Professor Squant unfolded the list and counted again. Seventeen experts had told them it couldn't be done. Seventeen, and every single one had studied under the same teacher — someone called the Founder, who was apparently still alive but had sealed themselves in chrysalis thirty years ago. No one knew why. No one knew when the Founder would emerge. But if anyone could help Squant reverse what metamorphosis had done, it would be the person who had taught everyone else that such things were impossible. Squant tucked the list back into their notebook and flew toward the place everyone had mentioned but no one had visited in years. The building sat at the edge of a clearing, shaped like a giant peapod with round green walls and oval windows that caught the afternoon light. Inside, according to the last expert Squant had spoken to, the Founder's chrysalis hung from the center beam. No guards. No students. Just silence and waiting. The door wasn't locked. Squant pushed it open with one wing and stepped inside, their feet clicking against the wooden floor. The chrysalis hung exactly where they'd been told it would be — pale and smooth, suspended by silk threads that looked older than Squant's entire search. They pulled out their notebook and opened to a fresh page, the one after all seventeen dismissals. This was different. This wasn't another expert saying no. This was the source. Squant wrote the date at the top of the page and began a new list. Things to try while waiting for the Founder to emerge. Underground alchemists who might know the Founder's work. Questions to ask when the chrysalis finally opened. The notebook felt heavier now, not with rejections but with something close to direction. For the first time since their metamorphosis, Squant wasn't chasing someone who would say no. They were simply here, in the same room as the only answer that mattered, willing to wait as long as it took.

Squant had been sitting in the building for three hours when the chrysalis moved. Not the gentle sway from air currents they'd seen before, but a twitch. A ripple across the pale surface that started at the top and spread downward like something inside was pressing against the walls. Squant's wings went still. The Founder wasn't supposed to emerge for years, maybe decades. Everyone had said so. The chrysalis split at the seam. Not a clean opening but a jagged tear that spread in both directions, and the surface began to darken in patches like something was baking from the inside out. Squant stood up, notebook sliding from their lap. Beside it on the floor was the small knitted hat they'd worn as a caterpillar, brought along as a reminder of what they were trying to return to. The hat looked impossibly tiny now. The chrysalis shuddered again, harder this time, and a smell like burnt sugar filled the room. This wasn't emergence. This was something going wrong. Squant had two choices. Leave now and lose the only person who might help them, or stay and face whatever came out. They picked up the hat and tucked it into their notebook, then moved closer to the chrysalis. Not because they were brave, but because running would mean starting over. Seventeen more experts. Seventeen more dismissals. The list would just keep growing. They planted their feet and waited, watching the cracks spread wider across the pale surface. The chrysalis stopped moving. The room went quiet except for Squant's breathing and the faint creak of silk threads overhead. Then a voice came from inside, muffled but clear enough to understand. "Is someone there?" Squant's antennae lifted. The Founder was awake. Not emerging, not transforming correctly, but conscious and aware. Squant opened their notebook to a blank page, the one they'd been saving for questions, and wrote down the first words the Founder had spoken in thirty years. Then they answered. "Yes. I'm here. And I'm not leaving."

The voice from inside the chrysalis went quiet. Squant waited, notebook open, pen ready to write down whatever came next. Minutes passed. The burnt sugar smell faded, replaced by something else. Something green and fresh, like split pods. The chrysalis shifted again, and this time the tear widened enough for Squant to see inside. Not a transforming body. Not the Founder at all. Just green pods packed tight against each other, spilling out through the opening. Edamame. Normal edamame beans, roasted and salted, tumbling across the floor in a heap. Squant stared at them. The chrysalis wasn't a chrysalis. It had never been a chrysalis. Someone had filled a pod-shaped shell with beans and sealed it shut, and Squant had waited three hours in an abandoned building for vegetables. They picked up their notebook and walked out without looking back. The tavern sat at the edge of the forest, windows glowing warm against the dark trees. Squant pushed through the door and found a corner table where no one would ask questions. They ordered nothing, just sat with their notebook open to the page where they'd written the Founder's first words. Except those hadn't been the Founder's words. Someone else had been in that building, hiding or playing a joke, and Squant had mistaken their voice for hope. They turned to a new page and wrote down what had actually happened, the way they always did. Not because it felt good, but because being thorough was the only thing they still knew how to do. Outside the tavern, a pavilion stood with benches arranged in a circle and a hand-painted sign that read Support Group. Squant walked past it twice before stopping. They weren't looking for support. They were looking for alchemists who worked outside natural law, people who didn't care about what was supposed to be possible. But the pavilion had a bulletin board, and on that board were names. Contact information. People who had tried to reverse their own transformations and failed. People who might know someone who hadn't failed yet. Squant copied down four names into their notebook, then added a note at the bottom: The Founder does not exist. Restart the search. They closed the notebook and left the pavilion behind, carrying the edamame beans in their bag as a reminder to check first next time.