Nine

"I have a big surprise for you, little one," Master Alaric said, stepping into Wyrtt's room with two other very eager-looking students. "Oh, what's that, Master? I can only imagine." One of the students held up a rough-looking sword with multiple holes cut out of it. The sword looked very roughly made, not like a fine blacksmith made it. Wyrtt jumped up and shouted, "Praise be to the gods, a dog slicer. Where on earth did you find it?" "The where and the how are not important, little one; what is important is the why," Master Alaric said. "Which leads us to the matter of my visit to your chambers. As you probably guessed, you are reaching level 3 in alchemy should you continue in that endeavor," and to mark that occasion, I like to set up a trial. It tests all you have learned from us and puts you to the ultimate test of skill and knowledge." he said.  Wyrtt could not contain his excitement; he was practically jittering in excitement. "I would be remiss if I were not to warn you of the danger of this trial. It is no easy event, and it will take all you have to accomplish, but I know you can do it, little one."

Wyrtt stood at the edge of the elaborate alchemical circle, his heart pounding in his chest. The other misfit alchemists and occultists watched him with a mix of anticipation and curiosity, their whispers filling the dimly lit chamber. He clenched his fists tightly, determination etched on his young face; this test would determine his future.

"Let the alchemical test begin," boomed the voice of Master Alchemist Alaric, the stern-faced man who had led Wyrtt through his rigorous training. "You have two hours to prove your worth, initiate."

Wyrtt nodded, swallowing hard, and stepped into the circle. As soon as he did so, an array of runic symbols and arcane diagrams appeared before him, accompanied by cryptic riddles that seemed to dance around the edges of his vision.

"Remember your training, Wyrtt," whispered Marla, a fellow misfit alchemist who had become his closest friend during their time together. "You can do this."

Wyrtt took a deep breath, pushing aside his nervousness, and focused on the first puzzle. It was a complex diagram of a serpent devouring its tail, encased within a series of concentric circles. Each circle was inscribed with a different elemental symbol – fire, water, earth, and air – and Wyrtt knew he had to find the correct sequence to unlock the puzzle's secret.

"Think, think," he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The elements... they must interact somehow."

He recalled Master Alaric's lessons on the fundamental principles of alchemy: each element was both created and destroyed by another. Fire consumed air but was extinguished by water; water nourished earth but was evaporated by fire; earth bore the seeds of life but was eroded by air. Wyrtt's mind raced as he considered the possible combinations.

"Fire, then air," he whispered to himself, tracing a pattern on the diagram with his finger. "Water, then earth..."

As the symbols glowed beneath his touch, the serpent uncoiled itself and slithered away, revealing the next puzzle: a riddle that would challenge his understanding of alchemical processes.

"By flame I am forged, but by breath I am tamed; my essence is sought, my touch is reviled. What am I?"

Wyrtt pondered the riddle, his heart pounding in his chest as precious minutes ticked away. He couldn't afford to fail any part of this test, not when so much was at stake. It was then that the answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

"Smoke!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. "The byproduct of fire, controlled by air!"

"Correct," intoned Master Alaric, a hint of approval in his otherwise emotionless voice. "Proceed."

With renewed vigor, Wyrtt turned his attention to the remaining puzzles and riddles before him. The misfit alchemists and occultists murmured amongst themselves, their voices a distant hum as Wyrtt focused all his energy on the task at hand. He felt both time and the weight of expectation bearing down upon him, but there was no turning back now.

"Time is running out, initiate," warned Alaric, his voice cold and impassive. "Do not disappoint us."

With the final riddle solved, a hidden door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit passage that led into a treacherous maze. Wyrtt steeled himself, knowing that agility and dexterity would be essential to navigating the labyrinth. The misfit alchemists and occultists watched with bated breath as he stepped forward, their anticipation palpable in the air.

"Remember," Master Alaric called out, "the elements are your allies."

Wyrtt nodded, his nerves threatening to overwhelm him. He took a deep breath and entered the maze, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Each step echoed ominously through the dank corridors, and shadows danced across the walls like restless spirits. Wyrtt knew he must rely on both his alchemical knowledge and physical prowess to overcome the challenges ahead.

As he rounded a corner, a sudden gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet. A series of pressure plates lay scattered throughout the corridor, each one connected to a trap. Wyrtt's eyes narrowed as he studied the patterns, searching for a safe path.

"Air and earth," he murmured, connecting the plates' symbols to their corresponding elements. Carefully, he leapt from one plate to another, avoiding the deadly traps triggered by the wind. His agility was put to the test, but he managed to make it through unscathed.

"Your progress is noted," said Master Alaric's voice, echoing from somewhere within the maze. "But there is still much to overcome."

Wyrtt continued onward, sweat trickling down his brow. He couldn't let the pressure get to him; too many were counting on his success. As he ventured deeper into the labyrinth, the challenges grew more difficult. Walls of fire sprang up before him, and he had to summon forth torrents of water to extinguish them. Ice-covered floors threatened to send him sprawling, but he used his understanding of fire to melt the slippery surface just enough to maintain his footing.

At each obstacle, Wyrtt's mind raced through alchemical principles and elemental properties, searching for the key to unlocking his path forward. As he neared the maze's end, a final trial awaited: a narrow bridge suspended over a churning pool of acid.

"By the elements, guide me," Wyrtt whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath and sprinted onto the bridge, his quick reflexes keeping him balanced as it swayed violently beneath his feet.

"Almost there, Wyrtt," he told himself, desperate to make it across. "You can do this."

As he leapt towards the safety of solid ground, the bridge snapped, sending splinters of wood crashing into the acid below. Wyrtt landed hard, gasping for breath as he stared back at what he had just overcome.

"Your determination is commendable," Master Alaric's voice echoed throughout the chamber. "But this test is far from over."

Wyrtt clenched his fists, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him. For his friends, for his future, he would conquer them all.

Wyrtt's heart raced as he entered the next chamber, beads of sweat forming on his brow. A large hourglass stood in the center, sand already slipping through the narrow passage from one bulb to the other. Surrounding the hourglass were a collection of flasks, vials, and ingredients.

"Concoct the Elixir of Vitality before the last grain of sand falls," Master Thrainor's voice instructed from above. "The fate of your fellow alchemists depends on it."

Wyrtt's mind whirled at the gravity of the situation. He couldn't let his friends down. Glancing at the hourglass, he noticed that nearly a quarter of the sand had already fallen. Time was running out.

"Focus, Wyrtt," he muttered under his breath. He scanned the ingredients, quickly identifying each and recalling their properties. Heart pounding, he began to measure and mix the components, hands steady despite his nerves.

"Two parts lavender for clarity," he whispered, pouring the purple petals into a mortar and grinding them into a fine powder. "One part salamander's blood for fortitude." The thick crimson liquid oozed from a small vial, mingling with the lavender.

As Wyrtt reached for the final ingredient - crushed dragon scales - a sudden gust of wind blew through the chamber, scattering the scales across the floor. Wyrtt gritted his teeth, trying not to panic. The sand continued to fall, mocking him with its relentless flow.

"Is this part of the test?" he wondered, his eyes darting in search of any hidden traps or illusions. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tapped into his knowledge, determined to see through any deception.

"Trust yourself, Wyrtt," he told himself. Opening his eyes, he spotted the scattered scales, now glowing faintly, as if beckoning him. He scooped them up, mixing the iridescent fragments into his concoction.

"Time is running out," Master Alaric warned, his voice tense and urgent.

Wyrtt's pulse quickened, but he refused to let fear cloud his judgment. As he stirred the potion, a soft golden light emanated from it, signaling a successful mixture. With no time to waste, he carefully poured the elixir into a crystal vial and held it up for inspection.

"Master Alaric, I present the Elixir of Vitality," he announced, his voice surprisingly steady.

"Very well," Master Alaric replied, a hint of relief in his tone. "But your final challenge awaits."

The chamber faded away, replaced by a twisting labyrinth of mirrors. Reflections of Wyrtt stared back at him from every angle, each one whispering doubts and fears.

"Turn back," they urged. "You'll never succeed."

"Focus on what you know," Wyrtt thought, steeling himself against the illusions. He recalled the principles of alchemy and his unwavering determination to help his friends. The whispers grew quieter, and Wyrtt pressed forward, his resolve unshaken.

"By the elements, guide me," he murmured once more, navigating the maze of lies with newfound confidence. No illusion would stand in his way.