Kaelan sits behind the counter, one finger tapping lightly against the polished surface.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  The motion is absentminded, almost human, yet his perception stretches far beyond the small antiquity store.

  He senses the flow of the world.

  The tremor of steam engines turning in distant districts.

  The faint prayers whispered in shrines.

  The restless stirring of Spirit Lifes waking from long slumber.

  Three thousand years have passed since he first arrived in this world.

  Back then, he did not arrive as a man.

  He arrived as an embryo of an *Earth Spirit*, anchoring himself deep within the laws of matter and land.

  His original plan had been simple: grow, condense divinity, and be born directly as a demigod.

  But the world did not allow it.

  Before he could even advance to the *Third Stage of Transcendence*, the energy of the world began to recede.

  At first, it was subtle.

  Then it became undeniable.

  The laws thinned.

  The power that once filled the air drained away like water into sand.

  Forced to adapt, Kaelan turned inward.

  If the world would not support his ascent, he would reshape the tools needed to survive it.

  Thus began *Stone and Iron Alchemy*.

  Not as a path for humans, but as a method to reinforce his own body against a dying world.

  When war came from the Holy Empire, he refined that knowledge further.

  Then came *Flesh and Blood Alchemy*, not born of cruelty, but necessity.

  Through it, he learned to preserve vitality, transplant strength, and delay decay.

  *Nature Alchemy* followed, allowing balance and regeneration.

  *Fire Alchemy*, Energy Alchemy, came last, refining all others, stabilising what would otherwise collapse.

  Yet even these were not enough.

  Two thousand five hundred years ago, the world’s energy began its long decline.

  Five hundred years later, it reached its lowest point.

  For two thousand years after that, transcendence became almost impossible.

  No First-Stage Transcendents.

  No true gods walking the land.

  Only echoes.

  Kaelan endured.

  He slowed his transformation.

  He waited.

  Then, two decades ago, the world breathed again.

  Energy returned, not fully, not evenly, but enough.

  Faith followed.

  Believers gathered.

  With that faith, his body finally completed its transformation into the *Demigod Stage*.

  Yet imbalance remained.

  His *spirit* stood at the *Third Stage*.

  His *energy* remained at the *Second Stage*.

  The world itself was still healing.

  Without invoking his body or spirit, his displayed strength barely matched that of a *Cloak Alchemist*.

  And that was by choice.

  Tap.

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  Tap.

  The sound of the doorbell cuts through his perception.

  Kaelan’s tapping finger stills.

  His gaze lifts.

  The door opens.

  Clive steps inside.

  For a fraction of a second, calculations flare behind Kaelan’s eyes.

  Probability threads.

  Causality intersections.

  Paths branching and folding.

  This man is no longer incidental.

  Kaelan lifts his hand slightly and beckons.

  Clive approaches the counter and stops opposite him.

  “Mr. Kaelan,” Clive says, bowing his head slightly, “thank you for telling me about this market and inviting me to your store.”

  Kaelan smiles, warm and unhurried.

  “It is nothing,” he replies. “Even if I hadn’t told you, someone else would have in the coming days.”

  Clive nods. “I know. But knowing about the market early will be a tremendous help for my cultivation.”

  Kaelan inclines his head in agreement.

  “That is true.”

  Clive turns, eyes wandering over the shelves.

  The items on display are unlike anything in the outer world, etched metals that hum faintly, shards of stone wrapped in sealing cloth, fragments of bone preserved in crystal.

  “Of what age are the items here?” Clive asks.

  “Most are from the known era,” Kaelan replies, “from the time of the Holy Empire.”

  Clive nods, then Kaelan continues.

  “But some are from before that.”

  Clive freezes.

  Slowly, he turns back.

  “Before the Holy Empire?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.

  Kaelan meets his gaze calmly.

  “Yes.”

  Clive’s heartbeat quickens.

  The Sand Temple records stretch back three thousand years.

  Before that, history dissolves into speculation.

  Scholars call it the *Unknown Era*.

  No empires.

  No timelines.

  Only fragments.

  “You’ve learned things about that era?” Clive asks, hope creeping into his voice. “About the unknown history?”

  Kaelan smiles faintly.

  “Many things.”

  Clive leans forward instinctively.

  “Then, ”

  “But I cannot share them with you,” Kaelan finishes.

  The words fall gently, but firmly.

  Clive frowns. “Why? What is the reason for such secrecy?”

  Kaelan studies him for a long moment.

  Then he speaks.

  “Knowledge has weight,” Kaelan says. “And you are not ready to carry that weight.”

  Clive stiffens.

  His pride flares, quietly, but unmistakably.

  “I’ve seen death,” he says. “I’ve uncovered truths people tried to bury. I, ”

  Kaelan raises a hand.

  Clive falls silent.

  “This is not about courage,” Kaelan says evenly. “Nor intelligence. Nor intent.”

  He leans slightly forward.

  “Some knowledge reshapes the one who carries it. If your foundation is not strong enough, it does not enlighten; it crushes.”

  Clive searches Kaelan’s face, looking for mockery.

  There is none.

  Only certainty.

  After a long moment, Clive exhales.

  “Okay,” he says quietly.

  Kaelan’s smile deepens, not in amusement, but in quiet approval.

  Looking at Clive’s face, he speaks first.

  “Looking at your expression, I think you want to ask me about something.”

  Clive hesitates.

  The words sit on the edge of his tongue, weighed down by caution and expectation.

  Kaelan does not rush him.

  He simply raises an eyebrow and waits.

  After a long breath, Clive finally speaks.

  “I want your help.”

  Kaelan lifts one hand slightly, palm open, signalling him to continue.

  “Go on.”

  Clive inhales deeply, steadying himself.

  “Can you explain to me each of the ways of alchemy?”

  Kaelan tilts his head, studying him.

  “Why?” he asks calmly. “Are you not already learning the Way of Flesh and Blood?”

  “I am,” Clive answers, “but I’m hesitant. I learned about the bloody history of the Way of Flesh and Blood.”

  For the briefest moment, something ancient stirs behind Kaelan’s eyes.

  The Era of Blood.

  He remembers it clearly.

  He remembers how he himself spread the Ways of Flesh and Blood, Nature, and Fire across the Holy Continent.

  At that time, the world’s spiritual energy was receding.

  The door to the Inner World was slowly closing.

  People felt it.

  They sensed the approaching end, even if they could not name it.

  Desperation ruled that era.

  Most alchemists abandoned subtle paths and flocked to Flesh and Blood Alchemy because it was fast, effective, and brutal.

  It allowed them to seize the abilities of Spirit Lifes directly.

  To force their way forward before the door shut completely.

  Rivers of blood followed.

  Entire regions were emptied to fuel rituals.

  It was a glorious era for alchemical advancement, and a catastrophic one for the world.

  Kaelan looks at Clive and speaks evenly.

  “That happened because of the time and the people.”

  “Not because of the path itself.”

  Clive watches him closely, eyes sharp with anticipation, hoping Kaelan might reveal something deeper.

  Kaelan does not.

  Instead, he continues.

  “Every alchemy way is a tool,” he says. “And tools reflect the hands that wield them.”

  He gestures lightly, his voice taking on the tone of a teacher.

  “The Way of Stone and Iron is the oldest form of alchemy.”

  “Cultivating it strengthens your understanding of matter, stone, metal, structure, and weight.”

  “It allows you to refine alchemical items, weapons, tools, and artefacts.”

  “And with enough mastery, it allows you to transform your body into an Earth Spirit.”

  Clive nods, eyes fixed on Kaelan, absorbing every word.

  “It is also said,” Kaelan continues, “that the Lord of Sand himself is an Earth Spirit.”

  “Because of that, the Way of Stone and Iron is often called the orthodox way of alchemy.”

  Clive’s eyes widen slightly.

  “Amazing,” he whispers.

  Kaelan moves on without pause.

  “The Way of Flesh and Blood,” he says, “is the path of transformation through Spirit Life.”

  “You take abilities, traits, vitality, and even laws from Spirit Lifes and integrate them into flesh and blood.”

  “It is powerful because it shortcuts evolution.”

  “But shortcuts always demand a price.”

  Clive nods slowly.

  Kaelan continues.

  “The Way of Nature focuses on mastering the properties of the natural world.”

  “Growth, decay, balance, regeneration.”

  “Through potions, arrays, and refinement, you gradually transform your body into something closer to nature itself.”

  “It is slower, but far more stable.”

  Then his tone shifts again.

  “The Way of Fire, also called Energy Alchemy, is often misunderstood.”

  “It is not about flames.”

  “It is about mastering energy itself.”

  “The elements in the air, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, and others.”

  “By controlling them, you can create an artificial Spirit Life within yourself.”

  “This path does not create a new way on its own.”

  “Instead, it refines every other way.”

  Clive listens in silence, his thoughts racing.

  “The newer paths,” Kaelan continues, “are still developing.”

  “Life Alchemy and Steam Alchemy are both young.”

  “Life Alchemy focuses on healing, regeneration, and mastery of the human body.”

  “It seeks perfection from within rather than borrowing power from outside.”

  He pauses briefly, then adds,

  “I have practised all the old ways.”

  “And I have begun practising the Way of Life as well.”

  Kaelan raises one hand.

  A faint spark leaps between his fingers.

  Not lightning, but something subtler.

  Alive.

  Clive instinctively reaches out.