S C I E N T I A • A E R E
P E R E N N I U S
P E R E N N I U S
Ash 6, 121 Age of Steel
Though Anton had committed himself to attending the College of Sciences, putting out of his mind other paths in life that would require him to be someone he was not or compromise his own sense what was right and wrong, such a decision was easier made than acted upon. Despite his wealth, both in terms of money and knowledge, and years of tutoring, he had done little to justify his entry to such an august institution. The Greater Institute of Zaichaer did not accept anyone willing to learn to its highest halls, reserving such for those who had already proven themselves as keen scientific minds. While it was tempting to perform a truly original experiment and make a discovery in his own right, the fact of the matter was that he simply did not have the time if he wished to attend classes in Ash.
After he had finished entertaining Amelia and sent his little sister on her way, the would be scientist spent the remainder of his day scouring his family's library, pouring through the tomes of chemical treatises that he had slowly collected. His father had proven surprisingly willing to indulge in such endeavors, especially on any matters concerning combustion and lift. The development of lighter than air frames had become foundational to a particularly puritanical strain of Zaichaeri engineers who despised the notion of using magical means to keep the city's airship fleet aloft, and the notion that his son might one day assist in such construction was a suitably grand fate as far as General Michaelis was concerned. More eager chemists had even proposed that one day an alternative to caster shells might be discovered, and while that was still nothing more than a dream, it was one that the top minds within the City of Brass dearly hoped to one day fulfill. As such, Anton had all matter of practical texts on the creation and storage of gases both inert and volatile, not mere instructional texts but rather descriptions of experimental methodology.
These were valuable beyond comprehension for what the lordling had intended to achieve, a sort of science that though quiet and understated was nonetheless the fundamental underpinning of the entire discipline. He would attempt to recreate a suitably complex experiment, perform his own analysis upon the data gathered, and submit his methods and results along with the rest of his application packet to the Institute. Choosing which one was itself rather easy, and as the young man worked through his library it was in search of a specific publication. The production and isolation of elemental hydrogen was critical to the military and economic needs of the city, all Zaichaer dependent upon the wondrously light gas. While more modern, and industrial, practices had been developed for the mass manufacture of the element, Anton did not select any of them. Instead, he made to read an extremely old folio written in Kathalan, its script archaic even by the standards of the State's increasingly Imperial influenced standards.
It was far from the first experiment that had successfully isolated hydrogen, but it was by far the most famous, the first that had correctly identified it for what it actually was - a foundational element not just of air, but of creation itself. It was an experiment that had started a revolution in scientific thought that had propelled both the Imperium and the states in its orbit beyond reliance upon magic. The fact that Anton required magic to read it filled him with a certain grim humor, but he had little time for such idle thoughts. Setting himself down to read the tome, his consciousness brushed against the other stuff of creation, the undeniably magical firmament that underpinned existence just as surely as hydrogen did.
All things had auras, living and nonliving, natural and artificial, and the written word was no different. To say that he read was wrong however, and he was quite unable to provide a word for word recitation for any but the most emotional of texts, for he did not perceive the words. Semblance instead granted him the ability to discern the idea behind the word, which was far from the same thing. A stately orchestra began to perform as soon as he opened the first page, the well ordered lines and concepts embedded within them blossoming within his mind as shades of meaning, raw concepts, and sudden images. The process itself was simple, and the reagents required commercially available, but it would take patience and discipline to properly recreate the steps outlined.
The cold kiss of iron, its high pitched ringing tone sounding in his mind as he read the notes, was the first and most least volatile of what he required for the experiment. The inert metal, placed inside of a glass container, would provide the fuel for the reaction which, assuming he did everything else correctly, would produce hydrogen. The active component was far more difficult to work with, the subtle and threatening notes of an acid filling his senses as he continued to read, his shortcomings here proving more problematic than usual. Loathe to ask for assistance so soon he instead focused further, playing the notes over and over in his mind. At last, the scent of sulfur was forced upon him, and with it understanding of what he required. A dilution of sulfuric acid, poured upon the metal, would create the desired reaction. Both would need to be contained within a sealed glass container for safety and to capture the resultant gas, but that was only the simplest expression of the chemistry involved.
Entry into the city's finest academy of science would require far more than that, especially considering he was planning a reproduction instead of his own original work. Fortunately, the folio continued on how to best separate the gas from the metal and acidic residue and eventually place them in their own containers. The beaker in which the metal and acid were placed was to be sealed by a glass tube formed into a series of bends at four ninety degree angles, a filter placed after the first bend to sieve out any light detritus to ensure the pure gas flowed from there. Eventually, it would reach the bottom of yet another container with a closed top sitting upon a bed of coals, the heat radiating from them exciting the hydrogen towards the top of the second beaker. Finally, the second container could be removed from the tube and its bottom sealed by an insert, ensuring none of the now fully separated gas could escape. With these in place, the isolated hydrogen could be used and studied as desired, and the residue freely disposed of after any lingering reactivity finished and the acid had consumed itself.
So eagerly had Zaichaer thrown itself into the study of science and the process of industry, that all he required could be purchased from local chemists, a far sight easier than what the original experimenter had to go through. Focusing his arcane sight, he drew forth pen and paper and began to prepare a shopping list for his servants to acquire for him the next morning, the blind man's flowing script long adjusted to by the household staff. He wrote with a free hand, heedless of any rule upon the page, pouring his intent out in flowing ink instead of caring about the shape and size of specific letters or where they began and ended. The glassware could not be trusted to such imprecise instructions however, Anton instead sketching out the shapes with painstaking care. At length, he was finally satisfied that everything he required would be ready for him soon and he threw down his pen at the same time he shut off his sight.
Exhaustion was beginning to seep into his bones, consistent usage of his aether having taken its toll. Not only had he used it at length to read the entire folio and write out his instructions, he had to pay the additional price of examining in fine detail. A brief overview of an aura was something he could acquire at a spectral glance, but to determine specifics was far harder. Doing so upon the far faint aura of writing was far more difficult, the mage having to filter out the faded ink's song from that of the paper from that of the table from that of the room. A mental toll had been taken as well, the interpretation of the nonstandard senses far more taxing upon his mind than if he were simply able to read. But fate had decreed that such was his lot, and he continued to endeavor to defy it. For the moment however, it was time for sleep, even with the sun still in the sky. He would miss dinner, but a whispered word and a passed note to his servants would handle any disappointment from his parents. Such would be a small price to pay in his father's mind for his son to finally begin making a name for himself for positive reasons.