The sun slid softly across the rooftops of the northeastern wing of Lasthold—the enclosed district where the noble families resided. Massive manor houses stood close to one another, forming an entire miniature city immersed in stone, glass, and the glow of enchanted lanterns.

  At the gates crowned with the crest of the Vengeful Thunder Family stood two Silver Mages, keeping watch over the grounds. Their cloaks swayed lightly in the wind, but their faces remained emotionless.

  Beyond the gates, amid carefully trimmed gardens and mirrorlike ponds, rose the family’s main estate—a grim yet majestic structure built from blackwood and cobalt tiles. Its walls breathed ancient magic, and every beam seemed to hold the echoes of generations.

  In one of the upper halls, where the ceiling vanished into shadow and the air smelled of tobacco and old books, a conversation was taking place—one in which every word carried weight.

  On a carved chair of dark ashwood upholstered in blue velvet sat Elder Zeiran—the true head of the Vengeful Thunder Family and one of the three most powerful mages in Lasthold. Weariness lurked in his eyes, but behind it hid the cold mind of a predator. He slowly exhaled coils of green smoke from a long pipe, studying Aiden, who was kneeling before him.

  Zeiran’s expression was grim, almost irritated, yet at the corners of his lips hid a foxlike smirk—the kind that surfaced only when the old man sensed an advantage.

  Aiden spoke evenly, without a hint of fear, concluding his report:

  “In short, I managed to turn the situation to our benefit. Please refrain from punishing Draxion further. Rest assured, Grandfather—I didn’t hold back.”

  He bowed his head a bit lower and fell silent.

  Zeiran snorted, exhaling a dense cloud of smoke that spread through the room like a heavy green haze. For several seconds he remained silent, staring past his grandson, and then murmured hoarsely:

  “The family’s future is in reliable hands…”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly, a spark of approval flickering within them, and added in a businesslike tone:

  “If possible, find out how we might tempt that boy.”

  Aiden lifted his gaze—cautiously, but with genuine interest.

  “Why does he matter so much to you, Grandfather?” he asked carefully. “I’ve noticed that other families show far less interest in that youth than we do…”

  Zeiran smirked, the corners of his lips curving in that familiar foxlike grin.

  “Do not compare us to them, Aiden,” he said, leaning back into the chair. “Our lineage and heritage run far deeper than those of any other family in Lasthold.”

  He took another slow draw, filling the air with the biting aroma of rare tobacco.

  “In our secret archives,” Zeiran continued, “we keep records older than Lasthold itself. I have no desire to share them with the rest of the city… and least of all with the Hall of Ancient Research.”

  His voice grew quieter, but the tension within it sharpened—a predator’s intuition.

  “I’m certain they’re muddying the waters. Those bastards work half-heartedly and fear our power.”

  He tapped the pipe against the armrest, staring toward the tall window.

  “Just in case, find out Kael’s weaknesses as well,” the old man said, slowly exhaling smoke. “If we must play dirty—I am ready.”

  He smiled—slowly, ominously.

  “Deciphering those records might grant our family extraordinary power. Power that will finally allow us to take our rightful place at the head of Lasthold.”

  Aiden remained silent, but in his eyes flickered the same glint that had once flickered in Zeiran’s—a cold, calculating flame of ambition.

  Aiden lowered his head until it touched his knees and spoke firmly, without the faintest hesitation:

  “I will do everything in my power, Grandfather.”

  He bowed once more, nearly touching his forehead to the floor, then rose and silently headed for the exit. His footsteps faded, dissolving into the hushed vastness of the hall, until the massive doors closed behind him with a muffled thud.

  Elder Zeiran was left alone. For a while he sat motionless, drawing in smoke and letting it curl out in a thin stream. The room sank into thick silence.

  He slowly shifted his gaze to the family crest. A cold yet confident gleam lit the old man’s eyes.

  “The Council of Elders does not understand,” he murmured, speaking his thoughts aloud. “Lasthold needs not the chosen—but those born for power.”

  He leaned back in the chair, drawing another long breath from the pipe, and continued, firmer now, with a note of disdain:

  “This cannot be learned. It is in the blood.”

  For a moment Zeiran closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste of his own words.

  “Among all the families of Lasthold, only our line truly knows what power is,” he said almost with pride. “Only we come from true noble blood.”

  He stood, set the pipe onto its stand, and, staring at the crest, added in a low voice filled with fanatical conviction:

  “Once, my bloodline stood at the pinnacle of the ancient Primal Element Empire… and I do not carry their blood to bow before Durimar.”

  His lips twisted in a contemptuous sneer.

  “And certainly not to heed the opinions of a dozen decrepit elders.”

  Silence returned to the hall. Only the faint crackle of embers in the smoking bowl and the steady breath of the elder lingered, while his thoughts stretched far ahead—toward the power he believed he was owed by birthright.

  ? ? ?

  News of the confrontation between the heir of the Vengeful Thunder Family and the young mage from the Hall of Ancient Research spread quickly. Even as Zeiran and Aiden’s conversation came to an end, discussions were still unfolding elsewhere.

  In the manor of the Sacred Flame Family, a young elder lounged over a cup of tea, lazily skimming through a report brought by his protégé. After glancing over it, he muttered, “Brainless children…”

  He rolled up the page, looked at his subordinate, and added, “Kael’s conflict with the Vengeful Thunder Family works in our favor. But keep watching. We were instructed to make sure no one succeeds in recruiting him.”

  Similar conversations were held in several other places, though none carried the weight with which Elder Zeiran regarded the matter of Kael.

  Though Kael was considered a gifted and promising researcher, his name did not yet carry enough weight to make him a figure of real strategic value. Important, yes—but not critical. Thus, the task of monitoring him had been delegated to lesser elders and their protégés.

  In truth, this was no “hunt for Kael.” It was more a balancing act—a subtle form of restraint to ensure none of the rival factions tried to recruit the young man too aggressively.

  All these events were but a small part of Lasthold’s intrigues. Some saw in Kael a chance to strengthen their influence; others—a threat to a rival’s ascent. But for now, none of the factions, aside from the Vengeful Thunder Family, was in a hurry to make the first move.

  ? ? ?

  Kael was far removed from political games at that moment, standing in complete silence inside a rented training chamber. But this wasn’t a place for practicing strikes or absorbing mana. The atmosphere here was different—the atmosphere of alchemy.

  The room was a square chamber warded with dense protective runes. A complex sigil circle glowed on the floor, and in its center stood a black cauldron that reached almost to Kael’s waist. The metal was matte and heavy, adorned with interwoven spiral patterns.

  Kael stood over the cauldron with his hands clasped behind his back, amber eyes attentively taking in every detail.

  “Interesting… will I manage to master this craft?” he murmured with anticipation, shifting his gaze.

  Next to the cauldron stood a wide stone table laid out with everything he needed for the work. Ingredients were arranged in neat rows—roots, dried leaves, fresh herbs, mana-ore crystals, vials filled with clear and viscous liquids, and even several vessels of blood. All of it sorted beforehand by Kael.

  He nodded in satisfaction and muttered to himself:

  “If not for the alchemical records from the Hall’s archives, alchemy would’ve been closed to me. Every recipe from the Divine Library requires ingredients that simply don’t exist in Lasthold.”

  Tools lay along the edges of the table: glass tubes, bone measuring spoons, silver-tipped needles, tweezers, knives, even a large spatula for stirring mixtures in the cauldron.

  Kael nodded.

  “Looks like everything is ready…”

  He leaned down, closely inspecting the magic circle beneath his feet. The rune lines were crisp, but in his mind he could see patterns and layouts of far more complex circles.

  “Not the best circle,” he muttered with a frown.

  He clicked his tongue in irritation and added:

  “Especially for the price I’m paying.”

  But then, with a wry smile, he muttered, “On the other hand, no point whining. The mana it draws from the surroundings should be just enough. And I can’t draw a better one—theory is all I have.”

  With that, Kael placed his palm on the edge of the cauldron and directed a thin strand of his mana into it.

  “No time to waste. I need to learn how to craft mana elixirs as quickly as possible.”

  In an instant, the spirals etched into the metal awakened, flaring softly. The glow climbed upward, transferring into the runes of the sigil circle. The air trembled, and beneath the cauldron a steady violet flame ignited, heating the bottom at once.

  Kael’s brow tightened.

  “Too much heat…” he murmured, concentrating.

  The flame quivered obediently. He tightened his fingers, guiding the mana flow with greater precision, adjusting the intensity. Second by second, the violet tongues leveled and dimmed until the heat settled at an optimal level.

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  Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the hum of fire and the faint crackle of heated metal.

  Seeing the temperature stabilize, Kael nodded in satisfaction and approached the table.

  He picked up a small vial filled with thick, red liquid—dense, viscous, almost like beast blood.

  “First, I’ll make the base of the elixir…” he murmured, crouching beside a large bucket tucked under the table.

  The bucket held clear, pristine water—nothing unusual about it yet. Kael uncorked the vial, and the thick liquid gurgled as it flowed into the water, leaving crimson trails behind.

  “First, blood of a Steel-rank beast…” he said quietly, watching the red swirl across the surface, turning the water into a murky, thick mixture.

  Rolling up his sleeve, he submerged his hand and stirred slowly, adjusting the blood-to-water ratio, occasionally adding a bit more of the crimson substance.

  When the water deepened to the precise shade described in the recipe, Kael reached for the table, picked up a chunk of mana-ore, and then lifted a heavy alchemical hammer with a dark wooden handle.

  “Next—the ore,” he murmured.

  A dry, rhythmic tok-tok-tok echoed through the room. A few precise strikes—and the crystal split into large, clean shards without excess dust. The smallest fragments he simply let fall to the floor.

  “Though the recipe says to grind it into powder… the knowledge from the Divine Library says otherwise.”

  Kael gathered the chunks into his palm and lowered them one by one into the bucket. Each piece slipped beneath the surface with a soft clink, leaving faint bluish luminescence in its wake.

  The mixture in the bucket began to hiss softly, releasing thin wisps of steam. Kael exhaled in satisfaction:

  “Excellent. The reaction’s begun.”

  Kael carefully lifted the bucket with both hands and approached the cauldron. The liquid inside swayed softly, letting out a faint hiss—as though some living energy were stirring within it.

  For a moment, he froze, recalling passages from the scrolls he’d studied. Lines resurfaced in his memory:

  “Mage blood and mana-ore crystals enter a form of symbiosis, altering the structure of water and amplifying its absorptive properties. Important: for preparing the base, use only large crystals—they release their properties slowly, gradually restructuring the liquid. Powder behaves differently—it dissolves instantly, releasing an immense surge of mana particles. Added too early, it oversaturates the mixture and destroys its capacity for medicinal blends and mana. Powder is used only at the end, as the final touch, once the base has fully stabilized.”

  Kael frowned, looking at the cauldron under which the violet flame shimmered evenly.

  “I hope this cauldron actually works… and that I don’t end up exploding,” he muttered, a nervous smirk flickering across his lips.

  Taking a deep breath, Kael swore under his breath and tightened his grip on the bucket.

  “Let’s begin…” he murmured and, holding his breath, slowly began to tilt the bucket.

  The liquid fell into the cauldron. The instant it touched the bottom, the air shuddered—BAM! A muffled blast rolled through the room like a miniature explosion.

  It was followed by a long hiss:

  PSSHH!

  Kael instinctively jerked back, ready to sprint for the door, but soon calmed down. The burst of steam didn’t scorch his face. It slammed into an invisible barrier—a transparent ‘ceiling’ that kept it contained.

  “It works…” he whispered. “Crook did get me a good cauldron. I’ll have to thank him later.”

  As he spoke, steam kept rising, pooling beneath the unseen dome, thickening before slowly condensing into droplets. Those droplets fell back into the cauldron, returning to the bubbling mixture.

  The cauldron allowed ingredients to enter, but nothing could escape. The substance wouldn’t evaporate or diminish—exactly what Kael needed right now.

  Kael wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked to the table where a long wooden stirring paddle lay among the tools. Its end was reinforced with silvery metal, and the spiral fixed to the tip glowed with faint runes.

  “Moving on,” he said softly and picked up the paddle.

  When he lowered it into the boiling mixture, the metal parts lit up—not blindingly, but with a soft blue glow, as if breathing in rhythm with the cauldron.

  Kael began stirring—slowly, clockwise, maintaining a steady rhythm. Each motion sent thin rings of light spreading across the elixir’s surface.

  “I hope I’m not rushing…” he murmured, watching the reaction.

  The mixture responded vividly; the mana-ore crystals within the cauldron seemed to stir at the movement of the liquid. Their structure, heated and charged with the energy of blood, opened, releasing tiny particles of pure mana. They glimmered like tiny sparks, rising to the surface where they dissolved at once, filling the mixture with an even glow.

  Kael stirred for nearly ten minutes, keeping the pace steady, until finally the liquid began to shift color—from ruby red to a deep, iridescent violet.

  He stopped, examined the hue, and exhaled in relief.

  “There it is,” he said quietly, lifting the paddle. The metal at its tip continued to glow for several moments before fading.

  Sweat streamed down his temples, sticking to his neck and shirt collar. Kael wiped his face with his sleeve and looked into the cauldron where the boiling base had now stabilized.

  “Now I’ll let it boil for an hour…” he murmured, slightly lowering the flame with a pulse of mana. “Just enough time to prepare all the herbs.”

  Saying this, he turned to the table and carefully pulled out several flat stone boards, each carved with shallow recesses. He arranged them in a row, assigning each its purpose: one for herbs, another for roots, a third for crystals and minerals, a fourth for liquid reagents.

  He grunted approvingly as he examined the orderly setup.

  “Everything must be organized,” he said aloud, as if reminding himself. “Alchemy doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

  He paused for a moment, running a finger along the cool stone surface.

  “Best case, I just lose the ingredients,” he added with a faint smirk. “In the worst… I’ll blow up the entire mixture, or produce a poison.”

  Kael reached first for the heaviest ingredient—the Grimm-Root. It was gnarled, twisted, black-gray, like a strip of old charred sinew. Its surface looked solid, but the moment Kael squeezed it lightly in his hand, it gave a faint crunch, like snapping bone.

  “This one needs to be cut,” he muttered, recalling the corresponding part of the recipe.

  He took a thin alchemical knife with a silver blade and carefully sliced the root into thin, almost transparent slivers. They didn’t crumble or break—instead, they held their shape, glinting faintly in the dim light like metallic plates.

  He placed each piece into a separate stone bowl, careful not to mix the order.

  The next ingredient was Moonweave Leaf—a silvery herb that trembled as if alive. Its leaves, even cut, seemed to vibrate, reacting to the slightest movement of air. In the light, the plant shimmered with a cold blue glow, as if drinking in moonlight.

  “All right… only the juice is needed here,” Kael murmured. “And make sure no fibers get into the elixir.”

  He arranged the leaves and stems on a stone slab and lowered a metal press over them. A soft crackle followed, and a thick silvery liquid began to flow along the carved channels into a recess in the slab.

  Kael held a vial beneath it and fastened a clean piece of cloth over the opening to serve as a filter. The drops fell slowly but steadily, and soon the glass vessel was nearly full of pure, mercury-like extract.

  He set the vial aside, grunted, and noted to himself:

  “Now for the Ashen Blood-Petal…”

  Kael took from the box a small bundle of firm, fleshy petals—dark crimson, almost ink-black along the folds. In life, this flower, the Ashen Blood-Petal, resembled a ruby bud.

  A strange scent rose from the petals—sweet, with metallic undertones, like blood.

  Kael placed them gently into a mortar and ground them with a stone pestle until the dense flesh broke down into a thick, sticky paste.

  “Ashen Blood-Petal,” he murmured, watching the reaction. “A predatory flower… to unlock its full strength, you have to feed it blood.”

  He uncorked a small vial of blood, letting three drops fall into the mortar.

  Instantly, the paste twitched, its surface pulsing as if it had come alive. Thin wisps of vapor rose as the mixture deepened in color—a blackened crimson shot through with violet glimmers.

  He stirred it for a few more seconds until smooth, then glanced at the cauldron to make sure the boil stayed steady.

  Violet light still danced across the surface—the temperature was holding steady.

  “Perfect,” he said softly, setting the mortar aside. “Time to prepare the finishing touch.”

  Now it was the mana-ore’s turn. But this time he didn’t need large chunks—he needed powder.

  ? ? ?

  Kael worked through his preparations while the elixir base continued to boil. Thick clouds of steam rose upward, struck the invisible barrier above, and fell back down in droplets. The process remained stable—the steady bubbling and the soft glow of the runes on the cauldron showed that the magical balance was intact.

  When Kael finished grinding the ore, it was time to move on. He gathered all the prepared ingredients on a wide tray and, checking the order once more, began adding them to the cauldron strictly in the prescribed order.

  First—the sliced Grimm-Root. The slivers slipped into the boiling liquid with a faint rustle, and the cauldron gave a slight shiver, as if acknowledging their presence. Next came the silvery juice of the Moonweave Leaf. When the transparent liquid touched the surface of the elixir, the steam above the cauldron shimmered with a pale blue glow.

  Then Kael added the Ashen Blood-Petal paste. At that moment, a crimson light flared from within the cauldron.

  Each new ingredient made the cauldron vibrate deeply, steam bursting upward, though the invisible barrier held everything firmly in place. The color of the liquid gradually shifted—from violet to a saturated deep blue, like molten lapis-lazuli.

  When all ingredients were added, Kael took the stirring paddle again and slowly, steadily mixed the brew. The surface rippled, catching spiraling reflections of light.

  “Perfect,” he murmured.

  He extended his hand toward the cauldron, touching one of the engraved spirals—surprisingly cold to the touch. A strand of his mana flowed gently into the pattern, awakening the hidden mechanism within.

  A heartbeat later, a tiny slit opened in the ‘invisible wall’ above the cauldron—BAM! Sssshhh!—and a jet of superheated steam blasted out.

  The air filled with the aroma of herbs, metal, and blood, and a high, clean whistle cut through the room—sharp and steady, like a kettle hitting full boil.

  Kael instinctively recoiled, raising an arm to shield himself from the burst of steam. Yet a moment later he was already smirking—not in relief, but with a spark of eager excitement.

  “Now I need to evaporate the mixture, cool it, strain it, and only then add the mana-ore powder at the very end…” he muttered, rubbing his hands together.

  He glanced at the cauldron, where the boiling mixture shimmered in shades of azure and violet. The flame beneath pulsed steadily, and the glow of the runes around the base looked like the slow breathing of a living creature.

  “I don’t know if this elixir will surpass the ones sold in Lasthold,” he said with a note of satisfaction. “But it’ll definitely help me grow stronger quickly.”

  He was about to return to the table to double-check the formulas and calculate the final evaporation time when the air suddenly trembled.

  The steam blasting from the opening suddenly intensified. The whistle deepened into a rising wail, and inside the cauldron came a low cracking sound—as if the metal itself were being crushed from within.

  Kael’s instincts fired at once. His body tensed, his gaze snapping to the cauldron as a line from an alchemical manuscript flashed through his mind:

  “If a balance error occurs during the second boiling phase, an explosion may occur.”

  “Damn it!” Kael barked and moved instantly.

  He wasted not a breath—herbs, ingredients, tools, even the spare vials vanished into his spatial ring in a single motion. The room vibrated, thin strands of blue light already spilling from the cauldron.

  Without looking back, Kael bolted for the door. Several long strides, a lunge—and he burst out of the hall, slamming the door shut just as the explosion surged behind him.

  BA-BOOOOM!

  The blast erupted behind him—but only for an instant. The moment the door shut, the roar died abruptly, as if the chamber’s hidden mechanisms swallowed every sound.

  Gasping for breath, Kael pressed his trembling hands more firmly against the door. Sweat streamed down his temples, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as though trying to break free.

  “Damn…” he exhaled, the corners of his lips twitching in a strained, nervous smirk. “Barely got out in time… Good thing I didn’t get the brilliant idea to practice at home.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the hall doors, imagining what would’ve happened if he’d been even a moment slower.

  Taking a deep breath, Kael slowly pulled the handle, opening the door just enough for a thick wave of warm air to spill out.

  The room was shrouded in dense fog—heavy, herbal, threaded with metallic and faintly sweet notes. The whole place looked as though it had turned into a bathhouse: walls dripping with condensation, heat everywhere, clouds of vapor swirling in the air.

  Squinting, Kael made out the shape of the cauldron. The flame beneath it had long since died, but the cauldron itself stood intact—unharmed, only coated with a pale residue left by the evaporated reagents.

  “Worth every coin I paid for it…” he muttered hoarsely as he stepped inside and pulled the door shut.

  The fog drifted upward, disappearing through vents in the ceiling, and Kael moved forward, carefully stepping over shimmering puddles scattered across the floor.

  “First experiment—a failure…” he said aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “I need to analyze exactly where I made the mistake.”

  He approached the cauldron and frowned. His mind was already forming chains of calculations as lines from the alchemical manual surfaced one after another.

  “I strengthened the base to increase mana saturation,” he murmured. “Looks like that’s what triggered the imbalance. If the base becomes stronger, then the proportions of the other components must be increased as well…”

  He closed his eyes, focusing.

  “So what I need is to determine exactly how much stronger my enhanced base ended up compared to the one described in the recipe,” Kael muttered, letting out a slow breath.

  In the next instant, his mind—like a precisely tuned mechanism—began methodically replaying each step. He saw himself again—slicing the Grimm-Root, extracting the Moonweave Leaf juice, stirring, adding the blood, watching the cauldron flare…

  All of it flickered before his inner vision, not a single detail missed. Mentally, he was already preparing for the next attempt.