Transmutation is the Art of Alteration. It is the discipline that reshapes what already exists, altering its form, its nature, or its essence.

The transmuter may turn lead to gold, a blade to dust, a child into stone, or a cripple into a runner. He may lighten a feather to drift like air, or weigh it until it falls like iron. He may breathe life into wood or render flesh as lifeless as clay.

Unlike Alchemy, which requires matter as reagent and process, Transmutation works directly through the Weave. Its workings are immediate, rewriting the patterns of existence without intermediary. Thus, it is at once more versatile and more perilous than its cousin discipline.

Historically, Transmutation was both revered and feared in equal measure. In the time of Reyumi I, it was used to rebuild cities, reshape ruined landscapes, and heal the scars of war. Yet the same art, wielded without restraint, birthed horrors: soldiers transmuted into beasts of war, rivers reversed in their course, entire villages petrified as monuments to tyrants’ whims.

Thus, Transmutation is the most wondrous of the Nine — and the most destabilizing.

The purpose of Transmutation is adaptation. It is the discipline by which the world may be reshaped to meet mortal need.

• In Survival: A wasteland may be made fertile, a poisoned well made pure.

• In War: Weapons may be shattered, armor dissolved, armies transformed.

• In Knowledge: The unseen principles of matter are revealed, showing how all things are linked.

• In Faith: Priests use it as proof of divine sovereignty — for if mortals may reshape flesh and stone, how much greater must be the gods who shaped mortals themselves?

Thus, Transmutation reveals the truth that nothing is immutable. But in that revelation lies its greatest danger, for if all things may be changed, then what meaning has identity?

No Path strains so hard against the Nine Laws as Transmutation:

• Balance: To make one thing greater diminishes another. A field enriched too swiftly collapses in the next season, having spent itself. A soldier granted strength one day collapses the next, his body overtaxed.

• Conservation: Substance is not conjured; it is reshaped. Gold drawn from lead still carries the essence of base metal, and in time will tarnish. Nothing is gained without something lost.

• Limitations: All changes strain to return to their nature. A feather made of steel may cut, but it rusts as all steel must. A man made of stone may endure, but cannot breathe. No transmutation is truly free from flaw.

• Reflection: The transmuter himself becomes mutable. His body changes subtly with every spell: hair shifting hue, flesh bearing patches of strange texture, eyes reflecting light unnaturally. In time, many transmuters lose all sense of their original form, their identities unraveling in the flux they wield.

Thus, the Codex proclaims that Transmutation is the Path most likely to consume the caster not with fire or shadow, but with doubt of self.

The dangers of this Path are not only material, but existential:

• Unraveling of Identity: Many who walk this Path forget who they are. They change so often, in flesh or in thought, that no original self remains.

• Instability of Matter: Alterations decay. What was made gold crumbles to dust, what was made strong collapses to weakness. Whole kingdoms have fallen when their crops or cities, transmuted beyond nature, collapsed all at once.

• Monstrosities of War: In history, lords have demanded their transmuters craft beasts of war from men and beasts alike. These chimeras are short-lived, agonized, and often rebel — leaving ruin in their wake.

• Temptation of Perfection: Perhaps greatest of all dangers is the dream of eternal change. Many seek to perfect themselves — bodies without flaw, minds without weakness. Yet perfection is endless hunger, and those who pursue it vanish, becoming neither man nor god, but something formless and lost.

Thus, the Codex warns: Transmutation is the most subtle tyranny, for it enslaves not by chains, but by promise.

The transmuter is both savior and heretic.

• In Courts: He rebuilds what is broken, enriches coffers, creates wonders. Yet kings fear him, for what is a crown if gold may be made at whim?

• In Academies: He is philosopher, his studies at the boundary of science and sorcery. Yet peers mistrust him, for his research challenges the very idea of natural law.

• In War: He is a terror, for he can unmake an enemy’s sword or body in an instant. Yet generals fear his touch, for allies may be undone as swiftly as foes.

• In Faith: Priests are divided. Some see Transmutation as blasphemy, trespassing upon divine creation. Others see it as proof of the gods’ intent — that mortals should learn, reshape, and aspire.

Thus, the transmuter stands at the edge of wonder and horror, both craftsman and destroyer, both healer and tyrant.

"Thus is the Path of Transmutation, ninth and last among the Nine. It is the art of change, of unmaking and remaking, of flux eternal. It offers wonder but threatens ruin; it promises freedom but devours identity. Let the transmuter remember always: all things may change, but not all changes may endure. He who forgets this shall find himself no longer man, but nothing at all — a shifting shadow lost upon the river of the Weave."