Moving Forward – Part 1(/2)
I can’t tell you how pleased I was when, back in late February of 2024, Deriaz was willing to make on my request to design Volpes for this new era in his life. He did such an incredible job with the original design of the character, and also Enigma himself, that I already knew he had the ability to handle it.
For the longest time, I never had an idea in mind for why Enigma had a tattoo. It was when I wrote this story, back in May of 2023, that I decided that it would be the “Mark of Mastery”, proof that the Magistrum recognizes the bearer as an expert in one’s field. (This was before I had Deriaz draw the art for Enigma pre- and post- becoming a planeswalker, which is why that continuity exists.) Since Volpes was becoming a teacher like the detective that captured him, it was the perfect way to visually tie the room together.
After all that time, it had all finally began to wrap up in April of 2024.
“Class dismissed.”
With two simple words, the foxkin-titan had caused a flood of bodies, eager to tend to whatever they had planned for the rest of their busy day. Turning off the projector, powered by illusion-magic to conjure a duplicate of his course notes large enough for every student in the large lecture hall to read clearly. After all, most people lacked the enhanced vision he possessed, able to read fine print from across the room.
Such were the petty thoughts of Professor Volpes of Oplentis. Even he was surprised at how fast he acclimated to the role. Merely a few short months after leaving the Rehabilitation Center, he was already teaching classes. The ex-con had no doubt Bethana and Professor Rabrandt had a hand in expediting the process. Still, the opportunity to use the talents developed over nearly two decades operating clinics in the poorest districts of Oplentis was too tempting to pass up.
And if he could be there for a troubled youth the way no one was for him, then all the better. One Volpes was enough for Crossroads. The plane did not need another.
Stuffing away the rest of his course materials neatly into his backpack, the newly christened Master of Alchemy, with the mark under his eye to prove it, already knew where he would spend the rest of his time this evening. The Titan Syndicate he once led had contacted him, appreciating the aid he and the Magistrum had been sending their way, and that they had already begun the efforts to rebuild the revolution in Oplentis after their prolonged hiatus. His and Az’s next visit wasn’t scheduled for another week. They may both no longer be citizens of their old city, but that was no excuse to abandon the ones who continued the fight in their absence.
But that was another task for another day. At this hour, his handsome tigerkin husband would doubtless still be on assignment from the Ranger Corp, working as hard as always. And this was the afternoon when Azurium would reconnect with his long-lost son, which meant Volpes could add another few hours to his spare time.
He had sworn not to make any more titans, but there were other ways for an alchemist to ply his trade productively.
Not too far from the Rehabilitation Facility that had been his home when he first arrived at Magistrum City was another building of equal importance: The Medical Research Center.
In stark contrast to the policies of Oplentis, all citizens in Magistum City were entitled to the highest quality healthcare that magic, medicine, and artifice could provide. The work performed at the MRC, developing both innovative breakthroughs and more efficient ways to provide old ones in addition to distributing supplies to the medics across the City, was a large contributor to the program’s continued success.
With two decades of experience providing succor to the poor and needy, it was only natural that Volpes would be drawn to doing the same in his new home as well. Flashing his communicator to the scanner, the enchantment blocking the staff and volunteer entrance was lifted for him. As he entered the building, he was surprised at who he saw with a clipboard in hand.
“Working a case, Professor Rabrandt? Theft from the MRC? Or do you still think I’m up to no good?” The large, muscular foxkin chuckled at his own joke.
“Oh yes. Very dastardly business. I’m working on the Case of Someone Needs to Run Logistics.” Dressed in his full uniform, the detective smiled softly without looking up. “My mom and dad taught me how to manage inventory growing up, so I lend a hand when I can.”
“And if you wish, I can lend you mine.”
As the titan walked towards him, Enigma handed him the clipboard he was working off of. “Inventory is done. What they could use you for is helping them restock. We’ve got enough herbs to make the medicine we need, but there’s always room for a helping hand in the brewing process.”
Sure enough, skimming his peer’s work, Volpes could see that the MRC’s supply of healing potions was low, among several other figures. “Simple enough.”
“For the new Master of Alchemy, maybe. This job’s a bit too big for me. I’m wrapping up for the day.”
Watching the Great Detective head out the door, Volpes couldn’t help but tease the wolfkin. “I’ve never heard you admit a weakness before, Enigma.” As the illusionist slowly shook his head, Volpes could hear him chuckling.
“Just because I don’t advertise them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I can make my own potions but for field medicine, not serious treatment.”
“That’s okay. I can handle it.” He spoke with the bluntness that came with confidence in his craft.
“Thanks. I’ll let the lead coordinator know before I head home. Take care, Volpes.”
“Likewise, Enigma.”
From the days when he was a frail young kit to now, few things felt more right to Professor Volpes than the rough texture of a pestle as he ground the herbs of a healing potion or the warmth of the flame heating his mixture to the optimal temperature. Though he had changed significantly over the long years, alchemy was always his constant companion, his meditation, his relaxation. As it often had while brewing, pride swelled in his breast as he imagined one of his healing potions knitting muscle and sinew together to stave off potentially lethal or debilitating injury. The titan knew from his experience running free clinics that his work would save lives, and that was more than enough for him.
As he labeled the last potion, placing it on a shelf in the storeroom, a thought occurred to the newest member of the Magistrum faculty. This was a place where cutting-edge medical treatments were pioneered. He still had time before Azurium would return, so perhaps this was a good opportunity to take advantage of his access and learn what others in the field of medicine had been studying.
Delving into Research & Development, he learned much about the fields of Magical and Mechanical Science, and how they work in tandem with the medicine he was most familiar with to treat conditions he had encountered in his time as a backwater pharmacist. And yet, there was one case study that quickly commanded his full attention.
A young human child, thin and frail, barely able to move in their bed. Speaking to the medic in charge, he learned the little one suffered from a rare genetic condition that was slowly eating away at their body, a severe form of muscular dystrophy. It was unlikely that they had more than a month to live.
It was a familiar sight to the old alchemist. A condition he knew he would be able to treat if he just used the formula he was most infamous for. He promised himself when he was released that he would turn over a new leaf, and part of that was a vow never to make another titan. The plan was always to adhere to that vow, and yet-
“You can save them.”
“No, you can’t.”
“You can. You know what the titan potion can do.”
“You promised yourself you wouldn’t. The boy was right. You’re a fetish freak who can’t be trusted.”
“So the child should just die because you made some mistakes.”
“It’s better than making them your next mistake.”
Observing the peril of a single child’s life, the ex-con had already begun to question himself, his mind and thoughts divided. Perhaps another perspective was what he needed. Someone who could understand this problem, perhaps better than even he himself could.
He opened his communicator and searched for a name. It was a long shot. There was a chance this person would flatly refuse to even meet him, but Volpes knew there was no one better.
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