Zel turned towards Zef when she put the cotton ball down to try and soak another one in disinfectant.

“C’mon, it’ll be easier if you just get in the bath with me.”

The cyclops gave a nod and a token sigh of resignation. “Alright,” she relented, pulling her shirt over her head before she began to unbuckle her trousers. Zel made no attempt to stay her gaze, leaning on the edge of the tub as she took in all that alabaster skin. She’d seen more than enough yesterday, but both her head and her sight were far clearer now. Under the milky-white light of the illumination crystal, Zef’s lightly-toned musculature reminded her of something she saw earlier today.

“It’s like I’m looking at a marble statue,” she chuckled, Fog spilling from her mouth with every syllable. She’d become so accustomed to Fog-breathing she needn’t consciously focus to do it, but doing it as such also had this rather visible side-effect.

“Sh-shut up,” Zef stuttered dismissively, bending down to pick up the Tablet. She swiped through its projection for a short while before she held it flat. Soon, a small seal-bottle emerged from the Fog vortex that came forth. She stepped into the bath and Zel immediately felt the warmth of that marble-like skin against hers, somehow easy to pick out even through the relentless heat of the bath.

She heard the popping of the cork and the glugging of liquid being drunk, then felt Zef’s lips around one of the stab wounds on her back, soon followed by the warmth of Viriditas flooding in. The markswoman did the same thing on the other stab wounds, quickly enough that she was done by the time Zel had gathered her thoughts. She turned around and blurted out, “Did you just-”

“It’s standard procedure for sealing deep wounds,” the cyclops interrupted as if it were completely normal, emerald-green Fog shrouding her face as the droplets around her mouth evaporated. Zelsys carelessly exhaled right into Zef’s face, seeing her face turn light pink as tendrils of the silvery gas were swept up by a breath in. 

The cyclops turned her gaze towards the wounds once again, murmuring something about how they’re deeper than she thought before taking another swig of Viriditas and repeating the same procedure as before. Going by the fact Zel could feel the remnants of pain fading, she was willing to believe the severity of her injuries wasn’t being used purely as an excuse for more bodily contact. 

Zefaris wasn’t exactly trying to hide the fact that this was exactly what she was doing, however. After all, it wasn’t as if sealing a wound by using one’s mouth to administer Viriditas directly into it required one to place their mouth anywhere other than the wound, or to wrap their arms around the patient’s chest as she did.

Soon enough, she saw the corked seal-bottle floating by, having slipped from the markswoman’s grasp. She felt the warmth of liquid green flow over the gashes on her back, followed by the feeling of completely unnecessary kisses on the wounds. Picking the bottle out of the water and uncorking it, the violently herbal smell of the primordial fluid assaulted her nostrils. Its vapors briefly obscured her vision before she pressed the bottle to her lips and took a swig, then sealed it shut.

Even now, the brunt of it tasted like nothing more than a vaguely herbal essence, but there was something new in the aroma. Something new, yet distinctly familiar.

“Viriditas. What’s it taste like?” Zel asked, absent-mindedly admiring the designs of the seals as she basked in the warmth of this impromptu embrace.

“Mint, lemon balm, sometimes thyme...”  Zef trailed off, resting her head on the small area of her back that had neither gashes nor stab wounds. “Also you.”

“Me?” she chuckled, blindsided by that answer. “In which way?”

“Both of ‘em. Depends on my mood.”

Pages upon pages of philosophizing on the nature of Azoth, of alchemy, of the Fog itself - Aether by its alchemic name - filled the journal, interspersed with nuggets of real meaning, as if the journal was written all in one go as a stream of consciousness. Makhus was just about ready to believe that when he reached the fifth page of seemingly meaningless philosophy in a row, only to be hit in the head by an anvil by a simple, apparently meaningless paragraph.

If this experiment turns out successful, I believe my theoretical homunculus will be capable of Fog-breathing from the moment it comes out of the tank. I have secured a location in the southern swamplands, and should everything go to plan, I will be able to begin the growth process within the month. I only hope the tissue and blood samples I have obtained truly do belong to members of the great heroic families.

Despite its potentially revolutionary nature, my method of growing a fully-functional homunculus will not differ from the traditional method in base execution. I will, however, require a colossal quantity of pure Viriditas to fuel the process and a truly grand support mechanism to ensure at least one embryo is grown to the full extent, even if it means the premature termination of other embryos.

The next page had a date several months after the previous. He thought it must be missing pages, but it didn’t seem to be so. 

It appears my research has attracted the attention of the Sage himself! He just showed up at my doorstep yesterday with one of those gaudy gift-baskets he’s known to be so fond of. I was more than happy to play the host, but he just handed over the basket and left!

There was a glyph-sealed letter buried amidst the confectionery, containing a set of coordinates I think are located within the southern territories and an instruction to burn the letter atop a marble slab that I am to find at the location.

I suspect I may have just been offered a research facility.

The more he read, the more he felt the need to cross-reference the journal’s contents with the alchemist’s other notes.