The boy took a few deliberate steps closer, his gaze fixed on Mamun. Without a word, the old man extended his hand, pointing towards the chair on the opposite side of the exquisitely crafted desk. The gesture alone was enough for Bruno to understand that he was expected to sit.

As he settled into the chair, he couldn't help but appreciate its elegance, a testament to the pinnacle of local furniture-making artistry. It was a display of master craftsmanship, with intricately carved wood and a plush red cushion, combining to create a truly luxurious seat.

"Ask your question," Mamun instructed, his voice laced with a hint of weariness.

Taking a deep breath, Bruno began, his eyes shifting between the archmage and the captivating portrait that adorned the wall behind him.

"The pattern of the flow of magic you mentioned in today's lesson... I've seen it before. I noticed it hidden within Princess Hallel's hair. What exactly are you doing to her?" the boy inquired, his voice tinged with concern.

A heavy sigh escaped Mamun's lips as he leaned back in his chair.

"I could say that I'm helping her, but I know you won't accept such an answer. You're too clever for that, aren't you?" the old man responded. "The truth is, while I may not be helping her directly, I am serving a greater purpose. I am aiding the kingdom, and as royalty, she should be dedicated to serving this very kingdom. So, in a way, claiming that I'm helping her is not entirely false, yet it is not the whole truth either."

"Helping her? It's evident that you're meddling with her mind," Bruno interjected, his voice firm. His eyes once again darted back to the portrait hanging on the wall, his gaze filled with curiosity and suspicion.

"Meddling with her mind?" the archmage repeated, a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"Yes, the pieces fit together. Almost anyone could see it," the young alchemist replied, unwavering in his conviction.

"You are correct. Almost anyone could, especially someone as perceptive as you," Mamun conceded. "But why do you care? Have you grown fond of the young princess, or perhaps you believe she could be your ticket to the realm of royalty? Remember, you are currently my slave," he added, his gaze narrowing slightly.

Shaking his head, Bruno refuted the old man's assumptions. "No, I don't care about her or this kingdom. As you said, I am a slave. All I have is this body of mine. I just happen to know the stories of those who dared to meddle with royalty. They often lose their heads. Do you know what happens to me if you lose your head? In the best-case scenario, I'll be executed alongside you. In the worst-case scenario, I'll be trapped here, underground, forever, with this cursed collar around my neck," he continued, his hand briefly grasping the collar to emphasize his point. "You're right about one thing—I do care, but only about my own life. That's all I have."

His words elicited a chuckle from the archmage, but the boy's expression remained resolute. He shook his head, determined to make his position clear. He didn’t stop there, he continued:

"I was born into nothing, and the members of my family passed away quite fast. I ended up on the streets, but I always knew I didn't belong there. My father drowned his sorrows in booze, and the caretaker exploited me and other children for her own gain. They all held me back, despite my superior intellect. I was powerless because I was weak, but I never gave up. No, I learned to read by studying the names of ships in the harbor and asking sailors to tell me the names of their vessels. It took time, but I did it," he paused, briefly fabricating a tale to fit the circumstances better. "And then, I persuaded some street urchins who excelled in pickpocketing to steal a book for me."

The young alchemist's voice carried a mix of determination and defiance, his past struggles fueling his desire for self-preservation and his thirst for knowledge. Despite that the fact that some of his words were a lie, he delivered his speech with such intensity that, even if he knew the truth, he managed to believe the very words that escaped his lips.

"It wasn't something easy to get, and I had to wait patiently for a long time," Bruno continued, his voice resonating with resolve. "But fate smiled upon me when I finally obtained an old botany book. I absorbed every ounce of knowledge it held because I understood that knowledge is power. Those who possessed the ability to create things of value never had to worry about hunger. I aspired to be like them. As I grew older, I delved deeper into learning, and eventually, I secured an apprenticeship in the prestigious alchemy guild. They recognized that my creations, forged from the meager resources I acquired by skimming money from my caretaker's pocket, were exceptional. They couldn't ignore my 'Fix.' They couldn't ignore my potential. So, they provided me with the proper education and resources. You see, throughout my life, the only person I could rely on was myself."

Mamun raised his hand, signaling Bruno to halt, and the boy obediently silenced himself.

"I didn't laugh because I found your story unbelievable," Mamun spoke, his voice shrouded in a mysterious tone. "I laughed because your story is all too familiar. I was much like you, and fate granted me an opportunity as well, but for me, it was a curse in disguise."

Bruno's eyes pleaded for the truth as he mustered the courage to speak. "I'm not asking for much. After everything I've done for you, don't I at least deserve the truth?"

A complex blend of emotions painted the archmage's face—anger, passion, and curiosity intertwined within the lines etched by time, which adorned his skin.

"No," Mamun declared firmly. "You don't deserve anything. You are my slave. Your work, just like you, belongs to me. So, no, you deserve nothing. However, I must admit that we share similarities. I also emerged from nothing and built everything with my own hands. Hence, I occasionally see myself reflected in you. It is the sole reason why I'm willing to disclose anything to you," he continued, his voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.

Bruno's agitation dissipated, replaced by a calculated calmness. He understood the delicate nature of this exchange, striving to elicit the maximum emotional response from the old man. Every word held the potential to reveal hidden secrets, tightly guarded behind the archmage's teeth.

"As a young boy, I had nothing, much like you," Mamun resumed, his voice carrying a tinge of nostalgia. "I knew the streets were not my destination; I had greater ambitions. I taught myself to read and was eventually discovered by a wandering mage who traversed cities, sharing his knowledge to aid people. Our time together was brief, as upon arriving in the capital, I was offered an opportunity to study at the mystical academy nestled within its walls. I toiled tirelessly, determined to make up for the wasted years, and my efforts did not go unnoticed. The archmage himself took notice of me, and I became his personal student."

For a moment, a veil of silence draped the room, as Mamun ventured back into the recesses of his memories. Bruno patiently awaited the continuation of the tale, recognizing the significance it held—his freedom potentially hinged upon the revelations that followed.

"I remember it vividly," Mamun continued, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I believed the world was at my feet, that I had finally arrived where I was destined to be. And it only grew better from there. My mentor held the responsibility of teaching the children of the reigning monarch. He had a daughter and a son. One day, I was summoned to accompany him and assist. That's when I met her. Arabel, my sweet Arabel…"

Once again, Mamun lapsed into silence, lost within the labyrinth of his memories. Though slightly frustrating for Bruno, he maintained his composure, patiently awaiting the resumption of the tale. So much hung in the balance—his very freedom among the stakes.