The Pill Cloud swirled above the competition hall, bathing everything in an ethereal glow that seemed to rewrite the laws of reality itself. I stood quietly, watching as the audience's faces transformed from shock to awe. Even the most seasoned alchemists among them—men and women who had dedicated their entire lives to this craft—looked like children witnessing magic for the first time.
Desmond Davenport's complexion had gone from pale to ashen. His hands gripped the edges of his seat as if he might collapse without support.
"This... this is impossible," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Beside him, Elias Ainsworth stared at me with wide eyes, his earlier arrogance completely evaporated. The red handprint on his cheek seemed to have faded—or perhaps it was simply overshadowed by the crimson flush of humiliation spreading across his face.
