Bibon considered it a day like any other, although more beautiful. The sun shone in a clear sky, and a gibbous moon hung proudly closer to the horizon. A view to admire, if only she had more time outside! Instead, she was in the classroom, learning about transmutations with Professor Patches.
The odd boy everyone called Fox was sitting to her left. The “silent” and secretive boy, with the strange habits and the nothing-at-all ordinary outfit. Very few students held him in high regard. Bibon saw him a lot, feeling curious about his fox mask, but this was the first time he had her attention. Not that he wanted it, he never glanced in her direction. For the most part, he remained hunched over his notebook, where filling it with diagrams and cramped and detailed calligraphy. With the remaining time, on those uncommon occasions when Professor Patches was quiet, he looked briefly through the window, where the morning sun shone. Bibon wondered why someone who always hid his face from the sun would love it so much.
During the Earth’s medieval period, a fascination with converting base metals into gold and with creating an elixir of immortality put down roots in Europe. Alchemy, which, perhaps ironically, transformed into modern chemistry, is junk science. Transmutations, nevertheless, are a magical application of chemistry as the Borenese understand it through their extra-empirical methods. Accordingly, it enjoys a great importance in the contemporary world; the preparation of medications, the refinement of petroleum and metals, and the production of alloys, all examples Patches gave to introduce his lecture, were simply the best known practices. There were yet more advanced applications —rediscovered fields such as genetic medicine— but the important thing, at that stage in their education, was that a knowledge of transmutation’s fundamentals was essential to find decent work.
Being a convinced believer in experimentation and hands-on experience, Patches assigned teams of two or three people to begin with the easiest exercise possible as a warm-up: igniting scraps of paper. And, to ensure that his students did so correctly, he instructed them to try to oxidize the paper in the following exercises, giving them a brown color. Fox and Bibon made one team, and the former took some blank pages from his notebook, shredding one. Fox suffered no difficulty at all setting fire to the paper, watching without pride or judgment, as scrap after scrap was completely consumed in fire. Then he looked at Bibon, his gaze still neutral. She still hadn’t tried to ignite anything.
Patches paid attention as well. “Very good, Kopekchol,” he said; “But we all knew you could.”
“I only wanted to warm up,” he answered deferentially. He made his voice heard clearly, but even so he was quiet. His mask didn’t help to make him louder.
“Natch,” Patches agreed, “but I see Bibon doesn’t have your confidence. I think you should help her.” Having said that, the professor hurried to another pair. Zenni and Jishi had set the latter’s entire desk alight, while cackles and shouts of panic filled the back part of the classroom. All the class stopped to see what happened, although the excitement died quickly with the professor’s intervention. Then, Bibon and Fox simply stared at each other for a few moments, quite uncomfortably. The boy’s eyes never changed their expression; they were tired and passed judgment on nothing. But he didn’t dare to even look her in the eyes.
After that space, Fox said, “Go on, I know you can,” quietly. And despite his sincerity, his statement was no vote of confidence. As for burning paper, Bibon was also sure of herself. Creating flames with paper is quite easy, needing energy alone. Every act of converting between forms of energy —an essential power for the magically gifted— generated a little heat, and one only needed heat. Bibon already knew that, but nevertheless she hesitated, as she was concentrating on the latter exercises. How could she control an oxidation reaction?
Fox took another piece of paper and gave it to her. “It’s not about making heat,” he said, without looking at her; “To oxidize it, think about the paper. Concentrate.” She was slightly offended. She knew she had to concentrate, thank you very much. And she also enjoyed a blood purity of 32%, much greater than the average. Didn’t that boy realize how stressful changing colleges in the middle of the school year was? His apparent coolness was equally offensive for Bibon, so that she took a few more seconds.
Other fires, smaller than Zenni and Jishi’s, formed and vanished all around, while Bibon left her hand over the paper. The power by which mages learned so much about their world let them intuit things’ physical composition, as well as manipulate it. The transferred student, finally, did as the boy asked, and the paper’s nature quickly materialized in her mind’s eye, although by degrees.
“If you see it, the next step will be easy for you,” Fox added. He wanted to tell her the next thing was to change the formula, adding oxygen and some energy, to set off a chain reaction.
“I already know,” Bibon growled, interrupting him. She saw that Fox already finished his work. The entire intact sheet showed varying tones of brown, becoming darker as one went from top to bottom. “You know,” she complained, while her paper set fire on her, “nobody likes a showoff like you.”
Fox turned his back to her. “I don’t want to show off. I want to do my best.” He returned to his previous position. “You can do what I did.” Once again, he sounded sincere, and he said that with the same volume as before. Bibon’s opinion changed. Fox only wanted to help her, she always knew that. And he believed in her, unlike many students. Yes, the girl could, she always said she was one of the best, and now a chance came along to prove it. In fact, she told herself she could do something better than Fox. “Don’t look,” she ordered. Fox looked away again, watching out the window. After a few minutes, Bibon said Fox could look.
Her entire sheet was a light brown. Except for the message, which she left white. I’m sorry, Fox, the paper read, in scrawl. Fox rubbed his arm, and then added to his original sheet: Me too, in black calligraphy, just by touching the edge. He had nothing to apologize for, she decided. And he did his work best, since he didn’t have to move his hand along the paper, not like her. His talent impressed her, although not so much as his kindness.
In an instant, the two became friends. And she wanted to understand him better, convinced that everyone else’s negative attitude was wrong. From that moment on, that day stood out for her among all the others.
What say you?