept across the room with military efficiency. The overturned beakers. The scent of burning paper. The fact that Corda was standing as stiff as a corpse with something definitely not suspicious clutched behind her back.


    A slow inhale. A long exhale.


    Then, the inevitable:


    “You absolute menace.”


    Even the smoke curling through the air seemed to slow, creeping out of the window like an animal trying to sneak away unnoticed.


    Seraphina’s lips curled slightly.


    Danger. Immediate danger.


    "Let me guess," Seraphina''s voice sharpened like edge of a scalpel, precise, poised to slice into bone. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "You were supervising a small explosion?"


    Corda straightened. "No explosions. Just… aggressive alchemy."


    "Ah," Seraphina hummed. "So, you’re adding burning down the workshop to your list of accomplishments this semester?"


    Corda tightened her grip on the charred remains of Seraphina’s notebook. The embossed leather let out a pained squeak. "Bold of you to assume this wasn’t part of a controlled experiment."


    She sniffled lightly, trying to ignore new odour that wafting through the room. Something raw, almost metallic. The quiet drip drip drip of something leaking. The sizzle of its impact.


    Seraphina raised a brow, unimpressed. "Controlled? I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word." She sniffed delicately. "That explains the rich aroma of… failure."


    Her gaze flicked to the blackened patch of floor. The faint wisp of smoke curling toward the ceiling.


    Her expression shifted.


    Corda swallowed. Ah. There it is.


    The penny had dropped. And Corda swore she could see murder thoughts in Seraphina''s eyes.


    "What are you hiding?" Seraphina took a step closer.


    Corda took a step back. "I don''t like what you''re insinuating. Can a woman not stand at a window without being in the wrong?"


    "Other women? Yes. You? No." Seraphina’s gaze flicked toward her desk. Dusty green residue settled in thin layers across the wood, catching the light.


    Corda saw her chance.


    Her hand shot out, hovered over the window, and—


    Let go.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The journal fluttered from her fingers, plummeting out of sight.


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    There it was again. The scent of burning, but was that meat or flesh? As if like something was alive, something wounded was in the room with them.


    Corda''s eyes scanned the shelves until—


    A yelp echoed from below. The thud of impact.


    Then... silence.


    Just long enough to be unsettling. Just long enough for Corda wonder if she’d actually killed someone. Her breath hitched. Her ears strained. And then—


    A distant, indignant voice shouted up from the courtyard, "WHAT IN THE GODS NAMES?!"


    Corda winced.


    Ah. Sins.


    Seraphina’s eyes narrowed into slits. Her head tilted slightly toward the window. "Did you just—"


    "No," Corda cut in, clearing her throat and stepping away from the window like an innocent bystander at the scene of a crime. "Absolutely not. That could have been anything. A bird. A rogue breeze. Perhaps a tragic, unforeseen, unrelated accident that had nothing to do with me."


    Seraphina slowly unfolded her arms. "You dropped something."


    "Allegedly," Corda corrected. "Let’s not jump to conclusions."


    The journal was gone. Gone from her hands, gone from sight, gone from existence as far as Corda was concerned. If she ignored it hard enough, surely it would cease to be her problem.


    For a moment, neither of them moved. A small smile formed on Corda''s lips.


    But, then came the voice.


    "WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS SACRED JUST THREW A BOOK AT ME?"


    Corda''s smile died. She sighed heavily through her nose. So much for that plan.


    Seraphina inhaled sharply, her eyes darting between the empty space on her desk and the open window. Her fingers curled around her surviving notes like she was resisting the urge to throw them at Corda’s head next. “Was that… my book?”


    Corda cleared her throat, rubbing at her temple as if she, too, was deeply troubled by this unexpected event. "Some people," she said gravely, shaking her head, "have no appreciation for free literature."


    Seraphina did not so much as blink. "You threw my journal out of the window?!"


    "Did I?" Corda widened her eyes with mock innocence. "That’s a very serious accusation, Corvel. Do you have evidence?"


    Seraphina, with the weight of every single past crime Corda had committed pressing down on her soul, folded her arms. "Would you like me to list all the things you have done, or should I just start with the most recent acts of destruction?"


    Corda scoffed, brushing soot off her sleeve. "I don’t see how that’s relevant."


    Seraphina held up a perfectly manicured hand and began ticking them off, one by one. "One, for spontaneously combusting a student''s thesis paper—"


    Corda scoffed. "It was barely on fire. More like a smoulder—"


    "Two, for turning the drinking water in the west wing into an experimental sleep draught—"


    "Mild experimental sleep draught," Corda corrected. "And for the record, that was just a theory. I was proven right."


    "Three, for accidentally summoning an unlicensed storm cloud indoors—"


    Corda rolled her eyes. "It was barely a drizzle."


    Seraphina hummed flatly, putting three fingers down. “Setting the library’s alchemical index on fire—"


    "In my defence, it was a very misleading title. ''Ignition Principles’ should not be taken literally."


    "Swapping the labels on volatile compounds—Flooding the workshop."


    Corda hesitated. "...Which time?"


    Seraphina exhaled deeply through her nose. "All of them."


    Corda pressed a hand to her heart, deeply wounded as she yanked the first pencil from where it protruded from the wall. "I thought you, as an upstanding member of the student council, were supposed to be impartial."


    Seraphina crossed her arms again, rolling her eyes. "It’s impartiality, not amnesia, Lucinthia."


    Corda flinched. That name. That damned name. She took a steadying breath. She would not rise to it. She would be peaceful. Violence was not an option.


    She focused on her task.


    Another pencil. Another wall.


    Corda gripped and tugged hard.


    The pencil refused to move.


    She sighed, exasperated, leaning back into the movement as she yanked again. With a wince, the pencil accepted its fate. Finally slipping free, it flung itself across the room, only to roll under a cabinet.


    The last explosion had taken out half a workbench. The one before that had taken a whole window. This time? The gods only knew it was small in comparison. Just a wall.


    No injured. No maimed. No checking pulses.


    Seraphina tapped an impatient shoe drawing her out of her thoughts. “You once set a rat on fire. FOR AN EXPERIMENT. How am I meant to be impartial about that?!”


    Ah, right... impartiality.


    "Oh please." Corda scoffed, sniffing a random rag to check its stickiness was not acidic before using it to wipe down a shelf. “The rat was already on fire. I merely… extended the effect and then, you forget, healed it. Besides,” she paused to flick a shard of glass onto the floor, “Rattus is doing very well now, thanks for asking.”


    Seraphina dropped her hand, pinching her lips. "And now," she exhaled, "you’ve thrown a book out of a window—"


    "Technically, that one is still under investigation," Corda said quickly, shifting her stance to subtly dust some of the smouldering remains of Seraphina''s journal away with her shoe.


    Seraphina’s gaze drifted to the scene of devastation once more, and just as she opened her mouth to deliver what was sure to be the next verbal beheading, Corda’s knocked into a beaker on the workbench.


    Both women froze. Both women watched.


    The beaker wobbled.


    Teetered.


    Fell.


    And then—


    Shattered.


    A sickly hiss filled the air.


    Not the sharp, crisp fizzle of an overreacted compound. Not the sluggish bubbling of an unstable potion. No. This sounded... wrong.


    The mist didn’t just pool—it moved.


    And in its wake, the wood puckered like touched by disease. It slithered across the floor, hungry. Slick and iridescent, it wrapped around the ruined wooden planks and sank into them, seeping into the cracks like it was searching for something.


    And then, the smell intensified. Like death had once contained in the jar and she had just released it onto the world.


    Corda''s hand flew to cover her mouth, straining a gag. A prickle running up her spine.


    The wood beneath her boots pulsed, just once—like a dying breath. And then, slowly, it began to disintegrate.


    A small "oh" escaped Corda''s lips. She stumbled back as the violet mist sank deeper, eating through the floorboards like rot through flesh. Her pulse slammed against her ribs.


    This wasn’t a normal reaction. This was—


    Seraphina pulled a handkerchief from her pocket as she backed away.


    Curling across the floor, the substance wrapped around whatever it touched, consuming it like a beast unleashed from its cage who had discovered the meaning of hunger.


    Seraphina''s gaze darted from the sight to burned into Corda''s skull as she climbed onto a table at the back of the room. Her voice came out muffled from behind the makeshift mask. "I’m just curious," Seraphina said. Her voice mockingly light, tone undeniably deadly. "How many official complaints have been made against you this month? You seem to be wanting to add my death to the list."


    The mist thickened. Curled in on itself. The colour shifting, darkened from violet to black—not like the absence of light, but something deeper, like the space between stars.


    Corda stiffened. Her gaze flicked toward the substance creeping toward her boot. She exhaled, low and sharp.


    One step back. Then, another.


    Was that...? Her mind trailed off.


    The mist followed, but there was something hungry. Almost carnivorous about it.


    Corda''s thoughts jumped as she leapt onto the table beside her. Her mind flicked rapidly through an imaginary journal of possible mixtures, ingredients and probable outcomes.


    "Seriously, what have you done?!" Seraphina''s mumble interrupted.


    Corda shushed her harshly. Her voice took a sing song tone as her mind raced.. "Not helping."


    From the colour of the mist, the texture of the original powder, the odour, she could narrow it down. "Vansulium?" Corda''s eyes


    "Vansulium?" Seraphina lowered her handkerchief a fraction, her face contorted in confusion. "We ran out last week. Student council has petitioned for more. For a top academy, stock control is dreadful."


    Not Vansulium. Then, Theral?


    Corda pouted.


    But when last had Theral been appropriate for a classroom environment?!


    The mist curled around the table. Blisters bubbled up the legs. Corda shuddered at the sight, edging closer to Seraphina, who for once, didn''t move away.


    Oxidized Azulite + Sunsap + Vansulium/Theral = ??


    Corda’s chest constricted. Sweat drenched her back as the answer refused to come. Something was missing from the equation to have this reaction. Something unintentional. Some variable she hadn''t factored in. But what was it?


    Water?


    Sweat?


    Her stomach plummeted as the answer drifted forward in her mind. A sickening flush of hot fear jolted through her.


    Blood.