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Chapter Text

From every corner of the world, aspiring youth traveled from far and wide to Europe’s Hermetic Institute—the epicenter of humanity’s innovation. From the steppes of East Asia to the coasts off the Caribbean islands, ambitious talent flocked here to have their potential unlocked.

China was pushed along with the crowd containing a mix of newcomers and Juniors who had already began their studies. They would have been separated under normal circumstances, but the rules this year had changed. He touched the handkerchief in his chest pocket.

A woman with hair the color of washed-out walnut was leading their group down the hall. It was pinned up elegantly over her slender shoulders, and her eyes were reminiscent of gentle nobility.

With the double-doors creaking open, the foyer came into view. Its carved wood architecture was elegant, bracketed by chiseled stone bricks.

China corrected his posture to straighten out the dull ache in his back from the journey to the Institute. He had sold most of his family's heirlooms and modest possessions in order to make that trip down The Silk Road, across the mountain ranges of South Asia and the scorching deserts of the Middle East. He had nothing except the clothes on his back which probably drew a few stares, making it clear that he did not come from this continent.

"You know," Whispered a girl in front of him with silky white hair spilling down her back. "I'm calling it. There's no way it's not Russia."

A girl with a splash of freckles across her pale cheeks replied. "I think India and Turkey are both good candidates, too. India is so smart, and he’s sure to get a partnership this year."

The white-haired girl laughed loudly. "It won't be Turkey, but she has nothing to worry about because Ottoman will take her. And Soviet doesn't favor India beyond his talents. He values character, and he prefers Russia."

The group was gently jostled along into the entrance hall, where beams of wood crisscrossed on the ceiling. Stained glass murals were inlaid into the arches and down the walls, filtering light into slanted colors. One panel depicted an Emerald Tablet—the Ancient Text from which Alchemy derived most of its roots. Another showed a proud crimson lion whose mane gleamed with regal vitality.

"Haven't seen you around here." It took China a moment to realize that the voice he heard was directed at him. A tall boy with messy white hair knocked against his shoulder, frowning down at him.

"Name's Russia." He commented. China smiled politely at the first face he put to a name.

"It's good to meet you. I'm China."

"Where are you from?"

"I come from East Asia." Although East Asia had its own illustrious alchemy achievements and community, it was highly isolated from Europe’s–to the point where most of the key concepts were studied under completely different names.

Russia’s pale gaze shifted with interest. "What family?"

"Not a well known one." Russia shrugged and nodded.

"...And you?" China asked, sensing that he should.

Russia’s chest straightened out with pride. "Kievan."

China stared at him with a blank look and it felt like he should know what that meant.

"A long line of European Alchemists." He supplied, his frown returning. "I’m descended from Muscovy, who discovered Sal Ammoniac."

“Ah.” He finally understood. Russia looked a little miffed when China didn’t recognize his family name, but he was thankfully saved from the situation when the beige-haired woman cleared her throat. She stood at the head of their group with two other Alchemists, who must have also been Seniors.

“Welcome, and welcome back.” She said in a melodic lilting voice. “My name is France.”

One of the Alchemists standing next to her had a wise expression with long silver hair down his back in a ponytail.

“That’s England.” Russia supplied, watching China with boredom. He had probably heard this speech before. “He’s the oldest of the Seniors.”

“Who is that?” Russia followed his gaze to the man on the other side of France.

“That’s Senior Soviet.”

That name rang a bell for China, not only because of the conversation he had overheard. He had caught tales of Soviet’s achievements as he travelled across Europe on his way to the Institute–the man at the forefront of the race for the Philosopher's Stone.

“You know him.” Russia observed with satisfaction. “Soviet is going to find the Philosopher's Stone. I'm going to be his pair.”

China nodded slowly. “I see.”

In accordance with the unity of opposites principle, alchemists worked in partnerships to balance each other out. Like the radiant Sun and the contemplative Moon, like feminine Mercury and masculine Sulphur. China didn't dare to have high hopes when it came to apprenticeship, as a foreigner and a newcomer from a no-name family.

“It is the Institute’s unending honor to cultivate your passions and refine your skills.” Continued France. “The work of Alchemists remains exceedingly crucial. In accordance with the principle of balance, learn passionately—with your responsibilities at hand.”

She looked around at the group with a demure smile. “But enough of that. Many of you have been through long journeys, so rest first.”

A dove descended from the rafters of the ceiling. With a flick of France’s hand, it turned into a sheet of parchment mid-flight and drifted down toward them. The group erupted into murmurs of awe as they clamored beneath the paper, Russia catching it first due to his height.

“You’re with Japan. Mercury Wing.” He told China as people started to cram against the two of them. “I’m with my sister.” Russia groaned before someone snatched the paper away.

The girl from earlier with freckles and bright blonde hair excitedly approached Russia. They had the same icy blue eyes. Russia pointed China down a nearby hallway before waving to him and heading off.

Japan and China did not get off to an ideal start.

When China opened the door to his living quarters, Japan was neatly unpacking his belongings in the seating area by the entrance. The homely room had couches arranged around a fireplace, with an adjacent kitchen made of oak countertops. Bedrooms were on opposite ends of the shared space.

“Nice to meet you.” China greeted with a smile. He stuck out a hand for Japan to shake, which was the standard European greeting that he had picked up in the last few weeks. “I’m China.”

Japan’s back was straight as a board. He had a pleasant expression on his face, but his tone was soft and distant. “My name is Japan.”

He ignored China’s hand and did not approach him, continuing to unpack his things. China watched him take out a futon mat and recognized it as something from East Asia, in a region off the East Coast of his hometown.

“I’m from East Asia as well.” He blurted out. That must have been why Japan didn’t shake his hand. “If you don't mind me asking, what's your family name?”

Apparently what had been the right thing to say to Russia was the wrong thing to say to Japan. His expression barely faltered, but he gathered up his things and made a beeline for his bedroom.

“That’s none of your business.” He said coldly before closing the door. China stared at the door with a perplexed expression, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering what had upset him.

Perhaps Japan was from an infamous family who he didn’t like to be associated with, or insecure about an irrelevant one like China had. Whatever it was, they would evidently not be bonding over that today—so China headed to his bedroom as well.

There wasn’t much to unpack. He folded his handkerchief gently onto the nightstand, a last gift from his grandmother before she had sent him off. There was a gold star in the corner and four smaller ones bracketing it. She was going to make six stars all the way around for the seven planetary metals, but her health had declined before she could finish and China had assured her that he would take it as it was.

He knew he should’ve left it safe in his room, but he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.

Maybe he didn’t have much in the way of prestige or connections. Admittedly, maybe he didn’t have the most experience, or the greatest amount of sheer natural talent. But China’s shoulders were set with determination, and that would be enough to take a shot at his only saving grace.

“Nigredo.” Yugoslavia proclaimed with an air of grandeur. The lead in the flask was enveloped by the liquid, turning murky black.

A stone dropped inside the bottle and dissolved into pale clouds that syphoned away the darkness. “Albedo.”

He tipped a bottle of herbs into the mixture. It sizzled and bubbled, building bright yellow anticipation. “Cinitritas.”

Finally, Yugoslavia placed his hand over the rim. Initiating the final stage required the innate energy present in all living things to be channelled and transferred, the prima materia. The potion calmed into a warm plum colour.

“Rubedo.” He finished. “Elixir of Bravery.”

A few newcomers exchanged looks of awe with each other. He took the potion from the stand and set it onto the table, smiling. “Although, Senior Yugoslavia doesn’t need an Elixir to be brave.”

A few people chuckled at his joke out of obligation, save for a boy next to China who laughed heartily. On China’s other side, Russia frowned and reached around China’s back to shove at the boy’s shoulder. He pushed him back and China felt out of place caught between these friends.

“Settle down.” Yugoslavia smiled, slicking his shaggy hair back. “It’s your turn now. A simple Bravery Elixir should ease you right back into it, and show me what you can do.”

He sent them off with a wave of his hand. Russia’s sister shouted him over to her table, so Russia left China with his friend and a tall boy with warm brown skin.

“I’m Serbia.” Said Russia’s friend. He shook China’s hand eagerly. “This is India.”

“I’m China. It’s nice to meet you both.”

India only gave them a curt nod before he bent down and started to mess with the flask on their table.

Serbia ran a hand through his brown hair to slick it backward before rolling up his sleeves, beaming at China. “Senior Yugoslavia is amazing, right?”

"Uh, right." China smiled at his enthusiasm. India pulled the tray of ingredients towards them before adding lead to the flask, the base metal. He started to measure the ingredients as Serbia and China watched.

“Serbia, crush the lavender.” He handed Serbia a mortar-and-pestle filled with herbs. Serbia started to grind them up as India added a mixture of liquids to their potion, commencing the first alchemical stage—nigredo.

Serbia saw China’s bewildered expression and whispered, “Just do what he tells you.” China had the sense that this might've been characteristic of working with India.

“China, is it? Hand me ruby.” China looked down at the tray of herbs and minerals. The tens of compartments were all out of order compared to what he was used to seeing.

“China? Quickly.” India's voice took on an annoyed edge. Leaving too much time between stages was dangerous, as the previous property might oversaturate the potion if it was left unbalanced. India was starting to struggle with the mixture as it bubbled angrily.

Serbia was too preoccupied with his own task to help him, so China picked up a random stone and dropped it into the flask hoping to at least neutralise it. Sparks leapt out of the bottle as India stepped back in surprise.

"Whoa!" Yugoslavia appeared in front of them, waving a hand over the potion. The energy was sapped away and it instantly went still. "Junior China. That was meant to be ruby, not cinnabar." He chided.

China felt his face heating up. India had an annoyed expression, and at least half the people in the room had paused their task to look at him.

"Get back to work." Said Yugoslavia to the room at large. "Don't oversaturate your potions."

He turned back to China with an amused expression. "Nervous first day?"

"I am not familiar with the tray yet. It was my mistake, Senior."

Yugoslavia nodded, not unkindly. "I get it. Don't beat yourself up. This lab needs to be restocked anyway, so go familiarise yourself with the storage room."

He looked up at the rest of the group which had mostly fallen silent to eavesdrop on their conversation. "Who's willing to show Junior China where the storage room is?"

Unexpectedly, it was Japan who raised his hand. "I can go."

"Getting along well with your roommate, Junior." Yugoslavia said breezily. "Junior Serbia and Junior India, start over. He can rejoin you when he returns."

India's expression suggested he would rather not have China rejoin them. Serbia gave him a sympathetic look before China followed Japan out the door.

They walked in silence through the Jupiter Wing, which was dedicated to the Institute's alchemy labs and facilities. China subconsciously straightened his back walking next to Japan's rigid posture.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you volunteer?" China asked to fill the silence.

Japan only said, "I have a responsibility as your roommate."

China glanced at the rows of empty rooms that were bracketed by lanterns on the walls. The hallways in this section were often carved out of stone rather than wood, with its increased risk of alchemical accidents. The lights were starting to glow now that evening was approaching.

Japan stopped in front of a set of double doors. Inside, the ten-foot shelves were filled with rows upon rows of supplies. There were vast collections of the several core metals in large crates at the bottom. The cabinets above held an impressive assortment of herbs and minerals, flasks of various liquids. China examined their labels, spotting a few which he didn't recognize and trying to figure out what he would have known them as.

"Do you know what this one is called in East Asia?" He asked, pointing to a compartment filled with iridescent beetle shells. Japan turned back to China from where he was assembling ingredients into the tray, his pleasant expression gone.

"No, I don't." His voice was frigid.

China wondered if he should just stop talking, but he gave it another shot. "You don't come from East Asia?"

"That's none of your business."

A shrill scream pierced the air. China and Japan turned toward the hallway, until it was followed up by an impact that shook the earth and almost sent them crashing to the ground.

The chaos was drawing nearer to the other side of the door, a faint impact of stone on something. Japan backed away and hissed out when he saw China moving to open it, "What are you—"

And then, from outside, the door was flung open. It was Russia's sister Ukraine, and at her heels was a scaly beast like an overgrown lizard.

Although China had never seen a dragon up close, the creature in the hallway was far from its depiction in old alchemy texts. Its tail dragged across the floor and trembled, lashing against the shelf and causing the wood to splinter. Shards of glass rained down from the shattered bottles.

Ukraine sobbed, scrambling back toward China and Japan and trying to get away. The dragon looked malnourished and sickly, wings tattered and slitted eyes sunken with mania. It screeched and lunged at Ukraine with its claws aiming directly for her chest. China flung his arm in front of her and ignored the stinging pain that lashed at his shoulder.

As China shoved Ukraine back, the dragon made eye contact with him. His heart sank. Looking a dragon in the eye—even one that wasn't in a crazed fit—was almost a certain death sentence.

Alchemists were never supposed to call on the full force of their prima materia. It was a dangerously unstable energy of which alchemy only required a miniscule amount. Harnessing it effectively in combat without causing serious harm, this was something even the most seasoned veterans needed elixirs and training to accomplish.

The dragon's tail whipped above their heads with increased vigour and China pulled Ukraine to the floor. With no other option left, he reached deep into his lungs and summoned all his strength, a hand outstretched in front of him. A blow like an earthquake pulled at his gut. Energy exploded from his fingertips, and he was knocked backward from the force of it as a deafening explosion rocked the ground.

The world was quiet save for the ringing in China’s ears. He coughed, head reeling as his ribs felt tangled against his lungs and his organs seemed to be scrambled out of place. When he looked up, the dragon had been blown to a single dark feather drifting down to the ground. The transfer of energy, a transmutation.

Senior alchemists had started to come out of their classrooms to investigate the commotion. Students milled about the hallway and muttered to each other. China noticed England and France conversing uneasily in the corner of his sliding vision, wondered why they weren't approaching.

Soviet knelt down in front of him. "What's your name?"

That must have been why.

"China. Junior." His hearing was slowly beginning to return, but it still felt like he heard his own voice from underwater.

"Junior China." Repeated Soviet. His golden gaze came into focus and China stared up at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Would you like to be my apprentice?"

With that, the murmuring grew louder. Blood insistently soaked the front of China's cloak from his shoulder and it felt like his brain rattled around his skull when he moved.

"Um." Was his only reply. The dizziness was starting to subside, replaced only by the shock of Soviet's words.

Soviet smiled kindly. "Go see Junior Pakistan first."

Serbia stepped out from the crowd and pulled China to his feet, supporting him until he was able to regain his balance. China saw that Ukraine was crying into Japan's arms, but they both seemed relatively unscathed. He exhaled in relief.

"That was cool." Serbia muttered as they made their way down the hall. The Seniors started to usher everyone back into their labs, but people still peered out to stare. "You're Soviet's pair now!"

China’s head pounded faintly. "I haven't accepted yet."

"Don't tell me you're not going to accept. You have to."

Serbia was cut off when Russia approached the sick bay, ushering Ukraine inside with a hand on her back. China felt relieved to see a familiar face.

"Russia—"

Russia's gaze was icy as he turned away from China without a second glance.

China bit back a groan. How many bridges had he already burned on his first day? Serbia shook his head, pushing China into the infirmary. "He'll get over it."

Chapter Text

Russia did not get over it. At least, it didn’t seem like he was going to anytime soon.

Junior Pakistan turned out to be a sweet botanist with bright green eyes, hair covered with a silky headscarf. China held back a wince as she applied a paste of herbs to the wound in his shoulder, his shirt peeled back around it.

She noticed his discomfort right away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m fine.”

“Do you have any other injuries?”

China shook his head at the same time Serbia said, “He overused his prima materia. Like, a lot. He transformed an entire dragon! Can you believe that?”

Pakistan looked at them nervously. “I should call Senior Iran.”

China sat up straight—“No, there’s no need for that,”—But Pakistan was already waving her mentor over, the Senior botanist supervising the sick bay. Iran shrugged her long dark hair over her shoulder as she appeared by China's bed.

“Open your mouth, dear.” She told China in a warm yet firm voice that was like honey. China blinked at Serbia, Pakistan, and Iran's expectant faces. He swallowed his embarrassment and opened his mouth, Iran tilting his chin side-to-side while examining the back of his throat.

Pakistan and Iran specialized in botany, one of the four branches of Hermetics—astronomy, philosophy, botany—which worked in tandem with alchemy, the ultimate unifier of them all. They were well-versed in healing through magic and nature.

“You’ll be just fine.” Iran said soothingly. “But Junior China, you were exceedingly fortunate. Overreaching with prima materia is dangerous, especially if repeated. Avoid doing so at all.” She finished in a firm voice before turning away.

Pakistan looked at China as she began to pack up the supplies. “Did you really transform a dragon?” She asked the question sheepishly, if she had tried to convince herself not to.

He tried to dismiss it while Serbia nodded and said, “Right! Cool, right?”

“That is cool.” She hastily toned down her excitement when she realized Iran was still within earshot. “Please don't do it again.”

Serbia was unfazed. “He saved Ukraine from it.”

China peered nervously around Serbia and Pakistan who were standing in front of his bed. Serbia glanced behind himself as the three of them watched Russia fuss over Ukraine with his back to them.

Pakistan followed their gazes curiously. “Russia doesn't seem very happy about that.”

“He’s just in a mood.” Serbia reassured. “Give him a few weeks.”

Japan was absent from the infirmary as well as their dorm when China returned. Hopefully he hadn’t been hurt too badly. China was wearing a coat borrowed from Serbia since his own clothes had been tattered and singed in the blast. He placed his—thankfully, miraculously—unharmed handkerchief onto the nightstand and collapsed into bed.

Contrary to Serbia’s belief, a few weeks did not help the situation. Russia gave China the cold shoulder during labs and mealtimes, moving to pack up his stuff if China approached the table. If he saw China and Serbia sitting in the library, he would occasionally greet Serbia and then turn away without another word.

After several instances of this happening in the dining hall, Serbia looked indignant enough to get up and confront Russia over it.

“It’s not ideal, but he has a right to be annoyed.” China reasoned upon seeing his expression. If China was the one in Russia’s position, he would be griping with the resentment too. China might be doing something even more drastic, if the prime opportunity to get the Stone had come that close to him before being snatched away.

“What are you supposed to do about it if Soviet decided to ask you?” Serbia messed with his hair in annoyance, mouth muffled around the bite he had just taken. China glanced down at the food in his tray, the flavors different than what he was accustomed to back home. He felt bad that Serbia wasn’t talking to his friend because of him.

“I won’t mind if you go talk to him.”

Serbia’s expression soured. “I don’t want to.”

“Aren’t you two friends?”

“We’re cousins, actually.” The sun shifted in the sky to slant across their table, a strip of light falling across the wood and making them look up at the latticed window.

“It’s nice outside.” China noticed. Serbia straightened up excitedly.

“You haven’t been to the Gardens yet, I forgot. We need to go!” With that, China was pulled out of his seat and dragged to follow Serbia down the hall. He was slightly relieved to get away from the tension anyway.

Serbia dragged him to the courtyard that was encircled on all sides by the Hermetic Institute. The building stretched across a vast swath of land, a seven-sided enclosure constructed mostly of elegant wood. Each Wing corresponded with one of the core metals of alchemy and was named after its planetary counterpart. Doves and canaries nested in the eaves of the roofs, singing faintly as the two of them entered the area known as the Gardens.

A single winding oak was in the center of it, roots twisting tens of meters from its core. Its extended branches curved upward, like fingers reaching toward the sky, and China recognized the image instantly.

“This is the Tree of Life.” He muttered under his breath.

“Right.”

This was the ancient landmark around which the Hermetic Institute had been founded and established countless millennia ago. The Tree was how Europe first gained insight into some of alchemy’s core tenets, one of several Alchemical Monuments that maintained the universe’s stability. Serbia waited for China to overcome his wonder so that he could continue showing him around the Gardens.

China placed his palm to the trunk and felt energy thrum against his fingertips, as if it was coursing through veins beneath the bark. Alchemy could be understood as the medium through which the physical and spiritual worlds were united, the taming of prima materia through alchemical components and processes. The Tree of Life embodied this by striking a balance between nature’s four elements. It grew toward the heavens like the alchemist on their great journey to enlightenment.

Before turning away, China’s expression shifted as his palm pressed against that colossal warmth. He felt like it was humming in response to his determination, so he uttered a silent prayer to the cosmos.

“I wish I had a partnership.” Serbia declared wistfully. They were sitting in a corner of the Gardens, their backs to a tree and a few texts scattered on the grass in front of them. The late afternoon sun dappled across their faces through the shade.

One of the things that surprised China the most about Europe was how much free time the Junior alchemists were granted. The labs during the first weeks were just to ensure that they got in some practice before being left to their own devices. Save for a few required projects throughout the year, they had the most freedom that China had ever experienced.

Juniors spent their days studying new elixirs in the laboratory, and the supervising Senior was purely concerned with making sure they didn’t accidentally burn it down. They hung around the library and the Gardens, venturing into surrounding villages to relax whenever they pleased.

“Senior Yugoslavia still hasn’t chosen anybody.” China told him. Serbia groaned and picked up his book again, scribbling into the margins. Although it was Serbia’s own edition of the volume, China winced instinctively at the action.

“Don’t get my hopes up. That’s cruel. Senior Yugoslavia isn’t going to choose me. Even if he did, it wouldn't be in my second year.”

“You never know. Wouldn’t I have said something like that a while ago?”

Serbia’s glum expression eased at the distraction. It was almost unheard of for even a second year to grab an apprenticeship, let alone a total newcomer.

“When are you guys going to start?” He demanded. “I wanna know what it’s like working with Soviet.”

“He hasn’t told me anything.” China said helplessly as Serbia ran a hand through his hair to slick it back. His brown hair was an awkward length, long over his eyes yet too short to be swept back and it just fell onto his forehead again. It looked like he was in the process of growing it out, perhaps into something like the shaggy style Yugoslavia sported. “Senior Soviet hasn’t talked to me since the first day.”

That got Serbia’s attention. “Really? Not even once?”

He tried to hide it, but clearly Serbia did not think this was a good sign. China sighed and shook his head, leaning back over the notes on his lap.

“I think you should talk to him.” Serbia insisted. “What if Russia’s trying to convince Soviet to change his mind? You have to get him back!”

The choice of words made China rub the back of his neck. What was he getting Soviet back from? They hadn't made any commitment to each other yet.

His train of thought was interrupted by a rustling in the greenery behind them. They both turned around to witness a girl literally fall out of a bush and pounce onto the grass. There was a branch stuck in her messy dark hair, but she was too distracted by her task to notice them staring. She slowly lifted her hand and then sighed with dejection when it was empty.

“Hi, North.” Said Serbia. “What are you doing?”

She looked up. “Oh. Hello. I’m trying to catch the Cardinal Pronged Beetle.”

Serbia didn't seem to know what that was any more than China did. “That’s great. Why?”

The girl named North responded curtly. “Because it’s cool.”

With that, she got up and headed back the way she came without another glance at China and Serbia. China gave him a questioning look.

“North doesn't hang around much.” Serbia explained. “That's probably the first time I've seen her all year. But she stays because her Opus is always really impressive, even if she never studies or practices for it at all.” His voice had a trace of envy.

He was referring to the project which Juniors at the Institute had to complete at the end of each year, gradually working toward it throughout. The requirements were flexible, but it had to be designed to impress. Numerous Institute alchemists through the years had made history with their iteration of the Opus.

China turned back to his reading and Serbia glanced over his shoulder curiously.

“Are you studying early for your Opus?” China quickly closed the book about the Emerald Tablet. He reached for his handkerchief, twisting it between his fingers.

“It could be useful for that.”

Serbia cocked his head. “An Ancient Text? What do you need to know about the specifics of that stuff? Is it something for Soviet?”

China sighed—that last question felt like too arrogant of a thing to do. “No, I can't start studying anything for Soviet until he gives me something. That’s if he doesn’t change his mind about working with me.”

Serbia laughed and shook his head.

The next day, North appeared near China and Serbia’s spot once again. She surfaced as they were studying in silence, seeming to have gone for a different angle of attack this time. North slunk around the cobblestone basin of a flower bed with her eyes on the Cardinal Pronged Beetle. With that, she made her move.

“Did you catch it?” Serbia asked her, getting distracted from his reading.

North’s eyes widened as she stared at her palm and spoke breathlessly. “Yea.”

Serbia beckoned her over. “Let’s see.”

The insect in North’s hand was the size of a walnut, clambering over her pale skin. Its shell refracted the sunlight into an iridescent array of colors, and on its head were a pair of fearsome forked prongs.

China shuddered a little. Although he wasn’t a squeamish person, alchemy typically worked with dead insects rather than live ones. North swept the beetle into a jar and closed it with satisfaction.

“It’s beautiful.” She said quietly.

Serbia nodded in agreement. “What’s it for?”

“Collection.” North looked up as if she expected him to make fun of it. She was especially wary of China’s uncomfortable expression, and China tried to reassure her.

“I think it’s interesting. Do you like insects?”

North nodded, and he could tell her shoulders had relaxed a little. “Bye now.”

Over time, China learned that North frequented the Gardens for this purpose. She became more comfortable with China and Serbia’s corner of the courtyard, and didn’t feel the need to hide from them whenever her desired species could be found nearby. She occasionally stopped to talk if they invited her over.

“This is China.” Serbia introduced. North clutched a jar to her chest, filled with a brown stick bug like a twig. That one had taken her almost a week due to how well it camouflaged into the greenery.

“Cool. I’m North.” She barely looked at China, still admiring her spoils of battle.

“He’s Soviet’s pair.” Serbia emphasized with pride coloring his words.

Half the time, it felt like Serbia was more excited about the ordeal than China himself. However, only China truly knew how much Soviet’s partnership would mean to him if the Senior really went through with it. Some part of him almost didn’t dare to hope.

“Oh. I heard about that.” North finally looked up. “Russia’s pretty angry about it.”

If she was friends with Russia, then there went the chances of North getting along with him. China had to bite back a groan. “I haven't agreed to it yet. Soviet will probably end up choosing Russia.”

She shrugged.

“No need to defend yourself. I don’t really care about that stuff. Congrats, though.” And despite her taciturn attitude, it sounded sincere in a simple way. Gratitude surged in China’s chest.

From Serbia, China discovered that Soviet had a preference for research, and most of the other Seniors had a partiality for him. Soviet had his way nearly all the time in this regard—as did his competitor Senior America. They took on less mentorship obligations than any other Seniors, to Yugoslavia’s apparent chagrin.

“Those two are lucky for altruistic people like me, who do extra work so they can stay holed up in the lab all day.” Yugoslavia said indignantly when he heard China and Serbia talking over their practice. “Although, I don't mind helping you guys. You’re getting better.” He grinned.

Serbia stared up at him earnestly. “The Juniors are grateful for your sacrifice, Senior Yugoslavia. You're an excellent teacher.”

Their potion started to sizzle insistently during Serbia's distraction, so China had to lean over him and add a handful of minerals.

“Got the right ingredient this time. Well done, Junior.” Yugoslavia teased. Serbia laughed and China's face burned with embarrassment.

Despite all this, China couldn't avoid Soviet forever. He was gathering a handful of texts from the table as he and Serbia cleaned up after the lab one afternoon. Serbia had gone to the disposal and footsteps approached the table as China leaned down over it. He swept a handful of spilled herbs off the counter into his hand, initially concealed by the sheets of paper.

“Can you also get rid of—” China halted mid sentence when he looked up with his hand out, and standing in front of him was Soviet.

“Do you need something, Junior China?” He quickly shook his head and put his hand away, forgetting that the herbs were still in it. They spilled across the floor and Soviet looked down in surprise. China felt his face heating up.

“I’m sorry—”

Soviet put a hand on China's shoulder to get his attention.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Junior?”

China thought to himself that this was it. Surely Soviet had decided that he would be choosing Russia after all, and he was going to apologize sincerely for the misunderstanding.

He nodded and tried not to look too miserable. “What’s the matter, Senior Soviet?”

“I was wondering if you had an answer for my question yet.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Junior, whether you would like to be my apprentice. Unfortunately, I require an answer soon. I hope you have considered it.”

“Have I—yes.” China paused before continuing to speak, hoping the words conveyed the sheer force of his gratitude. “It would be my honor.”

“Excellent.” Soviet smiled. “Await my instruction for now. I look forward to working with you, Junior China.”

Soviet turned away and almost bumped into Serbia who had been excitedly eavesdropping on their conversation. Soviet raised his eyebrows and looked at Serbia with amusement while China dropped down to clean up the spill, so that neither of them would see the tips of his ears turning red.

As Soviet left the room, China wondered what he had meant and whether he would be getting a proper task soon. He wouldn't need to wait long to find out.

Chapter Text

Senior America glanced around at their chattering group, his bright gaze bored. Golden hair curled languidly across his forehead and over one blue eye. It was the first that China had seen of Soviet’s rival up close, and America seemed just as elusive as China’s soon-to-be mentor.

The two of them had the privilege to do as they pleased, being the people who would make alchemy’s single most monumental advancement. Assuming they succeeded, that is.

“Quiet down.” America lazily stretched his shoulders back. “Come with me.”

Yugoslavia had apparently needed to run some errands in the village, so Senior America was here to fulfill his own supervision quota. Serbia looked especially glum when the Juniors were all summoned to the lab and Senior Yugoslavia wasn’t there.

“Is this something important?” China asked North and Serbia, wondering why even North had showed up to this lesson.

“You’ll see.” Serbia grinned. “It’s really cool. It’s mostly for the newcomers, but it's still cool to see again.”

North agreed. “Maybe I can get permission. For my Opus.”

Serbia mussed up the back of his hair. “I don’t know. You’re good, but that’d be difficult for any second year.”

A white-haired girl named South glanced over her shoulder when she heard North’s voice, her pretty face bracketed by bangs at the sides.

“You’re here.” She said with displeasure upon seeing North. Turkey turned to them as well from next to South, her expression disinterested.

North tugged at her own sleeve and slowed her pace, trying to be pushed further back by the crowd as China and Serbia slowed down with her.

"So, do you wanna tell us about some bugs?" Serbia asked North, trying to ease the tension.

"No." She continued to stare at the stone-brick tiles.

China had been seeing more of North’s sister South lately, mostly against his will. She seemed to get along well with Japan—as did many people.

America led them far into the Jupiter Wing—deeper than China had ever been—until he reached a secluded vault door. Taking an elixir from his belt and messing with the contents, he swirled it back in his throat. The Juniors who had never seen this process watched him curiously. America put a hand on the heavy door and it slowly screeched open with the force of energy as clouds of dust were kicked up.

"Did he use prima materia to open that?" Asked China.

"Right, and that elixir is too complicated for any Junior to even touch." Serbia told him gleefully, trying to preserve the air of intrigue. Even North looked a little bit satisfied and didn't elaborate any further for China.

The door revealed a winding staircase descending several meters below the Earth. At the bottom was a curious sight. A suspended translucent mass was shifting around in the air, as if grappling with some invisible force. It bubbled and poured silvery-blue vapor into the room, liquid body twisting in on itself.

"This is alkahest." Said America, cracking an appreciative smile at the sight.

"The Universal Solvent." Serbia added for the impact. They were standing before the matter that could dissolve everything in the physical world, including the Philosopher's Stone itself.

Someone raised her hand. "Senior America?"

"Yes, Junior…?" America's address to her, rather than purposeful, was as if he didn't remember her name.

"If alkahest can dissolve everything physical, how exactly is it contained?"

"Suspended by energy, which is spiritual in nature." America polished the empty bottle of the elixir he had downed earlier. "This alkahest chamber is under the Tree of Life. That supplies constant prima materia to sustain the barrier."

When he looked closer, China realised the alkahest's constant bubbling and smoking was from dissolving the air around it. Its sheer destructive power made the Junior alchemists murmur in awe, some of them stepping back nervously.

The Earth's alkahest had been sealed away by alchemists within a handful of locations, corresponding with the Alchemical Landmarks who could contain them ceaselessly. If alkahest was ever released without constraint, it could fully destroy the physical world. Serbia tugged at his hair restlessly, inching closer to China and North.

America continued. "Juniors can file for permission from England if they want to use alkahest for study or Opuses. Only under heavy supervision."

"Anyway, don't try to come in here by yourself." He warned.

"Even if you manage it—” America paused. “—probably best for your own safety that you don't."

When they first met, China had expected his roommate Japan to be the quiet, closed-off type, and would find out the hard way that this was not the case.

Japan’s less-than-fond attitude towards China seemed to be an exception to the rule. Most of the Juniors got along well with Japan, who—according to them—had a polite, pleasant personality and made an effort to connect with a wide range of people. At least, that's what North had heard from South.

China had groaned as he rubbed at his eyes, resting his head on the library table. Serbia and North watched him with amusement, sympathy.

Serbia had asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep because of my roommate.” China finished, fighting back a yawn. Apparently, this statement had more implications than China could even think up.

“What?” Demanded Serbia. “Geez, that’s… I didn’t expect it from that guy.”

“I thought he was a quiet person.” China muttered in agreement. Serbia had messed up the back of his own hair and turned his face to the side. Even North hid a smile behind her sleeve as Serbia groaned.

“Don’t make me think of that stuff with Japan.” Serbia shook his head at China’s words and tried to return to his work. China had squinted at him, confused, with the sense that they weren't talking about the same things.

“It’s an inconvenience, but nothing that bad—”

North promptly cut him off. “China. What is he actually doing?”

“He’s having people over at night.” China put his head back down on the table.

“And what are they doing?”

“They’re talking to each other, from midnight until morning. I don't know how he doesn't get tired.”

“Ohhh.” Said Serbia.

China had looked up to see North snort and say, “Yea. Oh.”

At night, China turned to his other side and pressed his face against the pillow for what felt like the tenth time that evening. He could hear the conversation through the walls, a girl's voice laughing loudly, punctuated by Japan's soft tone.

Sleep was clearly a lost cause. China pulled on Serbia’s borrowed cloak—he still had to buy new clothes after his were destroyed on the first day, he remembered guiltily—and filed that thought away for later.

Although there was no rule against studying at night, Juniors would probably get reprimanded if they were too disruptive. Not to mention that there was no reason to be night cramming in the ninth month, far away from any deadlines.

China made his way down the hallways with a text tucked under his arm, until the walls turned from carved oak to the stone brick of the Jupiter Wing. Lanterns were illuminating the corridors, their orange light wavering.

In the middle of the night, the library had an ominous feel to it. It was a beautiful place during the daytime with a second floor and a winding staircase leading up to it, floor-to-ceiling windows all along the wall. Now, the shelves threw vast areas of the room into harsh shadow. China picked up a lantern from the crate by the door and made his way to his usual seat.

No alchemist would bother with the reading he had brought, since the Emerald Tablet had been analyzed by millions of different civilizations over the years. The interpretation that arose had been widely accepted and its application to alchemy was flawless, no need for revision.

China stared at the pages in the glow of the lantern and took his handkerchief out of his pocket to feel the soothing silk in his hand.

That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to accomplish the miracles of the One Thing.

That was the physical world’s reflection of the cosmos, so above, so below.

The Sun is its father, the Moon its mother; the Wind hath carried it in its belly, the Earth is its nurse. The four elements from which the universe had been born. Its force or power is entire if it be converted into Earth. Separate the Earth from the Fire, the subtle from the gross, sweetly with great industry.

That referenced prima materia and the processes of alchemy. China felt his eyes glazing over at the repetitive, basic concepts.

It ascends from the Earth to the Heaven, and again it descends to the Earth, and receives the force of things superior and inferior. By this means you shall have the glory of the whole world, and thereby all obscurity shall fly from you. Its force is above all force, for it vanquishes every subtle thing and penetrates every solid thing.

This section was interpreted as being about the Philosopher's Stone. China read the words over and over until his eyes throbbed, and until he could recite them from memory.

From the Earth to the heaven, and back to the Earth. The alchemist’s great journey of enlightenment, on which they would return with Philosopher’s Stone. Eliminating the last barrier of humanity, the inevitable death and decay of all things.

Everything he was thinking had already been thought before, by people infinitely older and wiser than him. The sun was starting to rise, and the sky cast the library in a faint blue-gray.

Why had China thought he would be able to add anything to this integral work? Every possible bit of insight had already been squeezed from those short, sacred lines by legends. As China packed up his things, he felt like his arrogance had surpassed him in that moment.

When China returned to his dorm, a stranger approached and handed him a letter.

The boy said, “This is from Senior Soviet.”

“Soviet gave you something?! What does it say?” China shushed Serbia frantically as people threw dirty, prying looks at the three of them.

“Not so loudly.” He lowered his voice, causing both North and Serbia to lean in with interest. China shook his head.

“It says I need to marry him.”

Serbia yelled again. “What?”

“Let me see that.” North took the paper. “‘Alchemical Marriage ritual.’ Oh.”

“Oh.” Serbia echoed. “That’s not an actual marriage. It’s for officiating an alchemical partnership. It’s modeled after the Alchemical Marriage.”

China instantly sighed with relief, suspecting there had been a misunderstanding. Alchemical Marriage, unity of opposites, they were all the same thing under different terms, but this one wasn’t quite so common in East Asia.

“What am I supposed to do for it? Do I have to make any preparations?”

Serbia explained, “It has to be done beside a Landmark. Which will be the Tree of Life. The Tree’s connection to the cosmos will judge the partnership and decide whether to accept it.”

China balked. “Partnerships can be rejected?”

“It’s really rare. It won't happen to you guys.” Serbia tried to reassure him, but his lack of a denial was answer enough for China.

“That’s because Seniors get familiar with their Juniors before offering apprenticeship to them.” China realized. Apparently the world hadn’t had enough of throwing countless hurdles at him.

He didn’t know a single thing about Soviet, nor Soviet about him. What if the universe decided they wouldn't be a good fit to work together?

Serbia shifted with a wince and didn't have a rebuttal for this. North put the letter down and picked up an empty jar to fidget with it. She never came to the library with any texts, mostly just accompanying Serbia and China.

“There’s nothing you can do.” She said. “You can only wait. And, you forgot to mention the ritual only works during Earth’s full moon phase.”

Serbia was successfully distracted by her attempt to change the subject. “Right, that means Senior America will also have to choose a pair in the next three days. There’s no way he waits until next month and lets Soviet get a head start on him.”

The subject of Senior America’s pair had plagued the conversations of nearly every Junior at the Institute recently. Even the three of them speculated over it, but it was a repetitive topic that went something like this:

“India is the most experienced pick.” Serbia would begin.

But it likely wouldn’t be India because of how his rigid, reserved demeanor would clash with America’s bold one—which North would quickly point out.

“Senior America seems to like Japan.” China would suggest. “I’ve heard he’s easy to work with.”

North would shake her head and speculate despite her initial unwillingness to, at least partly for China and Serbia’s sake. “He doesn’t clock in enough lab hours.”

“It might be your sister.” Serbia would say to North. “She’s a hard worker and gets along with America.”

And North would cringe at the prospect, and that would be the end of the conversation. Yet in short, every single candidate at America’s disposal was more experienced, qualified, and familiar with their pair than China would be.

North’s voice dragged him back to the present. “Just wait and see.”

She poked some pebbles into the bottom of her jar, preparing it for whatever mythical insect she planned to grab next.

“That’s right.” Serbia stretched. “It’ll be fine.”

China leaned his head into his hands and rubbed at his eyes.

In the midst of autumn, the trees in the Gardens sank into hues of bright orange and yellow save for the Tree of Life, which continued to flourish flawlessly. Birdsong emanated from within its branches as the soft breeze whistled.

Soviet looked calm and self-assured beneath the Tree. His light hair was silhouetted by the afternoon sun as China faced his outstretched hand. Around, what looked like the entire population of the Institute was watching from the sidelines. Some of them simply stood by and formed a patchy circle around the two of them, while others sat on the grass or on the basins of flowerbeds.

China wiped his sweaty hands on his sleeves, rolling them up so he could actually shake Soviet’s hand.

The Senior noticed. “Are your clothes too big?”

China had to look up to meet his golden gaze, brighter than ever in the light of day.

“I’m sorry, Senior. It’s borrowed and I keep forgetting to buy new ones.” He said quietly.

He reached out and grasped Soviet’s hand, and it was like a shockwave went through his body from the point. Energy lingered at Soviet’s fingertips like a current under his skin, and China felt his own prima materia thrumming in response to it. Soviet’s hand was ice-cold and China bit back a gasp at the shock of conflicting sensations.

The ground beneath them seemed to pulse as if the Tree of Life was responding to their proclamation of unity.

“Just wait a moment.” Soviet reassured. They stood connected by their hands, and China felt his palm start to get sweaty again. He wondered what a rejection would actually feel like and whether it would hurt, but his worries were soon assuaged. As the pulsing energy peaked, an otherworldly warmth ran deep into his chest cavity.

“The Alchemical Marriage has been ratified.” Soviet said, letting go of him. “Junior China, I look forward to working with you.”

China’s shoulders relaxed and he wiped his damp palm on his trousers again. “I won’t let you down.” He promised.

He was suddenly aware of all his colleagues and superiors still watching, and felt embarrassed for saying something so self-assured in front of everyone. He hadn’t proven himself enough to promise Soviet anything like that, not yet. The Senior just smiled and continued speaking, raising his voice as if he wanted people to hear.

"Junior, I am deeply grateful for your apprenticeship on the journey to obtain the Philosopher's Stone." The crowd's attention was hooked onto Soviet's words.

"I will do everything in my power to achieve enlightenment and discover the Stone," Soviet continued. "And upon doing so, I pledge to seal it away permanently."

China's eyes widened. He looked to the side and saw Serbia and North sitting nearby, exchanging confused looks. Russia was leaning against a cobblestone wall with a surly expression, but there was no way he wasn't listening to Soviet's words. Seniors England and France turned to each other. As France raised her delicate hand to whisper into England’s ear, America's bright eyes were gleaming with interest.

Soviet’s gaze didn’t leave China’s face once, even as China was glancing around like a deer in headlights. He simply continued to smile as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell on him.

"Junior China." Soviet nodded. "May our partnership be long and fruitful."

China's heart dropped into his stomach.

Chapter Text

The final day of the full moon phase was drawing to a close, as China headed to Senior England’s office for the first time. The Senior quarters were located in the Sun Wing, modelled after the noble, purest planetary metal—gold. 

England was at his desk when China came in, lowering the porcelain teacup in his hand. The office was furnished luxuriously with deep mahogany bookcases and cushy armchairs, lit by the warm orange glow of firelight. A vast collection of vases and sculptures adorned the shelves. Like a museum of souvenirs picked up from the Senior Alchemist’s impressive exploits, each of them surely rich with stories and experiences. 

"Junior China." England greeted, words curved with an incisive accent. "Have a seat." 

"It's nice to meet you, Senior." 

England smiled pleasantly, faint lines of age on his skin. He looked to be in his early forties with a scrutinizing gaze that took its subjects apart. "Likewise. I regret that I couldn't catch the chance to welcome you earlier. How are you settling into things?" 

"I'm doing well, Senior." China stared at England's desk for a moment, where there was a carved figure of the White King and Red Queen, the symbols of masculine sulfur and feminine mercury. Everywhere he went, he couldn't get away from partnership and balance. 

England, seeing his distracted state, decided to get straight to the point. "I would like to congratulate you on your partnership. Junior, I would ask you not to worry too much about... what happened yesterday." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Senior Soviet can be rather stubborn." England smiled tiredly, taking a sip of tea. "It isn't my intention to undermine his authority. However, I would like to encourage you to take your mind off of those matters for now. There will be plenty of time to consider things thoroughly before the Stone is found." 

If this was his opportunity to gain some insights, then China was going to take it.

"Senior England, why does Senior Soviet want to seal away the stone?" 

"I believe that he would like to avoid the risk of its powers being used for evil." England's brow creased, but he moved on before China could think anything of it. "That is only my interpretation. You may discuss the matter with him yourself if you'd like." 

England smiled sympathetically at the look on China's face. "I understand that each Alchemist has his or her own reason to seek the Philosopher's Stone. Glory, knowledge, whatever it may be. I take it you are familiar with Senior America's?" 

China shook his head. America was always surrounded by a gaggle of admirers and an audience at mealtimes, but China didn't often take his meals in the dining hall. 

"Senior America thinks differently than your mentor. He makes clear his plan to wield the Stone's abilities to attempt to help humanity. But for fear of misrepresenting my colleague's views, I'd encourage you to ask him about the matter yourself if you are interested." 

China thought resentfully that he agreed much more with America's interpretation of things—he couldn't help but feel betrayed by Soviet. 

"I merely hoped to provide you with my reassurances. And..." England hesitated for a moment before his serene expression returned. "Nevermind that. Senior Soviet will surely inform you of the situation in due time. You have a daunting task ahead of you, with which I wish you the best of luck, Junior." 

He dismissed China with a gentle nod. Back in the hallway of imposing marble, footsteps approached the corridor from up ahead. 

"It seems like Senior America won't be choosing a partner this month." China recognized it as India’s voice. There was a scoff in response.

"He'd be foolish not to." That harsh remark sounded like Turkey. 

"If he doesn't believe that there is a suitable candidate, then he should wait instead of settling." India said, sounding stiff. "This isn't a decision to make on a whim."

There was an edge to that thought which might have even been reserved for China himself, his mentor's selection.

India must have been feeling resentful over the entire ordeal, and China was surprised that America hadn't propositioned him yet. India was his safest option, and surely America had to act soon. Was he really going to allow his own progress to be delayed by a month against Soviet?  

Turkey turned into the corridor with India and Russia a few steps behind. Her crimson curls spilled down her shoulders, shrewd eyes shifting when they saw China. 

He froze. None of the people standing in this hall liked him one bit. 

Turkey had also officiated her ideal partnership the previous day, with the strict Senior Ottoman who always had a liking for her. But on the same day as China and Soviet’s ritual, the two had kind of stolen her thunder. Russia and India had both gone into their third year expecting, hoping for apprenticeships—and Russia's had been snatched away by none other than China himself. China quickly ducked his head and moved past. 

He was so preoccupied that he almost bumped into Soviet as he rounded the corner. The Senior stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, forcing China to look up into his earnest eyes. 

"Junior. I've been meaning to speak to you." 

China tried his best not to look too resentful, feeling like there was a heavy clouded weight settling in his ribcage, made worse when he saw the man who was supposed to be his mentor. That was right, Soviet was supposed to be on his side. "What's the matter, Senior Soviet?" 

"I'd like you to meet me in my office on the sixth day of the week at dusk. We can begin our work very soon." China nodded and looked away. 

Whether or not Soviet sensed his reluctance, he allowed China to head back to his dorm without delay. Japan was leaning over the kitchen counter when he opened the door, a wrapped package on the table.

“Someone left this for you from Senior Soviet.” He told China before picking up his food and heading to his room. China glimpsed a rice ball wrapped in seaweed, the East Asian delicacy clutched in Japan’s hand despite how he insisted he didn’t come from the region. 

Wrapped in the package was a set of new clothes. An undershirt with a European style collar, the velvet cloak a deep, mulberry shade of red. Both garments had gold detailing on the edges and fit snugly around his shoulders, how did Soviet know his size ? 

He pulled off the cloak, movements harsh with frustration. Taking his handkerchief from the pocket of Serbia's clothes—which he was now free to return—China ran the silk between his fingers. He pressed a thumb over the embroidered gold stars.

How could Soviet take away his grandmother's only chance? How could China help him do it? Reserved for the Alchemist who discovered the Philosopher’s Stone was all of the glory and knowledge the world had to offer, the promise of a name that would go down in history next to those of heroes and revolutionaries—but in China’s mind, it was all secondary to this. 

Soviet was going to seal away the one thing that could help his grandmother. Any other thought felt like merely a way to delay and distract from the inevitable. 

The nights in the library were starting to take a toll on China, as was his frustrating lack of progress. Now that Soviet had delivered that resolute speech in front of the entire faculty about his morals and intentions, exhaustion pulled at China’s eyelids heavier than it had ever been. He climbed into bed in broad afternoon daylight without even drawing the curtains.

He dreamed.

In a desert far away from home, an uneasy wind swept over the plain. It carried traces of ash and panic across the barren savannah where all the wildlife had long fled. A sense of dread loomed over the place, as if the soil was embedded with a terrible knowledge and its grass was swaying in protest, run, run . 

The reason for this stared back at him. A towering sycamore in the field bore deep gashes running up its bark, dark blood like sap oozing out. Its poisoned roots gripped at the Earth with a corruption so sinister it could only be magic. 

A woman with dark brown skin was perched on the rock in front of the tree. She turned to him over her shoulder and fixed him with cobalt blue eyes, a shock of yellow in the center of her pupil. 

"You have to hurry." She said to him. Her dress had patterns of brown and gold, and pinned to her chest was an Astronomer's emblem—a circular sun split by the moon's overlaid curve. 

The next words that came out of her mouth sent a deep chill down his spine. 

"I fear the Philosopher’s Stone has already been corrupted."

China groaned as someone pushed at his shoulder, making him turn his face deeper into the sheets. Whoever it was continued to jostle him gently, their movements not rough but rather persistent. China finally opened his eyes to see North standing over his bed with a passive expression on her face. 

"You should wake up." She told him. 

Unease settled in China’s stomach. His friends had given him some space for the last few days, when he hadn't wanted to study or head outside much.

"Did something happen?" 

North's expression didn't change. "You'll see."

They rushed past completely deserted halls in the early evening, much too early to be abandoned. The entire Institute seemed once again gathered about the center of the Gardens, and North pushed past people fluidly as China muttered apologies behind them. Was something wrong with the Tree? Or, was it another last-minute partnership?

The courtyard at dusk was illuminated by fireflies and the lanterns which people had brought with them from inside. Standing in the middle of the crowd, America clasped Russia’s hand. Russia was so tall that he eclipsed his Senior by half a head. The branches swayed above them to the rhythm of energy, both of them exhaling as the warmth of an accepted partnership filled their bodies. 

Chapter Text

The waxing moon filtered in through the window of the library as China held his palm up in front of him, tilted it. Although astronomy wasn't his strong suit, he had mapped the position of the library so he would be able to tell the time from within it.

The moon in the sky was between the pointer and thumb of China’s outstretched hand. The time for his meeting with Soviet had arrived. He closed his book and returned the lantern, turning left into the Sun Wing.

Lifting the brass knocker on Soviet’s door, China tapped it against the wood. The door swung open in an instant as Soviet looked up from his desk.

China’s eyes widened, not thinking he had knocked hard enough for that. “I’m sorry, Senior.”

“That isn’t your fault.” Soviet smiled and gestured for him to enter with a gloved hand. “That’s a feature of the alchemical partnership’s connection. It will be easier to control the bond’s energy after settling into things.”

Soviet’s office was furnished frugally. He opted for the standard Institute fare rather than suiting it to a taste and the only thing stacked into his shelves were books. It looked like hundreds of volumes were stored in the spacious living quarters, vast enough to be considered a personal library behind his desk. The back of his bookshelves housed a seating area, leading into what China assumed to be the bedroom.

As China sat down, an array of maps and diagrams sat scattered on the table, which Soviet packed away before China could read anything on them.

“Junior, I would like to get straight to the point, if that’s alright with you.” Soviet always looked directly into his eyes when they spoke, and curiosity sparked in China when he looked back. “I want you to know that the search for the Philosopher's Stone involves sensitive information.”

“To best preserve our chances of success, I can’t disclose everything to you right away, Junior. It would be highly risky.”

China slipped his handkerchief from the pocket of the clothes Soviet had given him. In his defense, he really hadn’t had time to visit the village yet. “I understand.”

“I’m glad.”

China thought back to the questions that his friends had raised, as his need to sulk about Soviet had come and gone after the full moon phase.

It seemed that having his former protege—one of the most talented and convicted Junior Alchemists in the Institute, descended from a long line of prominent figures—stolen by his rival did not faze Soviet one bit. He had a perpetually self-assured aura, and his eyes… China’s brow furrowed looking at them.

“Is something on your mind, Junior?” Soviet said slowly. “Do you have any questions or concerns for me?”

Apparently China's plan of avoiding the matter had failed to account for one single, fatal flaw—himself.

“Senior Soviet.” He blurted out, louder than he had intended. Soviet’s eyebrows raised in surprise as China pushed on against his own better judgment. “I don't agree with your plan.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” China told him passionately. “I don't agree with sealing away the Philosopher's Stone. And…”

I won’t let you do that. That would definitely be too far, and China’s outburst waned as he stopped himself there.

“...I just don't think it's the best course of action.” He finished, quieting down.

To his surprise, Soviet nodded. “I understand, Junior. Would you trust me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“If I asked you to trust me, would you?”

Did he really have a choice? They were bonded by the celestial forces now, and he was China’s best chance to reach his goal—intentions were something that could be addressed later if they even found the Stone.

China told him an exasperated truth, “I think so.”

Soviet nodded. “Good. Please listen to me when I say that there will be plenty of time to consider these things. Junior, if you are willing to commit, then we have a long journey ahead of us.”

He was doing the same thing that China planned to do to him, filing the issue away for later and assuming that his apprentice would change his mind.

“I understand, Senior.” China told him, trying to keep his voice from dragging with resignation.

“I’m glad.” He repeated. “In that case, I'd like to request one thing of you.”

“What is it?”

Soviet smiled. “Are you familiar with the Elixir of Intuition?”

China shook his head.

“I hope you will be soon. I’d like you to make some for me by the end of the next month.”

When he left the office, China made a beeline for the library to find two things. First, an obscure volume detailing how to brew the Elixir of Intuition, second, he thought about Soviet’s eyes. He hesitated before tucking under his arm a second text about the philosophical branch of alchemy, to try and make sense of what he saw.

Serbia looked up from the potion in front of him, staring at China incredulously.

“You said that to him?!”

China groaned and nodded for what felt like the seventh time that afternoon. “He didn’t seem angry about it. Instead he… told me there’s time to consider things.”

“He dismissed you.” North polished a jar with the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. She had just come inside from the Gardens to sit next to China, the two of them watching Serbia practice from across the counter.

“I deserved it.” China fidgeted with his handkerchief. “After the ritual, Senior England told me that Soviet might change his mind about his plan.”

Serbia brought a hand up to his hair with the elixir in front of him completely forgotten. He seemed equally as invested in this entire ordeal as China himself did. “Wait, you and Soviet both plan to just… try and convince each other? With no guarantees that you’ll reach any agreement before you find the Stone?”

China nodded miserably. The alchemical fire on Serbia's brewing stand was starting to climb too high, so China reached out to calm it. “Be careful.”

North dropped the next ingredient into the flask before his potion could oversaturate.

“Oh.” Serbia looked down. “Right, thanks.”

With that, the chaos of China's first few weeks finally settled into something of a routine. He was determined to have this elixir done for Soviet by the end of the tenth month, and there was absolutely nothing that could hinder him.

He promptly ran into a few things that could, in fact, hinder him.

“Isn’t it the first task you have?” Serbia asked him, looking up from writing in the margins of his book. They were once again crammed under their tree in the courtyard, its leaves beginning to turn bright orange at the tips of the branches. “How bad can it be?”

“Look at it before you say anything.” China pushed the text onto Serbia’s lap as North leaned over his shoulder to peer at it.

Serbia’s expression turned mildly horrified. “This is…”

China finished for him. “It’s the most complicated thing I've ever seen.”

Serbia rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. “Why’s it written like that? What’s ‘fereure igni’ and how’s that a step?”

“Looks like old script.” North piped up. “Some elixirs don't have translated texts. Too niche and complicated.”

So, Soviet had assigned him a potion so complex that no one in the last three centuries had bothered to translate it into the most recently standardized set of terminology. All for someone who had been formally practicing alchemy for less than a month.

China was definitely in over his head, but when had that ever stopped him? He scooped up the book from Serbia and stood up, straightening out his shoulders with resolve. His friends looked up at him from where they were sitting on the grass, Serbia’s expression curious, North’s slightly bemused.

“I’ve got it.” He said almost indignantly, trying to justify himself to the appalling lack of confidence in their faces. “I can do it.”

Serbia nodded at him, his determined tone completely free of sarcasm. “Of course you can. You can do it. You’re a good alchemist.”

North did not look equally as convinced, but she turned her head and didn't say a word. Good, China would show her. He would show them both, and Soviet as well.

The candlelight drew long, languid shadows across the books splayed before him as the wind howled insistently like a looming premonition. The breeze had become fraught with the bite of fall, summer’s warmth already beginning to fade. He was alone in the library, seated right in front of the window where he could hear the wind raking branches against the glass and causing the panes to rattle in their frames.

The words were already beginning to bleed into each other in China’s vision, and he read a full paragraph without taking in a single ounce of meaning. Frustrated, he went back to the start to trudge through it again.

He hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but it felt like it had already been hours since the last time he had a meal or saw another person. When was the last time he had slept? Surely it would be fine if he just rested his eyes for a moment. He wouldn't fall asleep, he wouldn’t…

The wind whistled in his ears, across the barren plain with the corrupted tree. The sequence of events played exactly as it had last time. Grass swayed, but the branches of the sycamore stood pale and still like a rotted corpse. The woman whispered her warning again, breeze fluttering at the hem of her dress—donned with the emblem that indicated her study of the cosmos, her practice of foresight.

China tried to move his own body, but he couldn't speak or move. He was trapped frozen in the uneasy scene of that dream with his body piloted by someone else.

When he caught a glimpse of his hands, they were covered with gloves yet the skin of his wrist was visible. It was a few shades paler than his own skin—light enough that a birthmark was stark on the underside, a vague shape with three distinct points like a triangle.

The wind whistled its way into China’s subconscious, and the dream faded fast into one of his own. He was back in the waning days of summer, an overripe August that had overstayed its welcome. Sitting next to the window by his grandmother's bed, overlooking the fields outside where children played and their parents worked in the afternoon sun.

“You don’t have to worry.” Said the China of only a few months prior, his voice threatening to slip into desperation that he tried to keep at bay.

His grandmother smiled at him weakly. She reached out a hand to place on his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin.

The evening air was cloying with the sweet scent of decay, as the fruit in the orchard had started to rot. By this time of year, whatever fruit was still outside would start to go bad if the villagers didn’t harvest it quickly. China and Vietnam had spent their childhoods picking the pears off the trees and collecting them meticulously at the end of summer, but that duty had gone ignored this year.

“Of course I don't have to worry.” His grandmother told him, her voice strained with her illness. She clasped his other hand in her own, pressing the piece of cloth into his palm. “I have you.”

China had unfolded the handkerchief, running his fingers over the gold star bracketed by four smaller ones.

“Your brother showed me that symbol from your textbooks—” She was cut off by a series of wheezing coughs, each of which felt like it was driving a spike through China's chest. “See, there’s supposed to be seven—"

“I know.” He tried to reassure her. “Don't overexert yourself. I know what you're talking about. They're called the seven Planetary Metals.” He explained, trying to distract her by rambling about what he knew.

“Each of them corresponds with one of the planets in the cos—in the sky. They're physically and spiritually significant to alchemy. I like it very much.”

“Well, I would have made all seven—”

China quickly shook his head, wrapping the handkerchief up in his palm and putting it in his pocket. “No, no, I like it exactly how it is. Thank you very much.”

His grandmother reached out for his hand, and he gave it to her. She was still smiling, and China swallowed hard.

“I know a way to help you. The Philosopher’s Stone—”

She waved him off. “No need to explain that stuff to me now, you know I wouldn't get it anyway. You’re my smart boy. My pride and joy.”

“I can help you.” He repeated helplessly.

Her response sounded as if she was trying to placate him. “I know you can. I know you’ll do a lot of things, China. You'll make this place proud someday.”

Before he could protest, the wind cut off his words. It seemed to be getting louder in his ears, and there was a distant shout of someone calling his name.

“China. China. China!”

China sat up straight in his seat. The morning daylight streaming in through the window immediately stung at his eyes. North was sitting in the chair next to him, fidgeting with a jar while Serbia was across from him trying to get his attention.

At some point, Turkey and India had come in to sit at the table nearby. They threw dirty looks at North and Serbia as the two shattered the focused silence within the room.

“Good morning.” Said Serbia in a muffled voice, trying to cram the last of his pastry into his mouth before he was caught with food in the library. “How’s it going?”

China groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to get them accustomed to the light.

That was right, he had a job to do. He didn't have time to be daydreaming about his hometown and his grandmother, or any indecipherable nonsense about the Philosopher's Stone. It was probably just his unconscious mind spiraling with anxiety, anticipating all the obstacles that would stand in his path. China was determined to face them head-on, all too aware of what he had to lose.

“Um…” He turned his attention back to the desk. There were four different texts laid out on the table, which he was juggling in order to piece together a translation. Even with those, he hadn’t reached a point where he even would be able to start crafting the elixir.

“Not good.” China rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to shake off the disorientation from having just woken up. He added another note to the potion’s instructions, but… “That can’t be right.”

He crossed out his mistake with frustrated strokes.

“So, remind me again why you’re not just asking for help?” Serbia said, and China winced at the volume of his voice. India shot them a disapproving look over his shoulder. China sighed.

“I don’t want to compromise Senior Soviet’s plan. There’s sensitive information that I’m not supposed to share with too many people.” North was staring at Turkey and India as he explained, Serbia following her gaze as well.

“Russia hasn’t been showing up to meals.” Serbia told him as he watched Turkey and India whisper to each other. His friends were the only means through which China got his desperate glimpse into the world that was turning outside these four walls. “Actually, I haven’t seen him anywhere. Or America.”

Although America didn’t often loiter around the Junior facilities, he could at least be found in the dining hall at mealtimes, basking in the attention of his entourage of admirers. If Soviet’s competitor and his apprentice had both disappeared off the face of the Earth, this wasn’t a good sign for China.

“They’re hard at work.” China said, exhausted.

“So are you.” Serbia pointed out.

“The difference is that they’re probably making progress.”

North suddenly entered the conversation for the first time that day, her words without a single soft edge. “Whose fault is it if you refuse to ask for help?”

China didn’t have a reply for her.

The long hours at the library quickly turned into days which shifted into nights, and China’s determination didn’t wane—for better or for worse. For several days, he hardly saw a single person save for North and Serbia. He took all his meals in the library and lived off of naps he took at the table, all while doing his best to learn what could practically be considered a new language.

After one week, North had had enough.

“I don’t need help!”

She ignored his protests and dragged him to his feet with surprising strength. Serbia watched on, not knowing which one of his friends he should assist. North pulled China toward the door, undeterred by the glares she received from other Juniors for causing a disturbance in the library.

“What does Soviet’s office look like?” She asked Serbia.

China shook his head hastily and disentangled himself from North’s grip. “I can’t ask him for help on the first task he gives me. He’s going to think I’m incompetent!”

North looked unimpressed. “I don’t care. Go to someone else.”

Serbia chimed in to back her up. “Maybe risking it is better than, you know, not getting the potion done.”

When China tried to argue, North cut him off firmly. “Ask for help.”

Her tone suggested she would not be dropping the matter until he relented.

Various memorabilia gleamed at China from the walls of Senior Yugoslavia’s office. There was rusted insignia, a few weapons strapped to the walls that looked purely decorative rather than practical. A taxidermy of a double-headed eagle greeted China when he went to close the door, its two sets of beady eyes catching him off guard.

"Cool, right?" Yugoslavia grinned.

"Um, yes." China sat down. "Senior Yugoslavia, I need your help."

"Ask away, Junior." Yugoslavia stretched, leaning back in his seat and balancing precariously on the chair’s hind legs.

"I need to craft the Elixir of Intuition."

Yugoslavia raised an eyebrow. "Newcomers typically wouldn't be touching something like that. What do you need it for?"

"...For something important."

"Well, do you have the instructions?"

China shook his head. "That's what I need help with, Senior. There isn’t a translated version."

Yugoslavia's seat hit the ground on all four legs with a thunk as he leaned over the table.

"Well, though my old script is better than the average alchemist—" He put a hand over his chest with pride. "—I'm not any expert. You should find Senior Germany for that kind of thing."

China nodded gratefully, but hesitated before moving to get up. "Thank you, Senior. There's just one more thing."

Yugoslavia noticed the shift in his tone and quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, Junior China?"

"In European alchemy, is there any principle against someone having golden eyes?"

A perplexed expression descended on Yugoslavia's face as he considered it.

"Not that I know of. It sounds like more of a superstition than anything." He shook his head, confident grin returning as he slicked back his hair.

"Don't worry about that stuff. Nature doesn't always make sense, and all kinds of things can happen with appearances." He wiggled his eyebrows at China, one pupil blue and one orange which was known as a rare combination. It wasn’t exactly what China was referring to, but he got up to leave with a nod.

"Junior."

When China turned back, Yugoslavia’s eyes were slightly concerned.

"What’s the matter?"

"Elixir of Intuition isn't something to mess with. I won't pry, but you should be careful."

"What do you mean, Senior?"

"There’s a good reason it’s rare. Taking it too often causes permanent paranoia, and there are less risky alternatives. You’d hardly need something so potent and dangerous as Intuition."

Chapter Text

Pakistan leaned over the list of ingredients that Germany had procured for China, her green eyes deep in focus as she scanned the cramped, messy handwriting.

“Foxglove?” She asked, uncertainty in her voice. “Airborne Saffron? These are some rare ingredients, I’m not sure if I can access them myself.”

She looked nervous to be letting them down. China, Serbia, and North were standing in the infirmary, bright sunlight streaming in through the windows making up one side of the wall. It was a pleasant place—decorated with shrubs and flowers, filled with fragrant, soothing scents.

Don’t worry about it if you can’t.” China reassured her, even though he had no idea what he would do if she refused. “I’ll get them some other way.”

Pakistan shook her head. “You shouldn’t try to get these on your own. I’m going to ask Senior Iran if I can access some from the Seniors’ storage. She’s out foraging right now, so we just need to wait for her to come back.”

He nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Actually, you can just wait with me in here.” Pakistan said with a beaming smile. “She’ll be back really soon, and I don’t want to delay you guys too much.”

The three of them settled into the bright infirmary for the afternoon, reading over the empty beds and making ambling conversation with each other. Serbia had gotten comfortable and had his back on the bed with his legs to the floor, holding his book above his face.

“So, what do botanists actually do?” He asked Pakistan off-handedly. She looked up from where she was organizing a nearby storage shelf, bright moss clinging to the side of the wood. Her eyes lit up.

“We study nature.” She said earnestly at Serbia’s interest. “We maintain the Institute’s supplies, since we know how to retrieve magical plants and substances without getting hurt. We try to build our knowledge and find new uses for things, like that.”

Although Pakistan was typically a soft-spoken girl, she had a passionate streak that came out in this moment. “You know, sometimes alchemists can be so self-centered. Not you guys, really. But some alchemists, they just think their field is the center of Hermetics.”

“Uh,” Serbia paused, turning his head on its side to look at her. “...Isn’t it?”

North was crouched on her stomach next to Serbia on the bed, and she elbowed him pointedly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” She told Pakistan. “You can ignore him.”

The botanist shook her head. “Please. Let me make my case.”

China was sitting upright on the bed across from his friends, but he too turned to listen to her speak.

“Alchemists wouldn't be able to do their job without the other three branches.” Pakistan said earnestly. “Tons of potions involve the planetary alignments, which astronomers figure out. Philosophy helps with understanding the rules of magic and enlightenment. And without botany, there would be no physical ingredients to craft potions from.”

North nodded at her in agreement. “You’re right. People shouldn’t ever disregard those things. Much of alchemy would fall apart or be impossible without them.”

“Huh.” Serbia said. “I guess you are right. I never thought about it like that.”

In its aftermath, Pakistan looked embarrassed at her outburst. “I’m sorry, I really didn't mean you guys… I shouldn’t have said that.”

China felt a deep sense of camaraderie for Pakistan in that moment. “Don’t apologize. It was interesting to hear about.”

“Actually, you guys might know Junior India.” She said sheepishly. “Not many people know this, but he’s my older brother.”

Serbia’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“India doesn't like telling people about it.” She turned back to her chores with a slightly crestfallen expression, shuffling the jars in the cabinet into the right order with a loud clink. “Family can be a bit complicated sometimes.”

“Right.” Sighed Serbia, who came from a branch of Russia's prominent alchemist family, with considerable achievements of their own to live up to.

“Too right.” Muttered North, whose relationship with her twin sister bordered on animosity, the two of them polar opposites in every way imaginable.

“Ah.” China said awkwardly, feeling out of place in the atmosphere that had descended over the sick bay.

Upon her return, Senior Iran was able to retrieve the ingredients that China needed. He left the infirmary ready to get started, determined to prove himself to his mentor.

When China had met with Senior Germany the other day, he’d ventured into the philosophers’ facilities located in the Institute's Moon Wing—corresponding with the metal silver, of soul, and intuition of the mind. The main working space of the philosophers was a vast library even larger than the one the alchemists had access to. Bookcases formed hallways large enough to get lost in as a winding willow stood in the center, surrounded by a small indoor pond. The space was cozy and enclosed with the curtains drawn tight, lit by the soft firelight of lanterns and the fireflies which hovered by the tree.

China stared around in awe, the sound of soft rushing water filling his ears. He was almost jealous that he didn’t get to work in here.

Senior Germany had greeted him with an intense, piercing gaze, his workspace tucked into a far corner of the library. He was a passionate character bordering on eccentric, with unkempt hair and bright eyes, inviting China to sit with him before the chaos of texts and papers on his table.

China had explained the situation to him, and Germany earnestly promised to translate the instructions within the day. China had reassured him that he could take his time, but the Senior insisted despite how much work he seemed to have.

China had always been most well-versed in philosophy out of Hermetics’ other three branches. He easily struck up a conversation with Germany about the concepts in his field.

“Junior China, do you have experience with philosophy?” Germany had asked him, looking as if he approved. “Your knowledge is far more vast than… the average alchemist.”

He uttered this last part with a hint of disdain as China blinked. Apparently the tensions between alchemy and the other fields of Hermetics were far more pronounced than he had assumed.

“Philosophy is very interesting to me.” China told him. “I studied it often in my hometown, whenever I could access some books.”

“Which town would that be?”

“One in East Asia.” He replied evasively. Germany didn't particularly need to know that he was a nobody who came from a farming village in a faraway continent. The cosmos knew that Russia and the others gave him enough grief about that already.

Germany nodded appreciatively. “Fascinating. I hope you are enjoying your time in Europe.”

China hesitated. “Senior, could I ask you one more thing?”

“Absolutely.”

“In East Asia, there seems to be a philosophical concept that golden eyes can't occur naturally.” He explained. “Gold is the highest metal in the alchemical hierarchy. It represents a spiritual enlightenment that humans can’t possess naturally without undergoing the alchemical journey.”

Germany nodded. “I have heard of it. It isn't prominent in European Alchemy And is largely believed to be a superstition, but I'm afraid I can’t speak on the ideas of other regions. They’re simply outside the scope of my unbiased knowledge.”

China nodded, slightly disappointed.

“You ask because of your Senior Soviet?” China’s eyes widened as Germany continued without waiting for an answer. “Orange, yellows, these things can all be mistaken for gold. In European alchemy, we subscribe to the idea that appearances aren’t everything, and that sometimes the eye plays tricks on you.”

When he had seen Soviet up close from across that desk, China was certain that his eyes were not a shade of orange, not yellow, but the true tone of noble gold. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, and he dismissed the thought after his meeting with Germany—he had more important things to worry about.

In the late hours of the night, China leaned over the cauldron in one of the Sun Wing’s laboratories. The space was primarily used by Seniors with more complex work to attend to, but Juniors could craft difficult elixirs here if they had special permission to do so, and it was practically a given that Soviet’s Apprentice would. A suffocating heat emanated from the Athanor furnace below, turning the enclosed space into a boiling sauna. The Junior labs had smaller, diluted versions of the alchemical fire, but this particular elixir required the Athanor’s full force in order to purify.

The steps felt like they were starting to blur together in his mind. He had steeped the foxglove leaves for seven days in pure spring water, ground up the hawk feather which would lend the powers of foresight and vigilance to the potion. The powdered moonstone had to be soaked in a lunar tincture for the waxing moon phase, and could only be exposed to the night during that period. The list went on and on, of convoluted preparations for multiple weeks.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, now in the final stretch of his task. The only problem was: his hand couldn’t stay steady enough to stir the aqua vitae into his potion, in order to commence the albedo stage.

He desperately needed sleep, but this time it hadn’t been his choice. China needed to stay in the lab full time as his potion brewed over the next two days, per the instructions that the ancient elixir demanded.

Someone pushed open the door of the laboratory, and China’s eyes flicked up to see Soviet standing in the doorway with an armful of ingredients.

“Junior China.” He greeted, his face retaining its calm expression after the initial surprise.

China had to bite back a groan. Of course the person he needed to see right now—with his disheveled appearance and the sleep-deprived circles under his eyes—was his esteemed mentor.

“I’m making progress on the task you assigned me, Senior.” China told him with a tired smile. He shook his head and tried to focus his eyes so he could stir the cauldron with the iron rod.

“I’m glad.” Soviet put his ingredients onto a table, making his way over to China.

“Don’t worry, I’m doing fine. I don’t need any—”

“Junior.” Soviet interrupted. He placed his gloved hand onto China’s wrist, holding it steady and guiding him to stir the potion.

China looked at Soviet with wide eyes, his serious expression mere inches from China’s face. China could feel through the gloves that his mentor’s hands were cold, and he remembered just how frigid they had been when Soviet shook his hand beneath the Tree.

“Junior China, the standard practice for complex elixirs is to have someone take over for you when you need to rest.” His golden eyes shifted away from China’s face to stare into the cauldron, making sure that the aqua vitae was dissolving. The potion’s muddy gray surface began to lighten with the elimination of impurities. “It would usually be your pair, but I’m not able to assist you right now. In the morning, find someone who you trust to swap places with.”

Soviet’s fingers rested over China’s knuckles, his skin pale at the junction where his sleeve met his glove and partially obscured a dark birthmark in the crook of his wrist. China's eyes widened when he saw the combination of Soviet's gloved hand and the mark at his wrist—the one he saw in his dreams whenever he looked down at himself and the person whose body he had assumed. When Soviet pulled away, China felt like he could properly breathe again. Soviet’s expression was firm this time, and it felt like the place he had touched China’s skin was burning despite the coldness of his hands.

China looked away and stared into the cauldron, watching the liquid turn a shade of cloudy blue, clear as a flawless instinct and clouded as paranoia. Too much of a good thing would always be disastrous—there were punishments for disrupting the balance of nature.

He thought about what Yugoslavia had said about the Elixir that was simmering in front of him right now, just what was he about to help Soviet do?

“Senior Soviet.”

“Yes?”

“The Elixir of Intuition is dangerous.”

“I’m aware.”

“There are permanent effects if you take too much, and… there’s other ways to achieve the effects… less dangerous ones.” He felt foolish explaining things to Soviet that the man probably already knew, but China desperately needed to make him understand. He took a breath.

“Senior Soviet, please don't hurt yourself.” Soviet only smiled, picking up his stuff and moving to go find an unoccupied laboratory. “Don't worry about me, Junior. Remember what I said about swapping in the morning. That’s a direct instruction from a Senior.”

China was left in the laboratory, the image of Soviet’s golden eyes imprinted into his head, wondering how he could be so self-assured. He couldn’t help feeling like there was something more to this mystery, like everyone around him was in on a secret which he wasn’t privy to.

Weeks ago, England had promised Soviet would brief him on something, but Soviet showed no signs of elaborating on anything at all. Not to mention the recurring night terrors that had visited China after meeting with the Institute’s eldest Senior. He tried to force himself to dismiss it as his wound-up subconscious, his fears and dread manifesting. There was too much to deal with in the Institute without worrying about a cryptic dream that might be just that—a dream.

He steadied his hand and reached for the next group of ingredients.

The following night was quiet, the Sun Wing’s torches flickering in their brackets. The golden fire was tinted pink and orange, setting the marble corridors awash with warmth.

China had just left the Elixir of Intuition in the hands of North as he gratefully made his way back toward his room for the night. He had assumed Serbia would express more interest in the task, but the proposal had triggered an anxiety when pitched to Serbia—perhaps at its importance, at the pressure. North had simply taken the text from China and settled in over the cauldron, unspoken obligation in each movement.

As his footsteps echoed through the hall, China smiled at the thought of the aloof, lonesome girl he had met a month ago, now volunteering her nights to brew a potion for her friends. Surely Serbia would tease her for it in the morning. Soviet’s elixir would be finished by tomorrow, and they would be able to move on to the next stage of his plan. Soviet’s confident, thought-out plan—which even his own apprentice supposedly couldn’t know.

He tried to push the resentful thought aside as he passed what he now knew as England’s office. A strip of yellow light fell across the floor, voices drifting from the door that peeked open.

“...increase in the rate of disturbances.” France’s light, melodic voice was coloured with the firm tone of obligation and unease.

“How do we know that?” England asked her, sounding exhausted.

“There are stories, from major European villages and faraway continents alike. Rome has been able to verify them for me through tracking the progression of the cosmos. Furthermore, the incident that occurred earlier this year, with Soviet’s apprentice.”

China paused. They were talking about him. England’s voice came in reply. “It was only a reanimation. There was no permanent harm done.”

“England, it was a ley line disruption within the Institute’s own walls. That’s a sign that circumstances are turning dire.”

China leaned against the wall, trying to keep his breathing quiet through the pause in their conversation.

“England?” Asked France in response to whatever she saw on his face. “...You don’t think it was a ley line disturbance.”

“I am certain it was no ordinary disruption.” There was the sound of France sucking in a soft breath as he continued. “Do not forget that the reanimated dragon transmuted into a corrupted phoenix feather.”

“So what you’re suggesting… is that the Conclave of Ash has acquired means to interfere directly with the Institute.” France sounded horrified. “You aren’t more concerned about it?”

“France—”

“Please, England.” China could tell even from outside, that the weight of her disappointment was more crushing than any fiery anger. “Your responsibilities demand more of you than this.”

A low voice came from the hall behind China. “What are you doing?”

China’s head snapped over his shoulder so fast it gave him whiplash.

He didn’t know how long Russia had been standing there, his white hair messy and clothes disheveled like they had been thrown on. China put a finger over his mouth and tried to gesture for Russia to stay quiet, but the other alchemist only stared at him with a frown.

“Answer me. What is it?”

The voices inside England’s office halted into suspicious silence—they were in trouble. It was purely China’s reflexes responsible for what happened next.

He pushed Russia back where the hallway turned, grabbing his hand and running down the corridor. Russia made a noise of protest in the back of his throat, but China ignored him and sprinted to round two more corners before he spotted the open door of a storage closet. Pushing Russia inside and then squeezing in, he shut the door and trapped them just as their pursuer could be heard stepping into the hallway outside.

Russia jerked his arm out of China’s grasp. “What the hell?”

“Quieter.” China whispered, frantic.

Their disordered breathing filled the dark space, footsteps slowly approaching them from outside. Russia finally, thankfully quieted down as the steps drew nearer. They stopped right in front of the door. China’s body tensed, he could feel the stuffy, humid air of the closet on his skin, a bead of sweat dripping down his neck. The silence was suffocating.

The steps continued on past.

Once the sound faded, China let out the breath he had been holding. Soon, the space was lit up by a firefly in the jar within Russia’s hand which he scrounged out of his pocket.

“What the hell was that?” Russia’s voice was agitated.

“We were about to get caught eavesdropping.” China defended himself. “You would have been in trouble too.”

“Why were you eavesdropping?”

“...It was an accident.”

Russia raised an eyebrow, looking offended that China thought he was stupid enough to believe that. “Answer me. Did they say anything important?”

China frowned, trying to process everything he had heard in that office. What had happened in the storage room with Ukraine was a product of… ley line corruption, which had been increasing across the Earth? No, England believed it wasn’t ley line disturbance, but rather something called the Conclave of Ash.

He tried to explain. “Ley line corruption has been increasing, and it’s concerning the Seniors. And the ‘Conclave of Ash’...”

What could that be, some sort of allegory? What concept could that be referencing?

“Yes? What about it? Did you learn anything new?”

That was not the response China had been expecting. “...You know about those things?”

“Yes.” Russia looked annoyed. “Did France and England say anything important before I got there? New information?”

In China’s confused silence, Russia seemed to reach his own realization as well. “You don’t know.”

“Russia, what is the Conclave of Ash?”

Russia spoke impatiently as if he was reciting some drill from memory. “The organization trying to obtain the Philosopher’s—no. You answer me. Soviet didn’t tell you?”

Apparently, whatever Soviet needed to hide was something that America had already told his own apprentice. It might even be related to the search for the Stone, making it that much more of a mystery why Soviet was keeping it from him. China stared at Russia intently, trying to push down the betrayal that was swirling in his stomach.

It was the first time they had spoken since the chaos of China’s first day, and the first time China had even seen him in over a month. In the faint glow of Russia’s firefly jar, he could make out a deep bruise on Russia's neck, and that successfully distracted him from their situation.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Russia quickly pulled his collar up. “That’s none of your concern. Don’t dodge the question.”

The two of them stood in the storage closet with the proverbial blades to each other's throats. Sore spots that were glaring at them as vulnerable points of attack, which neither wanted to be pressed on. Russia about Soviet’s secrecy with China, China about… realization finally dawned on him as he stared at Russia’s neck.

“I thought you were visiting Senior America for work just now.” China said slowly, wondering why else he would be finding Russia in the Sun Wing.

Russia didn’t deny it, but his tone took on a biting quality. “I told you, be quiet.”

He was forced to keep holding his collar to his chin so China wouldn’t stare at the bruise. China became uncomfortably aware of how it would look if someone came by and found the two of them crammed into this tiny room, inches from each other, a bite mark on Russia’s neck. He pushed open the door and they tumbled out of the closet.

“Wait.” He called out as Russia dusted himself off and prepared to leave. “I have a question.”

“Ask your mentor.” Russia’s voice was harsh as he shoved the jar back into his pocket.

“No, for you. Please tell me if you know.”

He turned back to China reluctantly. “Well?”

“In your partnership with Senior America, does your prima materia become harder to control around each other?”

“Yes. That’s a typical feature of partnership. I don't have time to explain basic concepts to you.”

“I don’t mean physically. What about shared thoughts or feelings?”

“Less common, but it can happen.” Russia repeated curtly. “Go find a text about it.”

“What about dreams? Could something be shared through a dream?”

This time, China's question gave him pause as he rifled through his own considerable knowledge, uncertain. “In theory, it could happen. But it’d be rare.”

China’s heart sank. It wasn’t the most simple or most likely conclusion for those dreams, but something in him felt instinctively that it was the case.

He remembered the birthmark beneath Soviet’s hand for which he hadn't been able to discern the shape, the gloved hands that had stared back at him in those dreams that were not his own, with the triangle-shaped mark on the underside of the wrist. It could be a coincidence, but something deep in his gut insisted that it wasn't.

Russia turned to go when China stopped speaking. “Goodnight.”

Dreams. The astronomer who had told Soviet that the Stone was corrupted, in front of that tree with dark, twisted roots. China was now certain it had been ley line corruption after he flipped through a text on the subject, such a niche thing that would never have occurred to him on its own. Dark magic was somehow related to this whole mystery that ran deeper than he had ever known or predicted.

The Conclave of Ash. Was that some kind of entity, group, a code name for something? Were they responsible for the increased corruption across the Earth? They were responsible for that sickly, rabid dragon which had attacked the Institute on China’s first day, he knew that for sure—though not much else.

Soviet. His dream, Soviet’s memory. It had to have been. The Stone had been victim to corruption and Soviet knew about it, what did that even mean? Furthermore, why hadn’t he told China?

China cycled through the information reeling in his head, until he was going in circles and Soviet finally came down the hall. Soviet carried an armful of papers and texts, smiling when he saw China by his office door.

“Senior,” China presented the bottle to him with relief in place of pride. “Elixir of Intuition.”

“Well done.”

The potion was a deep, hazy shade of blue with clouds of white and violet swirling through it. Soviet took it from him and opened the door, depositing the potion with his things onto the desk.

“Senior Soviet?”

“Yes?” He gestured for China to come in, and maybe he was about to finally get some answers.

“What’s the next stage of the plan?”

“Don’t worry about that, Junior.” Soviet smiled. “You’ve fulfilled your duties for now. I will take care of the next step.”

“But—”

Soviet interrupted him. “Junior, go take a break. The fall holidays are coming up. Are you headed anywhere?”

He rifled through the papers on his desk as he spoke, swiftly sorting them into piles. China glimpsed winding maps and elaborate star charts, pages filled with notes in small, neat handwriting.

“East Asia, Senior.” China had almost forgotten about the upcoming break with everything that had happened in the last few days. It would be the last chance for practitioners to travel outside the Institute before winter descended over the following months and made that much more impractical.

“Take a break.” Soviet repeated. “I will take care of everything.”

China was promptly ushered out of his office, none of his questions any closer to receiving an answer. He stared at Soviet’s closed door—polished oak wood, hiding its secrets tauntingly—and resisted the urge to kick at it.

Chapter Text

The clouds near the peak of the mountain swirled overhead, shrouding the place in a thick fog that obscured Soviet’s sight, yet his vision remained clear as day. Each of his footsteps were light and nearly silent on the snow-dusted rock with a soft crunch, patching the blanket of white wherever they fell.

Although the season of snow had not yet settled upon the landscape, the air at this altitude must have been cold, it must have caused warm breath to crystallize in front of anyone unfortunate to find themselves in this place. Soviet could tell that he was getting closer to what he sought. The staff in his hand knocked lightly against the rocky ground, an empty potion bottle swinging from his belt.

The alchemist paused before an area of the mountain, watching a rock wall at the foot of a cliff surge out of the fog’s obscurity. He placed one gloved palm over the surface and immediately knew.

The barrier was relatively thin and brittle—it would probably fold with one good shove from Soviet, but he knew he couldn’t risk destroying what was inside. He raised his staff to the wall and tapped it once, imbuing it with a small amount of energy that travelled from his fingertips and through the wood. The rock began to disintegrate from that point like ripples on water, crumbling outward into dust that was carried away by the howling wind until it left the shape of a doorway large enough for him to step through.

When the dust cleared, the interior of the cave was dark and damp. It echoed Soviet’s footsteps and bounced them off the walls for miles. The light from the entrance faded as he continued into the winding bowels of the mountain, until he had to tap his staff against the ground and light the tip into a torch.

Hundreds of gleaming crystalline formations were embedded into the rock walls, gleaming in the firelight as Soviet held up the staff to see. They were all visually identical to what he was looking for, which he would find at a rate of one in a million if he was lucky. His gaze searched the walls as he moved ever deeper until finally, some invisible pull forced him to an abrupt stop, a movement like a puppet with its strings cut.

Soviet reached out. His gloved fingertips brushed over the expanse of the gleaming crystals in a sweeping motion sensing nothing, nothing, then finally an instinct tugged insistently at his gut when his fingers brushed over one particular spot. He moved his hand back a few inches and knew it was here.

The crackling fire flickered inches away from the rock when Soviet held it up. Once he knew it was ready, he slammed the butt of the staff into the wall—quickly reaching out with his free hand to catch the crystals which were dislodged from the stone. If he had used just a bit more force, this wall and the whole cave around it might have come crashing down with the force of an avalanche, but Soviet knew that wouldn’t happen. Heightened certainty that was fuelled by magic had settled into the network of his nerves like poison, guiding his every action like muscle memory that he didn't even have to think about.

Soviet tipped the crystals from his palm and into the leather drawstring pouch that hung from his belt. Raising the staff, he swung again with the impact of wood on stone.

With a sigh of the wind, fall was drawing to a close. The air outside had a chill through it, as if foreshadowing the first breaths of winter. Leaves littered the ground of the landscape outside the Institute, drawn in ochre and orange, the sky gray and blue.

"I can't wait for break." Serbia proclaimed excitedly, unable to focus on his studying at all for the tenth time since the three of them had sat down in the cafe. China had gotten used to his habit of scribbling in his texts and making notes right on the page. Serbia came from a well-to-do family and whenever he could, he bought his own supplies rather than using the public ones.

This time, the three of them weren't anywhere within the Institute—the quaint cafe in the village had a warm, muted atmosphere. It was one of Serbia’s favourite places which he had excitedly dragged them into when China had finally finished his potion and things had begun to settle down before the break. Steam emanated from the drinks in front of them and the overly sweet taste filled China's mouth when he picked up his cup.

"Put that away." North took Serbia's neglected book and closed it on her lap, ignoring his half-formed protests. "We are here to take a break. None of that."

China leaned back in his chair, sinking into the bustling ambience of the shop. Conversations formed all around to the backdrop of elixirs sizzling, bubbling, steaming. The sweet drink that sat in front of him was his first time trying drinks made from alchemy, since his village back home didn't have the extra supplies to spare for such a luxury.

"So what are your plans for break?" Serbia asked them eagerly. He was unable to leave the subject alone for long.

"I'm visiting home." China replied, swirling his drink around in the mug and watching the foam slowly dissolve into the dark liquid.

"Wish I could get out of that." Muttered North. She finished her own drink and set the cup on the table with a forlorn thunk.

Serbia tangled a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair—that was another one of Yugoslavia’s habits that he had picked up. He shook his head and smiled, his excitement for the holiday overriding whatever other feelings he had. “I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ll bring gifts from the Balkan Peninsula for you guys.”

“What kind of insects are there?” Asked North, glancing up at him.

Serbia laughed. “Oh, geez. I don’t know if I’m willing to go that far for you.”

China glimpsed two figures entering the shop and settling into the table next to them, one blonde and one white-haired. America and Russia sat across from each other behind Serbia, in such a way that Russia made eye contact with China over his Senior’s shoulder for one moment. The tall alchemist had a thick scarf wrapped around his neck to cover it and China hastily looked away.

“Let’s go look around more.” He muttered, grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair and ignoring his half-finished drink. North and Serbia looked up curiously when China abruptly stood up for seemingly no reason at all, but they followed without too many questions asked—too enamored with the village to notice his awkward demeanour.

The shops they wandered through housed a vast array of mythical items. Bookstores advertised collectors varieties of texts, books bound in gold leaf covers and special editions with long-lost authors’ insights. North had wondered aloud why anyone would spend money on such a pointless thing, while Serbia had stared at the books wistfully before reluctantly leaving them and moving on. They walked past stores of rare ingredients, handmade trinkets and delicacies alike.

“Hey.” North turned toward a botanist’s shop, arrangements of flowers bursting from the window display in vibrant colors. “I bet my bugs would really like these.”

Serbia’s voice was exasperated. “You’re going to buy something so nice for bugs? Can they even see half these colors?”

“Yes.” North said matter-of-factly. “Most of them can.”

Her tone suggested they would not be moving on until her insects had some colorful new decorations, so China and Serbia begrudgingly followed her into the store, Serbia grumbling something under his breath about how “they’re bugs! Why would they care?” That earned him a few physical, painful jabs between the ribs from North Korea.

As China looked around the village, it was a completely different world than both the Institute where he had arrived and the place he came from himself. In their best week-end attire, people sidled up to the sides of lovers and pulled their friends down the streets by the hand, laughing all the while. These were carefree people who had time to shop for clothes on leisurely days off, who could hug their grandmother every day and truly forget about their duties for hours at a time when they came here to unwind.

China watched them through the shop window, something rueful simmering in his chest. He wouldn’t give up alchemy for the world—but sometimes he just wished everything didn’t need to be so complicated. He hadn’t even caught a single glimpse of Soviet in the past few days since China had finished the elixir for him, but… nevermind. Serbia had told him that the Seniors were surely just busy with their own personal lives, along with all the errands and affairs that had to be wrapped up before the break. He didn’t want to think about that right now when they were supposed to be enjoying their time off.

North finished picking out her flowers of choice, a large flowerpot with bright daffodils which she wrapped her arms around, clutching it close to her chest protectively.

“I can try an Elixir of Unwilting for these.” She commented as they left the store.

“You’re actually going to brew a potion? In October?” Serbia teased, feigning incredulity. “Six months before your Opus? I’ll need to see this.”

China heard Serbia laugh and stumble back a few paces, presumably due to North shoving at his shoulder. His own gaze wandered off, distracted.

In the alleyway between the shops, there were various beds of crops housing magical plants and flowers. A deep darkness twisted through the stem of a sunflower, corruption spreading like fire until it had wilted within moments. The darkness continued to move rapidly, consuming the vegetation, overflowing over the sides of the basin and spilling onto the bricks like tar.

China’s eyes widened. Serbia and North were laughing and joking before the shop, not seeming to have noticed. He glanced to his other side to see Russia who was separating from the oblivious crowd a few meters away from him, eyes locked on the same thing that China had noticed.

Russia moved quickly. Before China could say a word, he dug an elixir out of his pocket and shattered the bottle against the ground. A cloud of pale blue smoke engulfed the darkness as the alchemist rushed forward, throwing his hand out to reinforce the potion’s effects with energy.

“Russia.” China stepped toward him uncertainly, wanting to help but not knowing how. “Is this… it’s a ley line corruption, right?”

Russia ignored China’s question, his brow furrowed in focus on his task. To him, China was simply stating the obvious and wasting time. “Go find someone.”

“Okay, I should get a Senior. I think I saw Senior Yugoslavia a few minutes—”

“No!” Russia insisted, gritting his teeth with the effort of whatever magic he was maintaining. “Find America. I don’t have an instrument and I'm not good enough to hold it off for very long. It needs to be America.”

“You—”

“Go!”

China glanced down the cobbled street and after a moment’s hesitation, he broke into a sprint down the pathway. He could hear the confused shouts of his friends behind him, but China ignored them and scanned the faces of everyone who passed by, searching for the blonde-haired Senior. He caught a few—understandable—strange looks as he ran down the street as if he had gone mad, bumping past a few villagers who gave him haughty and disapproving glances. Some of them called chastising words after him, but China fully ignored the noise.

Up ahead, he rounded the corner and promptly knocked into a young woman with a dark braid down her shoulder, holding a basket of bread. She made a surprised noise as the basket in her arms tipped and spilled all across the stone brick.

China’s eyes widened as he immediately knelt down beside her to help the woman gather her things. “I’m so sorry, I was just—I wasn’t looking, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” She seemed startled yet uninjured, but China continued apologizing to her breathlessly and repeatedly.

“No, I should have been watching, I’m very sorry—”

Her eyes flicked up to his face, looking slightly concerned by his frantic state.

“It’s really alright. But, um, are you okay?” She asked him as she straightened up with her basket. The woman seemed too polite to directly ask him if he needed someone to call for help. “Do you… need something?”

Before China could respond to her, he caught a glimpse over her shoulder of Senior America standing before a shop window, musing over a display of stationary. The Senior’s bright blonde curls stood out over the crowd and China scrambled to his feet to dash over to him.

“Senior America!”

“Yes?” America’s attention turned to him and the Senior raised one eyebrow, a leather satchel tucked beneath one of his arms. His expression remained disinterested as ever when he saw that it was China. “Junior, it’s practically break. If you have an Alchemy related question, you can leave it in my office.”

China panted, desperately trying to catch his breath. “There’s an emergency. You need to—follow me.”

America did not seem impressed by the way China was speaking to his superior. “I need to, is that right?”

“You don’t understand.” China could tell this was not helping and that he needed to get to the point already. “There’s a ley line disturbance, and Russia is fixing it, he’s trying to—”

The effect was immediate. America’s expression shifted and his bright blue gaze became serious as he cut China off.

“There’s what? Show me. Quickly.”

The dark liquid had already seeped into the cracks between the stone tiles near the affected area when the two of them made their way back as hastily as possible. It no longer went unnoticed by the passersby—a gaggle of people congregated around the disturbance with anxious mutterings and panicked shouts spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

America cursed under his breath and rushed to help Russia. He muttered something to his apprentice and then slipped an elixir off of Russia's belt before scattering its contents onto the ground. A cloud of smoke rose fast from where America had scattered the potion, curling around his ankles. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a wooden baton engraved with the head of an eagle and twirled it between his fingers expertly, stepping into the obscurity of the thick fog until China could barely see what he was doing.

Russia turned toward the crowd, lightly herding them away from where America worked and attempting to instruct them in a curt tone of voice. “Stay calm. Don’t go near.”

Someone shouted at him among the people gathered at the scene. “Is something wrong? What’s America doing?”

“That’s Senior to you.” Russia said stiffly. “He’ll have it fixed without an issue if nobody gets in his way.”

As he retreated into the crowd, China felt somebody grab his arm and drag him back towards them. He turned to see Serbia and North Korea, the former looking confused and anxious, while North remained neutral as ever.

“What just happened?” Serbia asked him in a hushed tone. “Where did you go?”

“He was worried that thing over there had gotten you.” North Korea added.

“What is that thing, anyway?!”

China shook his head at their rapid-fire questions. Even if they weren’t shooting off at him too quickly to even answer, he didn’t know what he would tell them anyway.

“I don’t think I can… say anything about it.” He mumbled evasively. It was partly true; he had just decided to conveniently leave out the part where he himself barely knew more than they did, about something which concerned his own quest.

Serbia tilted his head. “Does it have to do with the Philosopher’s Stone? Or, whatever you guys are doing. Since it seems Russia and America know what they’re doing over there.”

China bit back a sigh and tried to infuse his voice with certainty. “...Yeah. Something like that.”

“Alright!” America’s voice shouted over the commotion, drawing the crowd’s attention towards him and interrupting their conversation. The fog he had stepped away from was beginning to clear, the ground in its wake bearing no traces of the dark corrosion which had nearly threatened catastrophe. “Our apologies for the scare…”

He dusted off the shoulder of his deep blue cloak, straightening out his posture as his other arm found its way around Russia’s shoulders.

“It seems that my apprentice here just had an alchemical accident. Dropped an unfortunate potion.” America said breezily, his expression amused. “He takes full responsibility for his carelessness. You know how rookies are… always getting into trouble.”

America adjusted his sleeves, hooking empty bottles back onto his belt and fixing his clothes as the crowd of people began to clear out, returning to their day with nothing more than an interesting story to bring up at dinner. He glanced down at the shattered fragments of the bottle which Russia had smashed and heaved a dramatic sigh, his signature fashion.

“Damn,” He commented, sweeping the glass pieces to one side with his boot and piling them along the wall of a nearby shop to be cleaned up. “That was one of my nice ones, too.”

Russia’s response was disbelieving as if he couldn't believe that's what America was concerned about in this moment. “Are you serious?”

America grinned at his reaction to the teasing and leaned in to wipe the sweat from Russia’s brow with his sleeve. The Junior still looked a bit disgruntled at having the whole incident blamed solely on him in order to cover.

“It’s okay.” He told Russia, drawing closer. “I forgive you.”

Russia pushed him back with one hand on his upper arm, trying to remind him that China was still present. China preoccupied himself with a rock on the ground, watching it skitter across the stone when he kicked at it.

“Junior.” America said, not bothering to mask his impatience. “Do you still need something?”

On second thought, this probably wasn't the time or place to be asking his questions—America wouldn’t be eager to help the right-hand man of his rival. Furthermore, the Senior would expect him to know the answers from Soviet already. The thought of Soviet…

“Nothing.” He shook his head and turned to leave. “Good evening, Senior. And… Russia.”

China gave him an awkward nod goodbye, and Russia did not respond.

The path from the village back up to the Institute was a cobbled road that cut through a forest of pristinely maintained vegetation. There were trees tens of meters tall bracketing the walkway, lamp posts bearing glowing lanterns placed every so often. The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky with pink and orange that cast a bright muddled hue over the world as China made his way down the path by himself. He had already told his friends to go back up to the Institute hours ago, as China had hoped that staying around to look at the aftermath of the corruption might tell him something about it.

Things weren’t supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to tiptoe around his own mentor to find crumbs and clues about things that Soviet should have told him about. The same frustrated thoughts that had been circling in his mind cycled through their loop once more. What was new?

Russia had already learned how to fend off the corruption of dark magic. Despite their imbalance in strength, Russia and his mentor worked like a fluid team that was forming fast. China could tell they had made significant progress with each other despite only being partners for two months. Him, on the other hand…

What reason could Soviet possibly have for keeping him completely in the dark? Did he really think so little of China's abilities that he didn't believe it would help to tell him anything at all about the dark magic threatening the Philosopher's Stone?

Was this really one necessary step of Soviet’s master plan, or was he making a mistake by not telling China? He banished that last thought hastily. He didn't know how much it would really help him to question Soviet's abilities, especially when Soviet’s secrecy with China had left everything in his mentor's own hands.

The trek back up to the Institute was quiet yet fraught with the frustration bouncing inside China's head, wandering off in thought. When the dark grille gates finally came into view, China's eyes widened at the sight of Soviet and the state he was in.