The long table was cluttered with strange tools and gleaming equipment used for brewing potions. Most of it was unfamiliar to me, except for the beakers, cauldron, and mortar and pestle. There were round-bottomed flasks with long, twisting necks beside a wooden rack that held slender tubes. Farther along the table sat a collection of funny-looking spoons shaped like leaves and boxes full of shimmering powder. I was certain those weren't sugar.

  “These are the most common tools every Brewmaster must have when brewing potions. Other types of Mage are also required to keep them on hand. Because you never know when you’ll need to brew a potion.” Master Orindal reached for the cauldron, which stood at the center of the table like an honored guest.

  “Let’s start with this one. A cauldron.”

  The black metal pot looked almost identical to the one we had used to make the Smoke Bomb, though this one was larger.

  “The cauldron is the most important tool in potion brewing. Not just for Brewmasters, but for all types of Mages,” he explained. “This is where the brewing process takes place. You can use other containers in brewing, but it might affect the potion’s effectiveness. A cauldron, especially a well-crafted one, is made for efficiency.”

  He moved on. “This is a mortar and pestle. They're used to grind and crush herbs, minerals, and other solid magical ingredients into powders or pastes.”

  As the discussion continued, I took mental notes of every word he said. He named each tool, carefully explaining its use: alembics, flasks, beakers, vials, scrolls, and a variety of measuring spoons. The final item he presented was a translucent orb like quartz mounted on a bronze tripod. it had a small brass plate attached to it which likely the spot where a potion drop would be tested.

  “This,” he said, lifting it gently, “is an Alchemic Orb. If a cauldron is for brewing, then this is for gauging a potion’s effectiveness. The orb changes color based on potency. Red means 80 to 85 percent. Green is 86 to 90. Blue is 91 to 95. And bright gold? That’s for 96 to 99 percent of effectiveness.”

  “What if the potion’s effectiveness is lower than 80?” I asked, curious.

  “Murky green,” Orindal replied. “Potions like that are usually rejected by the market. But some people, especially those with limited funds still buy them despite the risks. They often have side effects, if you're unlucky.”

  We finished our lesson just before five in the evening, right on time for the butler to arrive and escort me to dinner.

  “Before you go,” Orindal said, handing me a book, “this contains everything you need to know about the tools we discussed. You should keep it. You never know when you’ll need a reminder.”

  It was bound in green leather with a golden illustration of a flask etched on the cover.

  “Thank you, Master. I’ll treasure this,” I said, bowing to him.

  He nodded. “Also, I won’t be around tomorrow or the day after. By the time I return, I expect you to have a copy of the last two books I assigned before our classes began.”

  He paused, then offered a small smile. “You’ve exceeded my expectations, Morgana. You’re learning at a pace I wouldn’t have believed possible from a beginner. So stop doubting yourself. I promised to teach you to the best of my ability.”

  The compliment caught me off guard. “Thank you,” was all I could manage, but inside, I felt something bloom.

  As I followed the butler back to the manor, a sense of elation lifted me as if I were floating. My eyes drifted to the dark sky where stars hung like scattered jewels. And just like those small and distant, my efforts might seemed minor compared to the sun. But still, no one could deny the stars’ role in making the night beautiful.

  “My efforts have been validated,” I whispered to myself as we stepped inside.

  That invigorating restlessness followed me into the dining hall. My brother, Everard, had to call my name three times before I finally noticed him.

  The next morning, I visited my mother’s office.

  The Duchess’s Office was located in the west wing of the manor. It contrasted starkly with Father's dark, somber study. Hers was bright with walls painted in soft hues. Thin white curtains hung from the windows, allowing warm light to slip through.

  “Good morning, Mother. I came to help with the invitations,” I said with a bow.

  She sat at a round table with her lady-in-waiting.

  “You're right on time. I need help writing letters and designing them.”

  Head Maid Isolde prepared a seat for me.

  A stack of pastel-colored papers was placed nearby. The breeze through the open window carried the scent of lavender and roses. These are scented papers. There was also a basket of pressed flowers sat beside the ribbons, fountain pens, and countless pairs of scissors scattered across the table.

  “Greetings, my lady,” one of the ladies-in-waiting said, smiling warmly.

  I returned her smile.

  “These are the pressed flowers we use for the letters,” Isolde said, handing me the basket.

  A small stack of already written letters rested at the table’s edge. I told Mother I would finish decorating those first before writing new ones of my own.

  The first letter was addressed to House Carmen, a noble family governing several coastal towns in the east of Gildenburg. Their coat of arms bore mostly blue.

  From the basket of flowers, I selected the blue and white ones and began adorning the invitation. Then I reached for a box filled with flat gemstones that were cut like seashells used in wind chimes. I chose green and blue pieces to match the family’s colors. These gemstones were meant for letters, their shimmer subtle yet elegant.

  “My lady, it’s beautiful. I’m sure Lord Carmen will be excited to attend the welcoming party once he sees this,” Isolde said warmly.

  “Thank you, Isolde.”

  I continued working through the letters in the basket, while Mother and the others busied themselves with writing new ones. By midday, the door swung open, revealing Father and my two brothers.

  “Oh, you’re here,” Everard said, raising a brow when he saw me.

  “Master Orindal is going on a trip,” I said. “He’ll be gone for two days.”

  He walked over and picked up one of the decorated letters that I made, examining the gemstones and the flower placements.

  “You’re great at this,” he remarked. “Don’t you think so, Thaddeus?”

  Thaddeus gave a short nod of agreement, though his face remained unreadable.

  Their compliments made me smile, but deep inside, I felt a strange flutter of discomfort. The truth was, I had over four decades of experience designing letters. In the capital, where social maneuvering was an art, there was always something to prepare for, usually, a ball, a banquet or a coronation. Invitations were my battlefield, each one I meticulously crafted I made sure to reflect elegance and power.

  When there were no official events, I hosted tea parties to keep the web of connections spinning. Those gatherings were never just for tea. They were opportunities to observe, to probe, to understand who stood where and why. An empress couldn’t afford to be ornamental. She had to wield High Society in her palms and keep it wrapped around her fingers.

  “Isolde, ask one of the maids to prepare refreshments for everyone,” Mother said.

  Just thinking of that old life left me exhausted. Compared to my life in the Capital, this one was quiet, simple and felt like a blessing. It was truly relaxing because I didn’t need to compete with anyone. I wasn’t on edge, constantly calculating every move. I could finally lower my guard and enjoy the mundane, the ordinary, and the warm hum of peace that came with it. Back then, moments like these were rare and fleeting. Here, they were mine to keep.

  We had lunch together with Mother’s ladies-in-waiting in the small dining hall of the west wing. It was more intimate than the grand dining hall and located just a few rooms away from her office. The space was modest but elegant, with sheer curtains softening the tall windows. Sunlight filtered in, bathing everything in a golden warmth. For the first time in a while, I let myself relax completely.

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  “You look happy.”

  I opened my eyes and gave Everard a small nod, letting the moment speak for itself.

  After lunch, we returned to the invitations. Father and Everard left to attend to their duties, while Thaddeus lingered, sitting on the sofa with a book he pulled from a shelf in the corner.

  By the end of the day, I had designed over thirty letters. My fingers were numb, unfeeling even to my own touch, but the sight of the finished stack filled me with quiet satisfaction. It brought me back to the first time I ever designed a letter. Back then I still found joy in it, until it became just another task on the empress’s endless list.

  By my twentieth year on the throne, it was no longer art. It was expectation.

  I bid Mother farewell and returned to my room. As Lina walked beside me, I turned to her.

  “I want to visit the City Library tomorrow. I need to find some books. Our librarian said I might have better luck there.”

  “Of course, my lady. I’ll prepare the carriage,” she said with a gentle nod.

  “Then I’ll ask Father for permission.”

  The Duke didn’t even glance at me when I asked, merely giving a terse nod. His only condition was that I take Elias and Sebastian with me.

  “Good morning, Lady Morgana,” Elias greeted as he offered his hand to help me into the carriage. His smile was bright and effortless.

  “Sir Elias seems like a polite man,” Lina commented as we began the journey.

  I glanced at her. Her tone was casual, but her eyes lingered too long. I couldn’t help comparing the two knights. Elias carried a brightness about him. His dark-blonde hair and medium build gave him the appearance of a storybook prince, the kind young girls dreamed of. It was easy to see why Lina behaved the way she did around him.

  Sebastian, in contrast, was all stone and steel. Tall, broad-shouldered, with short black hair and a white scar that curved beneath his left eye and down his cheek. He never tried to hide it, never seemed conscious of it. He moved with the calm, grounded presence of someone who had nothing to prove.

  They were like the two sides of a coin, one was a polished courtier, the other a weathered sentinel.

  “Do you like him?” I asked quietly, a teasing note in my voice.

  Lina blushed furiously. “Of course not, my lady! The servants just talk about him a lot. I couldn’t help but be curious.”

  I hummed, amused. Her eyes widened at my response, her cheeks burning even more.

  “It’s true,” she insisted. “Sir Elias seems like… a womanizer. I don’t know if that’s just how he comes across to me.”

  “You might be right. Or maybe he’s just that kind. Sometimes, we mistake kindness for something else. It's easy to assume the worst, especially when we don't understand someone’s intent.”

  Lina let out a soft sigh. The rest of the carriage ride passed in silence, but it wasn’t the awkward kind I had grown so used to in my previous life. It was gentle. Companionable. The kind of silence that calms rather than stiffens. The kind that makes you feel, even if just for a moment.

  The carriage entered a wide courtyard through a stone archway. Tall trees formed a natural canopy overhead, their leaves rustling in the breeze. Stone benches and tables surrounded them. Several tables were already occupied by people absorbed in their books.

  We stopped in front of the library, but we had to climb a long flight of stone stairs to reach the main entrance. At the top, two guards in dark-green uniforms stood watch. They bowed slightly as we approached.

  “Greetings, good sirs. Can you show me to the librarian?”

  “Of course, my lady. Please follow me.” One of the guards led us inside and gestured to a long table where a woman was working, surrounded by open scrolls and records. “Miss Neria, this is Lady Morgana, daughter of Duke Goldhain. She’s asking for a librarian.”

  The woman looked up, startled. She appeared to be in her thirties, with light brown hair tied into neat braids.

  “Greetings, my lady. How may I be of service?”

  I handed her a folded piece of paper. “I’m looking for these books.”

  She unfolded it and scanned the list. Her eyes widened.

  “Forgive my surprise, my lady, but it’s quite rare for noblewomen to seek out these books.”

  I smiled, recalling my own confusion when I first saw the list. “My master is teaching me about the Golden Runes. He included that title as part of my studies.”

  Her expression softened with understanding. “Ah. Master Orindal is certainly a remarkable teacher.”

  Her praise stirred a quiet pride in me. Being his student, even for a short while, already felt like a privilege.

  “I’ll request assistance in retrieving the books. It may take a little time. Please, feel free to explore the Gildenspire Library.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lina turned to me. “Since we’re already here, why don’t we look around, my lady?”

  I glanced at the towering shelves and sunlit alcoves. “That’s a great idea. Let’s go.”

  The centerpiece of the library was a vast glass dome that arched overhead, flooding the space with warm light. My gaze followed the sunlight down to the floor and there, directly beneath the dome, stood a tree.

  Its thick branches reached upward, bathed in golden rays. The light caught the ridges of its bark and the trembling edges of its leaves, giving it an almost divine presence. We walked around it slowly until we found a marble plaque nestled among the roots.

  This tree, known as the Foundation Tree, was believed to be the very tree gifted to the first Head of House Goldhain. King Alaric bestowed it upon the citizens of Goldhain as a symbol of loyalty and enduring allegiance.

  An oak tree as a royal gift. I wondered why he chose it specifically. Perhaps Master Orindal would know.

  We spent the next thirty minutes exploring. There was a section dedicated to magical artifacts, ancient texts, and old armor designs. But what captivated me most were the displays of leaves, petals, and roots, each preserved behind glass. Notes beneath them detailed their uses for curing ailments, boosting healing, and strengthening the body.

  By the time we returned, Elias was already holding the book. It had been wrapped carefully in brown paper, sealed with a crimson ribbon.

  I thanked the librarian before we returned to our carriage

  Once back, I made my way to Mother’s office and offered to help her write the invitations. I spent the rest of the day at her side, scribing carefully, our quiet work broken only by the occasional exchange of ideas.

  The next morning, I handed the two books to Master Orindal. In return, he gave me the fourth book in my study.

  The Flow Within: A Guide to Mana

  “The root of all power had originated from mana. So it is imperative for you to learn about it,” he said. “Think of mana like gas for a lamp. Without gas, what happens?”

  “No light shall be made,” I answered.

  “Indeed.” He gave a satisfied nod. “That’s why this book matters.”

  It had ten chapters. The first described mana’s origin, tracing its existence back to a time before even Voren became the Eldar of Cultivation.

  I found myself particularly drawn to the chapter on developing mana flow. Just like mages, Brewmasters also consumed mana when crafting potions. While Enchanted Scrolls could now bypass this, using one’s own mana significantly enhanced the potion’s quality.

  The book was shorter than my previous readings, and I finished it quickly. Master Orindal wasn’t around when I finished, so I left without saying goodbye. As I closed the final page, a sudden shift pulsed through me.

  I decided to make my choice later. I wanted to reflect more on which path aligned with the kind of mage I wanted to become.

  After dinner, I reviewed my notes. In chapter ten, the author outlined exercises to strengthen mana flow. I decided to try them that evening, and again in the morning.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I followed the instructions. With Mana Affinity, I could now sense mana in the air and within me more clearly. I shaped it into a small orb of light before me. Slowly, steadily, it grew brighter as I poured more of myself into it.

  Then, I drew it back into my body, gathering some of the ambient mana around me along the way. As it entered, pain spiked through my chest. The book warned me of this. Foreign mana triggered pain because the body reject it. The only way to lessen the pain was to blend it with my own mana to trick the body into believing it was part of my own.

  I repeated the exercise ten more times. By the end, sweat coated my skin and my breathing had grown shallow. A sharp ache pressed against my ribs. I stopped, my body trembling.

  The next morning, I tried again. On the fifth set, something shimmered before me.

  May 7 (Wednesday)