Master Orindal prepared the potion-making tools on the table. There were two workspaces: the larger table held the majority of the equipment. The flasks were grouped with other glassware while metal tools and spoons were neatly arranged by sizes.

  The smaller table was simpler, with only a tripod, a single cauldron at its center, and a large burner underneath.

  “Open your book to the page for Basic Healing Potion,” he instructed.

  Once I found it, I set the book onto the wooden stand beside the workstation.

  “Okay, let’s start,” Master Orindal said, reciting the first instruction.

  I filled the cauldron halfway with water, enough to boil the Elvenroots until they softened.

  There were two methods for crafting a Basic Healing Potion. The first involved steeping or boiling all the ingredients together to extract their essence. The second was the paste method, which required grinding each ingredient into a paste before combining them in the cauldron.

  For my first attempt, I chose the paste method.

  I lit the burner, then filled the pot halfway with water. For the next step, I need to select the best mortar and pestle.

  At the larger table stood three mortar and pestle sets each of it was made of different material. There was a granite set, a porcelain set, and the last, a wooden set My Skill nudged me toward the porcelain set.

  Porcelain worked best for wet herbs. It preserved their texture and made it easier to grind them into a smooth paste. Another reason is that I have very limited time, and using the granite or wooden one might take up more of it since I'd need to clean them before moving on to the next ingredient.

  “Wash it first and use this cloth to wipe off the excess water,” Master Orindal said, handing me a dark-colored cloth.

  I pulled the Aetherleaf from my Everpouch and teared the leaves into small pieces. Once I had about five pieces of shredded leaves, I placed a handful into the mortar.

  Green juice seeped out with every pound of the pestle. I ground them along the inner walls until the leaves softened into a thick, slimy paste.

  I worked in cycles, continuously adding more of the shredded leaves and a drop of water now and then which I fetched with my fingertips. My Skill, Basic Potion Crafting, suggested that a few drops of water would help achieve the ideal consistency I'm aiming for.

  Master Orindal checked my work, nodding as he rubbed the mixture between his fingers.

  Using a metal spoon, I scooped the finished paste into a small porcelain bowl.

  “Now, next the flowers,” I murmured, reaching into my pouch for the Aetherleaf's flower petals.

  The soft-violet petals darkened as I crushed them. Their color bled into the mortar as I ground them steadily. Eventually, I scraped the deep violet paste into a clean bowl.

  I leaned closer, my nose hovering just above the rim of the bowl.

  A faint sweetness lingered in the paste. It reminded me of flowers basking in the sun and of open fields and crushed grass.

  “It smells nice, doesn’t it?”

  I jolted and turned to him, my face flushing with embarrassment.

  “Y-yes,” I stammered, silently scolding myself for losing focus.

  “They’re sometimes mixed with oils to make fragrances,” he added.

  Once I finished the flower paste, I moved on to Mender’s Bloom.

  I needed five of them to brew a batch of four small vials.

  I started with a single petal, crushing it carefully. The pestle made a soft, rhythmic sound like a crooked clock ticking. I added more petals, grinding them into a vivid, blood-red paste.

  Its smell was stranger than the others. It was earthy, but with a sharp, metallic smell.

  By the time I was done with the three ingredients, my arms ached. I had never crushed anything in my life before today. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and moved on to wash the Elvenroots.

  Despite the soreness in my arms, I felt a quiet satisfaction seeing the small wooden bowls lined up on the table, each containing something I had made with my own hands. Achievements, no matter how small, are meant to be celebrated.

  Floating runes shimmered before my eyes. I read through the description, intrigued.

  “I gained a new skill,” I said, glancing at Master Orindal.

  “What skill?”

  “Steadfast Body. It increases Strength.”

  “A good one. As the Runes mentioned, Strength helps with stamina and exhaustion. Useful for someone working with mortar and pestle all day.”

  Steam rose from the cauldron. I tossed the Elvenroots inside and covered it with a lid.

  “Elvenroot is the last ingredient I need to prepare.”

  “It’ll take about ten to fifteen minutes. How about I make us some refreshments?”

  “I won’t say no to that.” I replied

  He returned with a plate of cookies and two glasses of iced lemonade. We ate quietly, listening to the bubbling water and the occasional crackle from the burner.

  “I think it’s done,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his hands.

  Following his instructions, I scooped out the softened Elvenroots and let them cool in a wooden bowl before peeling the skins.

  They weren’t appetizing. Unlike sweet potatoes, which made my mouth water just thinking about them, Elvenroots looked plain and fibrous. I made a mental note to treat myself to grilled potatoes soon.

  Once peeled, I diced them and placed them into the mortar. Bit by bit, I ground them into a paste, slowly turning turning into a pale white-brown paste with no discernible scent.

  I wiped my brow again.

  On the table sat four wooden bowls, each filled with a carefully prepared paste. My first potion ingredients and now I'm ready for the next step.

  “Is the paste method the best way to make potions?” I asked, genuinely curious.

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  “Not always. But most basic ingredients are better as paste, but higher-grade ones are usually steeped like tea leaves. In this case, paste improves the potion’s effectiveness.” He stepped forward, poking one of the bowls with a wooden stick. “Another reason we turn them into a past is for viscosity. Before Basic Healing Potion and other potions, our ancestors used honey for healing. When potions are introduced, people disliked them for their thin and watery texture. They didn’t trust it and called it ineffective. So, mages made potions thicker to resemble honey something.”

  “That’s a clever way to sell your product,” I mused.

  He laughed. “Indeed. But beyond sales, we wanted to change how people lived and make healing more accessible.”

  I offered a small smile in response.

  I washed the cauldron clean and added two cups of Spring Water for the final brewing. Before I could begin, I needed to burn an Enchanted Scroll of Potion Crafting.

  From the corner of the table, three Enchanted Scrolls waited.

  “One of these days, I’ll teach you how to cast your own Magic Circle. You can’t keep using Enchanted Scrolls every time you make a potion. Just put it above the cauldron and burn it. That’ll cast the spell written on it.”

  “I already know how to use one.”

  He nodded. “Where did you learn?”

  “Remember how I told you I got kicked out of school? My friend and I made a smoke bomb and threw it during an assembly.”

  “I am speechless,” he said in the most emotionless tone imaginable.

  I barely resisted the urge to laugh.

  I held the scroll above the cauldron and lit its edges. It caught fire immediately, consumed by golden flames. Though the fire curled toward my hands, I felt no heat. The scroll vanished in an instant, and in its place, a softly glowing red magic circle formed beneath the cauldron, layered in intricate shapes and letters.

  “Each scroll lasts about an hour,” he continued. “High-grade ones can last longer. Like I said earlier, you’ll need these while you're still starting out, but soon, you’ll be making your own circles… You have one hour to finish the potion.”

  I nodded and waited for the steam to rise from the cauldron before getting to work. Using a small spoon, I scooped the clear-white paste of Aetherleaf and added it in. I stirred with a glass rod for the next five minutes, just as the book instructed or at least until the mixture turned viscous.

  Next, I reached for the Aetherleaf flower paste. A sweet, faint scent mingled with the rising steam as it folded into the liquid.

  Then came the red paste of Mender’s Bloom. My hands trembled as I scooped the last of it from the wooden bowl. As soon as it touched the mixture, I gasped. The potion turned a deep, vibrant red.

  Finally, I added the Elvenroot paste. This step required constant stirring for ten minutes to keep the mixture from burning. With every motion, the potion thickened into a syrupy consistency. Its once-blood-red color softened, fading into a lighter hue.

  Master Orindal peered into the cauldron and gave a single approving nod.

  I let the potion cool, then carefully transferred it into a beaker.

  “There’s still some left,” he said, reaching into the cauldron to scoop the remnants. “You must never waste what you've made.”

  I nodded, silently committing the lesson to memory.

  “You can put it in glass bottles now,” he said, motioning to a cluster of empty ones on the side table.

  Master Orindal demonstrated the process. He placed a funnel at the neck of each bottle, then slowly scooped in the potion, leaving just enough space at the top for the cork.

  “Your turn.”

  He handed me the funnel and the spoon. I mimicked his steps, careful and slow. Once the beaker was empty, I ended up with four bottles of Basic Healing Potion.

  A soft chime echoed in my mind.

  My Basic Potion Crafting skill advanced to fourth rank. And I also reached level 7 in my class.

  Master Orindal took the bottles in his hands, inspected them with a proud smile, and passed them back to me.

  “Congratulations. This is your first potion.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  He frowned. “Can you... not call me that? ‘Master Orindal’ doesn’t sit well with me. My previous apprentices just used my name, and I’d prefer if you did the same.”

  My eyes widened. I nodded. “I’ll try… next time.”

  “You did a good job today.”

  The awkwardness and fatigue I’d carried into the room lifted, replaced by a quiet satisfaction. His words didn’t just acknowledge my effort, he validated it. And that… meant something.

  I smiled, returning his sentiment.

  He walked to the table and picked up the Alchemic Orb. “Now, we must test the potion’s effectiveness.”

  A lump formed in my throat.

  I knew better than to expect perfection on the first try, but some stubborn part of me still hoped for a 90% effectiveness or higher. I always wanted results that exceeded expectations. Always.

  Still, I breathed through the tension. Even if this didn’t meet my hopes, I could always try again. I reminded myself of that as Orindal opened one of the bottles.

  There would always be time. Time to improve. Time to perfect. Time to reach the version of success I held in my mind.

  He poured a small amount of the potion onto a brass plate in front of the orb. The Alchemic Orb flickered with white light, then turned a swirling red. At its center, a number materialized.

  ‘81%’

  A heavy sigh escaped me.

  Red light meant an effectiveness between 80 and 85%. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than good enough. Potions at that level could be sold on the market.

  “You did better than I expected. Most Brewmasters don’t reach this level of effectiveness on their first try,” he said with a smile, handing me the bottle. “You’ve done great. We can raise your potion’s strength by repeating the process or exploring alternative methods in the book. You might also experiment with adding new ingredients. In theory, four or five are better than the standard three.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without your guidance.” I bowed.

  “What I did was teach you books. You should credit your success to your dedication and effort to learn… without that, you wouldn’t have lasted this far.”

  Soon the butler arrived. I placed the potion in my Everpouch and bid farewell to my teacher. By the time we reached my room, Lina was already there, waiting.

  She was sent by Mother.

  “The Duchess invited you to dine with them.”

  She looked like she wanted to say more, but I pushed the door open before she could finish.

  I stopped short. A mop of blonde hair caught my attention, Thaddeus was sitting near the window, his red eyes fixed on a book in his lap.

  I cleared my throat to get his attention.

  “Thaddeus, may I ask the reason for this sudden visit?”

  He stood, blinking as though I had intruded on him.

  “Greetings, Morgana. I was thinking of visiting you. But she said you weren’t here, so I decided to wait.”

  I nodded slowly. Thaddeus wasn’t the type to take initiative. He was always independent, quiet, and far more observant than other boys his age. As I looked at him now, I couldn’t help but remember the day of our parents' funeral and the way he pushed me away when I reached out for him. The glare in his eyes had frozen me in place.

  He was…

  I stopped myself. That memory didn’t belong here.

  Instead, I offered a small smile and walked over to the cabinet, placing my Everpouch inside.

  “Do you need something from me? Can we talk after dinner? Mother asked that we attend.”

  Thaddeus adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Of course.”

  As soon as he left, Lina helped me change into a green dress. We dined in the hall in silence. When the plates were cleared, Mother reminded us of tomorrow’s duty of welcoming the guests for Thaddeus and Everard’s welcoming party

  “Yes, Mother. I’ll make sure to dress my best tomorrow.”

  I excused myself afterward and returned to my room, my limbs aching with fatigue at the sight of my bed. But just as I was about to collapse onto the mattress, I heard my name.

  Thaddeus.

  I nearly forgot I had promised to speak with him after dinner.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said as he approached.

  I nodded, waiting.

  “Do you really mean to follow your Golden Runes and become a Brewmaster?”

  His question brought me back to the story Orindal told me. It was about the Old Witch who inspired him to become a mage. I remembered his words: You don’t owe anyone an explanation. But this was Thaddeus. My brother. The boy I still cared for, even if that love wasn’t always returned.

  “Yes,” I said quietly. “This is what I truly want.”

  Thaddeus tilted his head, parting his lips as if to say something but the words never came.

  “Why don’t you join me for a lesson sometime?” I offered. “I’m sure Master Orindal wouldn’t mind.”

  He was silent for a moment. “When is your next lesson?”

  “I might not be able to attend tomorrow. I have to help Mother welcome our relatives. But if I’m dismissed early, I’ll visit the Mage’s Tavern.”

  “Tell me when you go,” he said, voice steady.

  At my door, I wished him goodnight. As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but wonder about his sudden interest? What had stirred his curiosity?

  I couldn’t explain to him how deeply I enjoyed what I was doing now. Words would never be enough. Maybe it was better to show him. Let him see what this meant to me.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, recalling the way my heart had pounded while waiting for the potion’s result. That moment still lingered in my mind.

  After changing into my nightclothes, I performed my usual mana exercises and decided to test two of my potions further.

  At the university, I had already experimented with my Innate Art, Essence of the Cask.

  “I’ve already tried the Medium Brew, which lasts for six hours,” I murmured, remembering the thick, towering black smoke that once blanketed the assembly hall. “It was effective.”

  Tonight, I wanted to try something more advanced which was the Matured Brew and the Aged Brew, each lasting over a day.

  I placed one potion in a container and adjusted its fermentation to Matured Brew. The other, I set to Aged Brew.

  The next morning, Lina helped me prepare. I chose a dark blue and white dress, layered in alternating fabrics. The skirt fanned wide with delicate sapphire adornments stitched into its folds. Around my neck, I wore a gold choker necklace with sapphires embedded in it. The largest gem hung in the center pendant, catching the morning light just so.

  It highlighted my hair and eyes perfectly.

  Lina applied my makeup with gentle care, and by the time we finished, the hour had just passed eight.

  We found Mother in the receiving room, lounging on one of the sofas.

  “Good morning, Mother,” I greeted.

  She looked me over from head to toe before nodding in return. I sat across from her, scanning the room for something to occupy my attention. But as the silence stretched, unease crept in. I wished for the guests to arrive or anything to break this quiet tension.

  Soon, the butler and head maid entered, followed by two other maids. They bowed in unison and took their places by the wall.

  Time passed slowly.

  Nearly an hour later, the first guest arrived. The butler stepped forward to announce them, but the stiffness in his posture and the tightness around his eyes warned me of what was to come.

  He clearly disliked this guest.

  I sighed inwardly. Dealing with difficult relatives first thing in the morning was not how I wanted to begin the day.

  “Your Grace, Count Eisenwacht is here to greet you.”

  I flinched.

  Count Eisenwacht. My grandfather.

  Mother and I stood to welcome him. Behind him, the rest of House Eisenwacht followed, their gazes fixed sharply on me.