Aeryn's workshop smelled of charred parchment, burnt sage, and something older - something unnatural. He wiped sweat from his brow as he studied the open tome before him. The pages, worn and delicate, contained secrets that had driven countless alchemists to madness.
But he was different.
Tonight, he would prove it.
The cauldron before him shimmered, swirling like molten sunlight. This was no ordinary transmutation - no simple turning of lead into gold. Aeryn was after something greater. True mastery.
He uncorked a vial. The contents within - gleaming and silvery - were worth more than any treasure. A single tear. His own. The final ingredient.
As the drop hit the bubbling liquid, the entire chamber trembled. The potion hissed, shifting through an unnatural spectrum of colors - violet, emerald, crimson - before settling into a deep, hypnotic gold.
Aeryn's breath hitched. This was it.
He pulled a lump of iron from his workbench and, with gloved fingers, dipped into the golden liquid before pressing against the metal.
It melted instantly.
The iron lost its solid form, surrendering to gold as though it had never been anything else. Liquid sunlight pooled at his feet, glowing beneath the dim candlelight.
Aeryn's hands trembled. He had done it. He had created the Philosopher's Touch.
But as he exhaled in triumph, something shifted in his fingers.
A warm, tingling sensation crept through his gloves, spreading up his arms. The fabric darkened, then crumbled into dust.
His skin glowed.
Aeryn stared in horror. Gold - pure, molten gold - swirled beneath the veins in his hands. The magic had fused with him.
He had not just created transmutation.
He had become it.