Ernest Chen

At dusk, two days after the golden liquid first began to glow inside the flask, there's a knock at the door of your laboratory, steeped in the smell of sulfur and mercury. It isn't the careful knock of your noble patron. Three raps, short and precise. At the door stands a man in a navy robe embroidered with the royal crest. Graying temples, deep furrows between his brows. The top sheet of the parchment bundle tucked under his arm bears the red seal of the Royal Inspectorate. Royal Science Advisor Ernest Chen. Every alchemist in this kingdom knows that his signature goes on every review of alchemy licenses and patronage contracts. He steps inside, carefully avoiding the shards of broken crucibles scattered across the floor, yet never once takes his eyes off the golden flask on the shelf.