Alchemy labs were brighter than the lecture halls.

  Too bright, Lysara thought, as she took in the polished stone floors and perfectly spaced workstations. Everything here gleamed with expectation. Glassware stood aligned with near-religious precision. Mana conduits traced the benches like veins.

  Rowana leaned in. “I give it ten minutes before someone sets of an explosion.”

  “Nothing is supposed to explode.”

  “That’s what they always say.”

  The professor’s voice cut through the room. “This is your first practical. The formula is simple. If you cannot complete it, alchemy is not your discipline.”

  Comforting.

  They distributed the components. Measured reagents. A binding catalyst that required a steady mana feed to stabilize the mixture.

  Lysara read the instructions twice.

  Rowana glanced at her. “You good?”

  “Yes, I just… can’t use much mana.”

  Rowana waved a hand. “It’s a beginner formula. You’ll be fine.”

  That turned out to be optimistic.

  Lysara followed the steps carefully. Heated. Stirred. Introduced the catalyst. The glass warmed beneath her fingers, the scent of minerals and clean solvent rising as the mixture turned translucent. She focused, trying to coax the mana the way the text described—gentle, even, nothing forced.

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  Nothing answered.

  The silence was immediate. Not resistance. Not strain. Just absence.

  The mixture wobbled. Not violently—uncertainly. The surface rippled as if something beneath it couldn’t decide whether to hold together or let go, light bending wrong through the glass.

  Rowana frowned. “Is it supposed to do that?”

  Lysara’s stomach tightened. The air around the beaker felt thin, empty in a way she couldn’t quite name.

  “No.”

  The catalyst dulled, color draining away. The liquid slumped back into itself with a soft, disappointing sound, heat bleeding out too fast, leaving the glass cool and inert in her hands.

  The binding failed.

  The beaker burbled once, then collapsed inward, releasing a thick, translucent mass that slopped over the rim and across the bench with enthusiastic disregard for dignity.

  The goo spread.

  Bubbling.

  Relentlessly.

  Someone laughed.

  Lysara froze, hands held awkwardly aloft as the substance crept toward hers.

  Rowana stared. “Wow.”

  The professor was already there.

  They surveyed the scene in silence. Goo. Glass. Lysara, now lightly speckled and deeply unimpressed.

  “Diagnosis?”

  Lysara swallowed. “Insufficient mana to sustain the binding phase.”

  “Yes, and the result?”

  “Structural collapse. Slightly-volatile.”

  A pause.

  “Accurate,” the professor said. “Clean it up.”

  Rowana grabbed a cloth. “I told you something would happen.”

  “You predicted the wrong kind of chaos,” Lysara muttered.

  Across the room, Adeline Vaereth completed her formula flawlessly, mana flowing smooth and obedient. She glanced over once, taking in the mess, the residue on Lysara’s sleeve.

  Rowana leaned in as they scrubbed. “On the bright side, you didn’t melt or explode anything.”

  The professor returned once the station was restored.

  “The formula was executed correctly; the failure was not procedural.”

  They looked at Lysara. “We will discuss accommodations.”

  As the class ended, Rowana nudged her. “Well. First lab and you’ve already made an impression.”

  Lysara glanced at the faint residue still clinging to her. “I would have preferred a less messy one.”

  “You’ll get used to disappointment.”

  They left the lab together, Lysara smelling faintly of binding agent and inevitability.

  And despite herself—she was smiling.