Farhad purses his lips. "With a degree from the University, you could do anything you want, be anything you want. And not to gloat, but my name can open at least a few doors. Don't settle for soldiering."
He sighs, setting the bellows down.
"I suppose there's no need to get ahead of ourselves. You've got two full years to figure out what you want to do. For now, let's focus on the basics. By the end of this week, I expect you to be able to refine a batch of naft without my supervision." He taps one of the empty flasks on the bench with a long, thin finger.
Once refined, naft can be used for all sorts of purposes. In lanterns, yes, but when combined with the right kind of sand, it creates naftseh—a powerful explosive, and one of the key ingredients in propulsion fuel. Without it, travel between the stars simply wouldn't be possible. At the University, naftseh was touted as one of the miracles of astralchemy, but you can't imagine Farhad would appreciate you calling it that.
"Now," he says, "much as I love the sound of my own voice, I didn't hire an apprentice so I could spend my days talking."
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YOU ARE READING
Huguel
FantasyIn a Persian steampunk empire, will you use your arcane alchemy to repair a spaceship, or pilot a mech? Ignite a revolution, snuff it out, or play both sides against each other?
