The Alchemy of Sisterhood and Legacy
The word “Golden Branch Castle” hung in the air like the scent of old brass and fresh possibility, a name that still felt like a secret even after all these years. I had asked Cordelia Wollstonecraft—my Cordelia—what a sister truly meant, and the answer, I had thought, would be simple. Blood. The oldest, most obvious one. The religious one that called other women “sisters” in temples and cathedrals. Nothing complicated. Nothing that would make my head spin.
Until I looked at Cordelia and the woman standing beside her.
“Leaf’s mother and Cordelia,” I said, keeping my voice light. “They’re neither of those things.”
Cordelia’s red-brown hair caught the torchlight as she snorted, the sound so utterly scandalized it was almost comical. “Me? The faction leader standing at the very edge of alchemy? Even I have a sense of humor, you know. Just stop putting mana in and actually answer.”
“Shall we settle on a method?”
“A method?”
“Every time you want to raise your mana pool, I get one question. Refuse and I raise it again.”
“Hoo…”
She let out a short, surprised laugh, the kind that reminded me she still remembered how to be surprised. “Deal. Twice the amount.”
Cordelia held up two fingers for emphasis. “If you refuse, the mana you offer is double what you started with.”
I felt no hesitation. “Gladly.”
The moment the words left my mouth, our mana surged forward like two rivers colliding. Cordelia’s dark purple eyes widened; the air around the mana concentrator crackled. Seir’s contract circle—the one I had opened with my own black mana—spun above the device first, weaving itself through the golden light that refused to become gold and stayed instead a warm, stubborn bronze. The two forces collided, twisted, and began to merge.
“…Demon mana,” Cordelia murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief.
“There was no condition about your own mana,” I answered, keeping my tone even.
“Fine. At least you have some backbone. I’ll let you go first, then.”
She had no reason to refuse.
The question came out before I could second-guess myself. “What exactly is a sister?”
“You’ve been obsessed with the word since the moment you walked in. To alchemists it’s not a secret at all.”
She still managed to sound offended at having wasted my question, but she answered anyway.
“A sister,” she began, voice softening in a way I had never heard from her, “is the one you can hand your own blood to without hesitation. To us alchemists, the real family that shares blood is actually less precious than the bond we forge with a sister.”
Cordelia smiled, the expression misty, as if she were remembering something long lost. Leaf’s mother, perhaps. Or the woman she had once been before the branch split.
“Even I, the faction leader, find protecting Leaf difficult. So you can imagine how much harder it is for anyone else.”
She said it without bragging, without drama—just fact. The price of standing at the head of Golden Branch Castle was that some things, like Leaf, were beyond protection. I understood that better than most.
“Why?” I asked. “Does it feel strange?”
“A little,” she admitted, still calm. “In the realm alchemists desire—the true world—blood matters.”
“For the Philosopher’s Stone?”
“Life,” she corrected, simple and final. “Life itself.”
The image I carried from the novels flashed through my mind: the Stone as the materialization of a human soul. If blood truly meant soul, then…
“I don’t know,” she cut off the thought with a single syllable.
Responsible, I wanted to say. Instead I simply watched her.
“Only because my great ancestor felt that way,” she continued. “That’s all the answer is. She left it behind as a requirement. The rest is interpretation. Some use the Stone, some make elixirs, some discover entirely new materials that never existed before. That’s why Golden Branch Castle splintered into so many branches after her passing.”
Her great ancestor—Cordelia Wollstonecraft herself—had deliberately left the choice open. And because everyone read it differently, the castle had become eight separate branches. The meaning had fractured along with the structure.
“Then…”
“The first question is finished. Consider it a reward for testing my resolve and a little compensation for wasting my time on a meaningless question.”
“…I accept it.”
The next phase began. The mana flowing into the concentrator had grown denser, heavier. I had only offered half the amount of a typical Regular-rank mage; now I was giving twice that. The device was already full.
“Next,” I said, voice steady. “Explain your demonology.”
The question was meant to test whether I was worthy of protecting Leaf. Instead Cordelia leaned forward, suddenly eager.
“Demonology?” she echoed. “You’re starting at the top already. Rare to see someone who doesn’t flinch.”
She gave me the chance to back out. I didn’t.
“Explain your demonology,” I repeated.
She hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Very well. But if you refuse to answer, you must offer twice the mana you first put in. That is the rule.”
I felt no fear. No hesitation. Only curiosity.
“Demonology,” she said finally, “is the art of contracting with demons. You borrow their authority in exchange for a price. The stronger the contract, the more dangerous it becomes. Most demonologists are feared and shunned because the contracts eat at the soul. But I use them carefully. I make sure the price is worth the power.”
I listened, cataloging every word. When she finished, I nodded.
“Next question,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who started with sisterhood. Now you ask me about my demons?”
“Answer it.”
She sighed theatrically, but her eyes glittered with genuine interest. “Fine. But this time I get to ask you something. The same rule applies. Twice the mana if you refuse.”
I raised one finger in agreement.
“Does Cordelia have a sister?”
“Cordelia’s sister?” Cordelia repeated, stunned. “That’s your first real question? Even I don’t know. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be relevant. She was an only child. A virgin in the truest sense. Sisters don’t exist for people like her.”
I felt the mana pulse again—stronger this time. The device was already at its limit.
“…That was reckless,” Cordelia muttered. “You’re risking your life with that question.”
“Still my turn,” I said softly.
She laughed once, short and surprised. “You’re not scared?”
“Should I be?”
Her expression shifted. For the first time since we began, something like respect flickered across her face.
“Fine. Ask.”
“Was it you who planted the World Tree’s root for Leaf?”
Cordelia’s answer came without hesitation. “Yes. My sister and I did it together.”
The words were barely out before I poured another wave of mana into the device. Fourteen times the original amount. The air grew thick, heavy, alive. Cordelia’s eyes widened; the mana concentrator groaned in protest.
“Seven Regular-rank mages,” she whispered. “Or two Senior-rank mages. That’s what you just spent.”
“I know.”
Her voice dropped. “You’re insane.”
I simply waited for the next question.
“Leaf’s enemy,” I said, voice flat. “Who is it?”
Cordelia’s expression darkened. “The Shadow of the Trees. The Ombre des Arbres. A cult that worships the Abyss itself. They believe the World Tree must be reborn at any cost. Most elves would treat Leaf as a convenient tool—half-blood, after all. The power they can muster… five of the great guilds should be enough to stop them. Maybe six.”
I didn’t let her finish the sentence.
“Why didn’t you protect Leaf from the beginning, then?”
“Because I don’t hide in forests. I stand where the eyes of the world can find me. That’s how I keep the light on.” Cordelia’s hands were shaking as she spoke, but her voice never wavered. “I knew the cost. I knew the risk. But Leaf is worth it.”
The mana flow stopped abruptly. The concentrator had reached its absolute limit.
“…Enough,” I said. “I’ve seen your resolve. You can handle this level of power.”
Cordelia stared at the device, then at me. “My eyes deceive me. I owe you an apology. A Regular-rank mage could never—”
I cut her off gently. “I know how much power I’m using. I also know how much you’re offering. That’s enough.”
She laughed then, a real laugh, the kind that reached her eyes. “You’re… young. Reckless. But honest. I like that.”
“Last question,” I said. “Answer with nothing but the truth, on Cordelia’s oath as the founder of alchemy.”
Cordelia’s expression sobered completely. “On my word as the founder of alchemy, I will answer only the truth.”
“How valuable is that oath?”
“Everything I am.”
Silence stretched between us. I watched her face, searching for lies. For deception. For anything that wasn’t the pure, unfiltered truth.
She met my gaze without flinching. “Ask.”
“Will you stand with Leaf, no matter what? No matter who?”
Cordelia’s voice, when it came, was quiet but absolute. “Of course. As long as blood still flows through my veins.”
I reached into my pocket and drew out the small vial Cordelia had left behind—Cordelia Wollstonecraft’s own handiwork, the final inheritance. I held it out.
“This is what I want to use.”
Cordelia’s breath caught. She stood so quickly the chair scraped backward. She leaned in until her face was mere inches from the vial, eyes wide with something between awe and terror.
“This… is the founder’s legacy?”
Her voice cracked. For the first time since we had begun this exchange, the powerful faction leader looked small.
I felt the weight of centuries settle on my shoulders. The branches had split. The meaning had fractured. But here, in this moment, two women—one human, one demon—had chosen to stand together anyway.
And I had chosen, without hesitation, to stand with them.