The breakfast rush at Steamroot Café was loud, weird, and smelled like five kinds of roasted root things. Nestled just two alleys down from the Alchemy Center's main dome, the café was built into the side of an old supply tower—creaky walls, cluttered tables, and charm magic barely holding the roof's heat in.
Outside, the Alchemy Center loomed in the background, all brass fittings and swirling glass vents. Everything hissed, steamed, or bubbled. Some walls even blinked. The place felt like a lab someone cast a growth spell on and forgot about.
Inside the café, Alex, Davor, and Riven sat crammed around a slightly uneven table. Their food looked like science experiments that had passed the taste test but failed the beauty pageant.
Davor poked his plate. "This pancake's... moving."
"Binding syrup, not death syrup. It's fine," Alex replied, already halfway through his second one. "Just don't insult it."
"It smells like candied fungus and guilt."
"Guilt is extra," Riven said flatly, chewing what might have been a compressed risotto cube. "And mine's still humming."
They ate in silence for a moment, ignoring the clink of a levitating teapot in the corner that kept missing its landing tray.
Then Riven leaned back and wiped his hands.
"Alright. Why are you here, Alex? Personally. You've got six attendants. You could send any one of them with a recruitment scroll and a mildly charming handshake. Instead, you're here. In person. Hand-feeding me fermented yam waffles."
Alex didn't miss a beat. "Because people remember me more than a scroll. Especially over weird food."
Riven narrowed his eyes. "So, what, you charm everyone over breakfast? Is that the plan?"
"Nope. Some people I take for lunch. Others get slightly tragic monologues in moonlit libraries. It's very case-by-case."
Davor chuckled. "He means it. There's a spreadsheet."
Alex pointed his fork like a wand. "Personal recruitment matters. This isn't about staff or project managers. We're not assembling a think tank. We're building leverage. If I can't make someone look me in the eye and say no, I don't want them on this team."
Riven sat back. "Right now, it still feels like I'm a vegetable being picked off the market shelf."
Alex grinned. "You're not a vegetable, Riven. You're one of those bitter root herbs that explode if you boil them too fast. Nobody puts that in their stew unless they know what they're doing."
Davor winced. "Was that... a compliment?"
"It started as one," Alex said.
Just then, the café's outer charm shimmered—an alert ward activating.
The door opened, and a small group entered from across the plaza, clearly fresh from the Alchemy Center. In the center of the cluster was Elsha Marr, unmistakable even among other apprentices. Hair tied back in a loose braid, sleeves rolled up, stained with something green and probably acidic. A few others followed her, talking quickly, clearly trying to keep up with her pacing.
Elsha Marr was the apprentice of one of the tower's retired elders—a man whose name still held weight among the older alchemists. She had inherited not just his lab access, but his reputation for being ruthlessly curious and completely unimpressed by showmanship. It didn't hurt that she had a steady hand, a clean process, and enough potential to keep her options wide open.
The people surrounding her were deep in animated conversation.
"...I think I'll go into elemental extraction," one boy said, adjusting his goggles like it gave the statement more credibility.
"Please, that's so crowded. I'm going into volatile solutions. Better career potential," another girl replied.
"Pharmaceutical alchemy's where the real influence is," a third chimed in.
Then someone asked Elsha directly, "What about you, Elsha? You've got invites from three focus circles already. Going to declare soon?"
Elsha didn't slow down. She gave a small shrug, tossing her braid over one shoulder.
"Still watching," she said simply. "The tower's got twenty-three branches. No need to rush into a lifetime of regretting I picked the one where I smell like vinegar every day."
That earned a laugh, but the underlying meaning wasn't lost on anyone: she was being courted. And she hadn't said yes to any of them.
Riven glanced at Alex. "So, what's the pitch this time?"
Alex didn't blink. "We find out what kind of farm she wants to run. Then we show her she won't have to run it alone."
—✦—
They stood up from the table, plates still partially full. It wasn't exactly a dramatic exit, more of a casual shuffle like they were stretching their legs and happened to head in the same direction as Elsha.
They approached the small group slowly, trying not to look like a pack of recruiters on the hunt. But Elsha and her circle were too deep in their own discussion to notice. For a solid twenty seconds, Alex and his team stood just outside the conversational bubble, completely ignored.
Riven glanced sideways. "This is going well. Should I pretend to trip and crash into someone for dramatic effect?"
"Tempting," Alex muttered. "But no. That's Plan E."
"We're already on Plan E?"
"You'd be amazed how fast we go through the alphabet."
Then Alex did what Alex always did—he found the rhythm, picked the moment, and stepped straight in with a grin like he owned the air.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said smoothly, not loud, but clear. "But I heard the phrase 'lifetime of vinegar' and felt morally obligated to offer better options."
That got a reaction. A few heads turned. One of the apprentices blinked. Another stared at Alex like he just stepped off a recruitment poster. And finally, Elsha looked up.
She didn't smile. But her eyes narrowed in recognition.
"You're that royal prototype, aren't you? The one who keeps not choosing a department and making the deans nervous."
Alex gave a small, unbothered shrug. "I like keeping expectations low."
Before anyone could fire back with a joke, he tilted his head slightly and shifted the conversation with practiced ease.
"Actually," he said, eyes scanning the group, "I was curious—what are your thoughts on the different branches in the alchemy department? Everyone here's clearly smart. And I figure if I'm standing in the middle of an unofficial brain trust, I might as well take notes."
That earned a few glances. A couple of the apprentices straightened subtly, half-flattered and half-unsure whether he was serious.
"Elemental extraction is still the most versatile," said the boy with the goggles. "You can work across departments—engineering, defense, even transportation. It's practical."
"But it's oversaturated," said the girl beside him. "Too many people. No room for creativity unless you're a legacy or have your own lab." She flicked her fingers in a dismissive wave. "Volatile solutions are way more progressive. You can invent something new every month."
"And blow yourself up twice a week," Riven muttered.
"Pharmaceutical is stable," offered another. "Funding is solid. There's public demand. You can build a career without having to chase innovation constantly."
"You mean it's safe," Elsha said quietly. "That's not a bad thing. But I don't think I want to be safe forever."
That got another round of subtle nods.
Alex looked at her directly. "What would you want, then? If you weren't trying to fit into what already exists. If you were starting from scratch."
Elsha raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like someone asking me to build my own department."
"No," Alex said, tone light. "Just wondering what kind of alchemist you'd be if no one else got a say."
There was a pause. A few of the apprentices turned to look at Elsha too.
She smiled, just a little. "That's the first real question I've been asked all week."
Alex caught the moment of interest and didn't let it go to waste.
"And what about the rest of you?" he asked, shifting his gaze casually to the rest of the group. "You're all already in the thick of this—figuring out what fits, what sells, what survives. I'm curious what draws you, personally. Not what the tower wants. Not what the guilds whisper. What you want."
There was a slight shuffle among the apprentices. Clearly, Elsha had the spotlight, but none of them were used to being addressed like their thoughts mattered in front of someone like Alex.
The boy with the goggles cleared his throat. "Honestly? I want to find a synthesis formula that cuts energy draw in half. Doesn't matter the department. Just want something that actually changes a standard."
"I want to run a mobile lab," said the volatile solutions girl, more defensive now. "Out in the wild zones. Real data, real reactions, not bottled theory."
Another student—quiet up until now—added, "I've been charting decay properties in urban trash runoff. It's not glamorous, but it's practical. And the numbers are talking."
Alex nodded slowly, cataloging each voice.
He wasn't here just for Elsha, even if she was the highlight. He'd known before stepping into the café that talent clustered like reactive compounds—unpredictable, potent, and rarely solitary. If a few of these others saw what he was building and leaned in? Well, who didn't love a good bonus reaction.
"Those sound like the kinds of projects that don't want to fit into someone else's drawer," Alex said. "Which means you'll eventually need space. Freedom. Support."
He didn't press. Not yet. But the bait was in the water, and more than one apprentice had turned slightly toward him.
Riven watched it happen with a subtle smirk.
"You really do go alphabetically, don't you," he muttered.
"We're only on C," Davor replied.