Clive and Lucia made their way back to her workshop. The tension from their encounter at the Arcanum gradually eased as they walked, but Clive's mind remained occupied with everything that had transpired.

  [Certainty: You handled the Archmage well. I was genuinely worried you were about to become barbecue for a moment there.]

  Thanks for the vote of confidence.

  [Certainty: But did you seriously just call me ‘nobody important’? Really? I mean, I know we’re keeping things low-key, but that stung a little.]

  It was just an expression. I had to deflect somehow.

  [Certainty: Good, because I’ll have you know I’m incredibly important. Like, stupendously important. I’m basically the strongest* god in existence.]

  Clive raised an eyebrow as they turned a corner. Strongest with an asterisk?

  [Certainty: Well... close enough, anyway. If it wasn’t for that meddlesome old hag, I would be undisputed number one.]

  Right…And what is your agenda here?

  [Certainty: Agenda? Do I look like a girl with a plan? I’m just here to be entertained.]

  …

  [Certainty: Anyways... The point is, you did well back there. The phoenix is really nice in person though. He’s super cute and lets me pet him.]

  … Right.

  Lucia glanced at Clive, noticing his distant expression. "Everything alright? You've been quiet since we left the tower."

  "Just processing everything," Clive replied, refocusing on his companion. "It's a lot to take in."

  "What did you and the Archmage discuss anyway, when you disappeared into that private chamber?" Lucia's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "When you both came back, the entire atmosphere had changed.”

  “How so?” Clive feigned ignorance.

  “Both of you seemed... I don't know, serious?"

  Clive hesitated, Joshua's warning about discretion echoing in his mind. "It was nothing major," he said carefully. "We were just discussing politics."

  Lucia studied his face as they walked, clearly not entirely convinced. "Politics that required a soundproof room and left you both looking like you'd negotiated a peace treaty?"

  Clive managed a weak smile. "You could say we came to a mutual understanding, that would be accurate."

  "Mmm." Lucia's expression suggested she wasn't buying it, but she seemed to recognize that Clive wasn't ready to share whatever had happened.

  They reached Lucia's workshop as the afternoon light began to fade, the familiar scent of alcohol welcoming them back. Clive settled into one of the chairs near her workbench, his mind still turning over the day's revelations.

  He yearned to replicate the higher tier spells but his mana was holding him back. For tier two spells, his current limit was about three casts of [Paint] before he ran out of mana. That seemed wholly insufficient.

  Potions would solve his problem, but due to [Artistic Purity], he did not have the money to purchase potions. If he could master potion-making, he could use [Draw] to create practically unlimited mana restorative potions, removing his greatest limitation.

  [ Quest: Truth in a bottle I]

  [Create a health and mana potion]

  The notification flashed blue in the background as though agreeing with his conclusion.

  "Lucia," he called out to her as she organized her supplies. "I've been thinking about what happened back there with the higher-tier fireball attempt. The mana drain was... intense."

  She looked up from sorting through glass vials. "Thought so. I noticed you looked pretty exhausted after that failed attempt.”

  "Exactly. And if I'm going to keep experimenting with more advanced spells, I'm going to need a way to replenish my magical reserves more efficiently." He leaned forward with interest. "Could you teach me how to brew mana potions?"

  Lucia's eyes lit up. "I would love to. I did promise I would show you how to make them. Mana potions are absolutely essential for any serious practitioner. Health potions too "

  She moved over to a shelf containing the collection of her soil samples and opened a jar.

  “Your first lesson,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice. She pinched a small amount of soil and placed it directly on her tongue, closing her eyes momentarily as if tasting a fine spice.

  "Everything begins with understanding your medium," she announced, offering the jar to him. "The soil speaks of what the grapes will become. Sweet, bitter, astringent, metallic—all whispers of potential. You must learn to hear them."

  Clive took a step back. "Perhaps... we could skip that particular step? I'm quite comfortable observing your technique in this instance."

  Lucia burst out in laughter. “Not all lessons must be learned firsthand," she conceded, returning the jar to its place. "Though someday, if you're serious about mastering potion essences, you'll find yourself doing far stranger things than tasting a bit of dirt."

  “We begin your lessons tomorrow, so for today, take a rest.”

  Clive spent the night at Lucia’s place.

  As dawn broke, Clive awoke to the rhythmic chorus of cicadas. Through the open window, he caught glimpses of movement among the vines. Lucia was already at work, weaving in and out between rows of trellises. A wicker basket hung from her arm, already half-filled with plump clusters of grapes. She selected each bunch with care, occasionally passing over what seemed to be perfectly good fruit in favor of others that appeared identical to his untrained eye.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Clive dressed quickly and made his way downstairs and out into the vineyard. The morning air felt cool against his skin.

  "I trust you slept well?" Lucia called when she spotted him.

  "Soundly enough," Clive replied, approaching her row of vines.

  Lucia smiled, snipping another cluster and adding it to her basket. "The vines share their secrets most willingly at dawn, when dew still clings to their skin." She handed him a grape. "Taste."

  Clive popped it into his mouth, surprised by the intensity of flavor, sweeter than expected, with a complexity that lingered on his tongue.

  "These are destined for my special reserve. Harvested late for maximum sugar accumulation," she explained, gesturing to the particular row. "They will create the base wine I use for my most potent potions. The regular varietals are on the south slope." She straightened, stretching her back. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Breakfast first, then your first proper lesson."

  After a simple meal of bread, cheese, and what Lucia called "morning wine"—a diluted, spiced concoction that left Clive feeling oddly alert, she led him to a stone workbench.

  "Potioncraft begins with perception," she said. She placed two glass vials on the table between them, each containing liquid of identical medium ruby color.

  "Both contain potions made from the same grape varietal, harvested on the same day, from vines mere feet apart," she explained. "Yet one is vastly higher quality than the other. Tell me which is which."

  Clive leaned forward, studying the vials with his [Artist's Eyes]. To his frustration, both liquids appeared identical—the same viscosity, the same color tone, the same suspended sediments.

  "I can't see any difference," he admitted after a thorough examination.

  Lucia nodded, unsurprised. "You have five senses, Clive, yet most people, particularly those with visual gifts like yours, become overly reliant on just one. A dangerous habit in potioncraft."

  Clive reached for one of the vials, uncorked it, and carefully wafted the aroma toward his nose like those sommaliers he watched on television. Both smelled of berries and alcohol with undertones he couldn't name.

  "I can't tell them apart by smell either," he confessed.

  "Few can at first," Lucia said, recorking the vials. "The nose, like any sense, requires training to become useful in our craft." She reached beneath the bench and produced a wooden case. Opening it revealed dozens of tiny bottles arranged in a rectangular grid, each filled with liquids of various colors.

  "This is my scent library," she explained, selecting a bottle containing an amber fluid. "Before you can identify complex aromas in potions, you must first learn to recognize the individual components. In wine, we categorize scents into three levels: primary, secondary, and tertiary. Understanding these is crucial to mastering potion-making."

  She selected a bottle containing a pale golden liquid. "Primary aromas come directly from the grape itself and the soil where it grows. They're the fresh fruit notes you detect immediately." She uncorked the tiny bottle and held it beneath Clive's nose. "Tell me what you smell."

  The aroma that hit Clive was bright and immediate. "Lemon?" he ventured.

  "Not quite," Lucia said with patience. "That's fresh apple. The citrus notes come through differently. It’s less acidic than lemon."

  She selected another bottle with slightly darker liquid. "Secondary aromas develop during fermentation. They're the transformative scents that emerge when grape juice becomes wine."

  She offered him the new bottle. This scent was more complex—less fruity and more... structural somehow.

  "I smell... bread? And something like wet paper?"

  "Close. That’s yeast and butter notes, classic secondary aromas. What you're perceiving as 'wet paper' is actually the bread-like quality of fermentation. The process creates these entirely new scent compounds." She replaced that bottle and selected one with amber fluid. "And finally, tertiary aromas develop during aging. These are the most complex and often the most prized in both wines and potions."

  The aroma from this one was woody, resinous, with notes that reminded Clive of leather-bound books and dried herbs.

  "Leather and... tobacco?" he said, surprising himself with the identification.

  "Almost there," Lucia nodded. "Leather is correct, but that's vanilla, not tobacco. Related but distinct in how they affect the potion's properties." She replaced the bottle and selected another. "And this?"

  This tertiary scent was deeper, earthy yet spicy. "Cinnamon?" he ventured.

  "Dried mushroom," she corrected gently. "An important tertiary aroma that indicates age and development. In potions, it enhances restorative properties, while cinnamon would add a stimulant effect."

  "But it smells nothing like mushrooms," Clive protested.

  "Fresh mushrooms, no. But aged, dried forest varieties develop this particular aroma profile. Your nose will learn to distinguish it in time."

  One by one, she introduced him to dozens of scents across all three categories—some familiar, others entirely foreign. He identified orange correctly but mistook peach for apricot. He called butter "milk" and sourdough "stale bread." The tertiary scents were hardest—he identified meat as "old books," forest floor as "wet dirt," and couldn't place truffle at all, describing it only as "something pungent and odd."

  With each correction, Lucia explained not just what it was, but how it interacted with other components in potions, how it signaled the development stage of the wine base, and which essences it enhanced or nullified.

  "Take blackcurrant, for example," Lucia said, holding up a vial of deep purple liquid. "A primary aroma common in cabernet wines. When combined with lavender essence, it amplifies healing properties threefold. But mix it with valerian root, and you've created a sleeping draught powerful enough to fell an ox."

  She selected another bottle with amber contents. "This buttery note, a secondary aroma from malolactic fermentation, stabilizes volatile ingredients. It's why I add aged chardonnay to my burn salves; it prevents the silverweed from breaking down too quickly when applied to heated skin."

  Moving to a dustier-looking bottle, she continued, "And these tertiary aromas of leather and dried mushroom indicate a wine that's been aged at least seven years. Such wines have developed the structural complexity to bind with mandrake extract without turning toxic. A younger wine—" she made a slicing motion across her throat, "—would release the mandrake's poison instead of its restorative properties."

  She held up a bottle with a deep garnet liquid. "The truffle notes in this twenty-year reserve create a natural catalyst. Add three drops to any potion requiring dragon's blood, and you'll need half the usual amount—valuable, considering the rarity of the ingredient."

  She gestured to the two identical ruby potions on the table. "Now, let’s try again. Which potion do you think is the better one?"

  With newfound awareness, Clive carefully smelled each potion. He tried to recall everything Lucia had taught him, focusing intently on separating the layers of scent. He swirled the first vial gently as he'd seen her do and inhaled deeply.

  "This one has... fruit notes. Definitely berries, maybe blackberry?" He sniffed again, brow furrowing. "And there's something else, something deeper underneath." He couldn't quite place it, but he felt there was something not quite right about it.

  He set down the first vial and picked up the second. Taking a careful sniff, he tried to catalog what he sensed. "This one also has fruit, but it seems... smoother somehow? Less sharp?" He inhaled again, struggling to identify what made it different. "Maybe a bit of vanilla? And something earthy?"

  Lucia watched him with an unreadable expression, leaving Clive unable to glimpse any hints from her reaction.

  Clive frowned, sniffing both potions again. They were so similar, yet his instincts told him there was a meaningful difference he wasn't quite grasping. After several moments of deliberation, he pointed to the first vial.

  "This one is superior. It has a stronger scent profile, more intensity."

  Lucia's expression shifted to one of gentle disappointment. "An understandable mistake for a beginner." She picked up the second vial. "This is the superior potion. What you perceived as 'intensity' in the first was an imbalance—forced fermentation that created overwhelming primary notes without the complexity that only time can provide."

  She held the second vial up to the light. "This potion was aged naturally for three years. The fruit notes are less dominant because they've integrated with secondary and tertiary aromas—the vanilla and earthy notes you almost detected but couldn't quite name."

  Clive's shoulders slumped slightly. "They still smell nearly identical to me."

  "Don't be discouraged," Lucia said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "The fact that you detected any difference at all on your first day is remarkable. Most students take weeks before they can even begin to distinguish between similar potions."

  Clive nodded, determined to improve. "Let me try again."

  "Tomorrow," Lucia said firmly. "The nose, like any sense, tires with overuse. We'll continue your training after you've had rest."

  "The master's eye sees what the apprentice's cannot, but it is the nose that knows what even the eye may miss. Time teaches both, but only to those who listen with all their senses."

  —From "The Fundamentals of Potions" by Master Apothecary Jankin Angus