The morning sun didn't rise over Grenvale—it exploded. Not literally, but the sky cracked open in a golden blast that drenched the mountains in fire-colored light. Rico "The Alchemist" Maldino squinted from under his hood, perched at the peak of Mount Virelin. The peak overlooked three kingdoms and at least seven kingdoms-worth of his problems.
His eye twitched as he chewed the end of a licorice root. "Three realms ready to burn, and I still can't remember the spell for non-fat whipped cream."
Beside him, a floating turtle monk—yes, floating—turned its wrinkled head. "It's 'Whipparius Nonfaticus.' Try to remember. We're literally one wrong ingredient away from exploding the timeline again."
"I only did that once," Rico muttered, fiddling with the glowing green vial at his belt. "Twice if you count the incident with the rabid moon goats."
The turtle ignored him, meditating mid-air like only a three-century-old reptilian sage could. They were on a mission: infiltrate the ruins of the Old Apothecarion and recover the Elixir of Memories—a potion so potent it could unlock hidden truths, suppressed pain, or in Rico's case, whatever the heck he did during the Lost Years.
He didn't remember being the Drug Lord. Not entirely. His past had holes, like a drug-fueled cheese.
As he began his descent toward the ruins, a breeze whispered through the skeletal remains of trees long dead, and shadows twisted unnaturally on the path. Something—someone—was watching.
---
Inside the Apothecarion, everything smelled of crushed bones, herbs, and guilt.
The temple was shaped like a spiral staircase leading down into darkness, each step etched with glowing runes that hummed as Rico passed. At the bottom, the chamber pulsed with energy. Floating books circled a black marble pedestal where the Elixir of Memories sat, swirling like a storm in a bottle.
Rico stepped forward—then froze.
Standing between him and the elixir was Detective Lucia Vale, former nemesis, ex-flame, and current commander of the Anti-Alchemical Task Force.
"Lucia," he said, blinking. "Still not over me, huh?"
Lucia raised her pistol, which glowed with anti-magic runes. "You're as cocky as ever, Maldino."
"That's how you liked me."
"I liked you dead."
"Still a work in progress," he grinned.
But Lucia wasn't alone. A figure stepped out of the shadows beside her, cloaked in shifting robes of void silk.
Rico's smile vanished. "No... You were dead."
The cloaked figure removed their hood.
It was Marlow. His old mentor. The man who taught him alchemy. The same man who betrayed him and disappeared after the Great Burn.
"I live," Marlow said with a grin of broken teeth. "And your memory will too... in me."
With a flick of his wrist, Marlow cast a binding circle, runes slicing the air. Rico barely leapt aside, the spell exploding behind him.
Lucia opened fire, but Rico twisted his fingers and snapped, conjuring a glass wall from his breath and spit. The bullets shattered like stars.
"Rico!" the turtle monk yelled from the top of the spiral. "Get the elixir and get out! The place is collapsing!"
"I know!" he yelled back, ducking a bolt of lightning from Marlow's staff.
Rico tossed a vial labeled "Highly Illegal" into the air. It exploded in a burst of pink fog that smelled like regret and strawberries. Marlow coughed, Lucia staggered, and Rico lunged toward the pedestal.
The Elixir of Memories shimmered in his hand. Just as he uncorked it, a vine of dark magic wrapped around his ankle—Marlow's doing.
"Drink it and die," Marlow hissed.
Rico smirked. "That's the fun part."
He drank.
The world turned inside out.
---
Suddenly, Rico stood in a memory—not a dream, a reality shard.
He was sixteen, strapped to a table in a lab, while hooded figures chanted around him. A brand was seared into his chest—a formula, not a symbol.
He saw Marlow behind the glass, recording. Experiment 37: Subject shows signs of soul-splintering. Ideal candidate for alchemical transmutation.
He wasn't just a drug lord.
He was built to be one.
---
He gasped, dropping the empty vial. Power surged through him—truth and trauma as fuel.
The ruins trembled. Reality stuttered. Rico stood slowly, eyes glowing, teeth clenched.
"You made me a monster," he whispered, stepping toward Marlow, magic boiling at his fingertips.
"No," Marlow smiled. "You made yourself a legend. I just gave you the tools."
Lucia lowered her weapon, conflicted. "Rico... I didn't know—"
"None of us did," he said. "But now I do."
He flicked his fingers. A circle of green light exploded under Marlow, wrapping him in vines of time and guilt. The man screamed as the spell mirrored every memory he'd stolen—back into his mind.
Lucia turned and fled, and Rico let her.
---
Outside, the mountain cracked, the ruins sinking into the earth. The turtle monk floated beside him, shell glowing faintly.
"So... who are you now?" the monk asked.
Rico stared at the sunrise. "Not a drug lord. Not yet a hero."
He smiled faintly.
"Just a man with a better memory—and a much bigger grudge."
---