Lira sat quietly beside the sprout, fingers brushing the soft earth. The presence of the Spirit Tree still lingered in the air - not heavy, but watchful, like an old guardian observing in silence.
She reached for the small leather packet she previously put out from her space pouch. It was stitched with faded thread and smelled faintly of lavender and ash. Inside, nestled like precious stones, were more of her seeds — each one collected from a different pile. Some shimmered faintly. Others pulsed with soft warmth.
She drew out three.
One was dark blue, like the sky before a storm. One held a faint flicker of gold inside its shell. And one — the smallest — was plain gray, dull to the eye, but she felt a tug in her chest when she held it.
Lira rose to her feet and turned slowly in a circle, feeling with something deeper than sight. The Spirit Tree loomed above her, still and radiant. Then, almost imperceptibly, a shimmer moved along its trunk, a faint glimmer of green, like invisible vines pulsing gently, guiding her.
She followed the shimmer.
It led her a few steps away, to a crescent-shaped dip in the mossy ground. The air was warmer there, the scent of roots and rain more vivid. She knelt again and pressed her palm to the soil.
A soft pulse answered.
"This is the place," she whispered.
One by one, she planted the seeds, each in a triangle, points facing inward. As the last one sank beneath the earth, the Spirit Tree responded.
A glow unfurled from its trunk, barely visible, threads of light reaching out like vines, pulsing with gentle rhythm. They moved not with force, but with grace, brushing over the ground where she planted as if in blessing.
The soil shimmered briefly. Then stilled.
Lira exhaled, her eyes wide with quiet awe. She could feel it now, not just growth, but connection. Each seed was like a thought placed into the world. The tree had accepted them. Watched them. Welcomed them.
Behind her, Renkai cracked open one eye, smirking faintly. "You always make such a ceremony out of planting things," he said, his voice low and amused.
Lira turned her head just enough to glance at him, a gentle smile curling her lips. "That's because it is a ceremony. You just don't pay attention."
He scoffed, mock-offended. "I pay attention to very important things."
She raised an eyebrow. "Like fanning yourself?"
"Exactly."
Lira laughed softly, the sound like wind through leaves.
After a quiet moment, Lira stood and brushed the soil from her hands. The seeds were safe in the earth now, cradled by the Spirit Tree's unseen touch. But her work wasn't finished yet.
She glanced back toward the circle where the ritual had taken place. The air still shimmered faintly, the scent of old magic lingering like the echo of a song.
"I should make a few more potions," she murmured to herself, already turning toward her satchel.
Renkai cracked one eye open again, still reclined at the base of the tree. "Can't resist the call of alchemy, hm?"
"It's not just that," she said, kneeling beside her supplies. "If I'm going to see Therin, I want to bring something real. Something that shows him this potion is more than a theory now."
She walked to the table, there were rows of tiny glass vials, herbs wrapped in silk, dried roots, slivers of crystal, and a tiny pestle carved from bonewood.
Lira worked in silence, focused and fluid.
She took drops of moonlit water from the ritual, a sliver of vine from where the Spirit Tree's shimmer had kissed the earth still faintly warm with magic. Into the mix she added silver ash, starpetal dust, and a single tear-shaped berry that she had plucked the night before from a weeping vine near the stream.
The mixture bubbled softly as she stirred it clockwise in her tiny cauldron, her breath steady, her hands sure. Then she poured it into a crystal vial and sealed it with a waxed stopper pressed with her new mark, a spiral surrounded by three tiny leaves.
One potion. Then two. Then a third, each slightly different, each attuned.
She labeled them carefully:
Calling Brew
Bondroot Essence
Phantom Veil
"They'll do," she whispered.
Renkai was watching her now, both eyes open, but still lounging like a prince of flowers and mischief.
"You could stay longer," he said, his voice soft now. "The tree likes you."
Lira smiled at that, slipping the potions into her pouch. "I'd love to. But I need to speak to Master Therin. He deserves to know the truth of this magic we did, and what's possible now."
Renkai tilted his head, studying her. "You trust him?"
"I don't know if I do fully," she admitted, "but I believe he's looking for something true. That's enough for now."
She stood, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and adjusted her satchel.
Renkai's gaze lingered for a moment, then he closed his fan with a dramatic snap and stood with a fluid motion. "Well then, good luck, Lady of Roots and Vines."
Lira raised an eyebrow. "That's a new one."
He grinned. "I'm always inventing titles."
She chuckled and gave him a playful bow. "Then watch the grove while I'm gone, oh Great Whisper of the Forest."
And with that, she stepped past the circle, the puch full of the potions comforting against her side, and made her way back through the portal, Renkai slowly following her to guide her through the fog safely.
Soon with her satchel secured at her hip and the potions safely inside, she moved swiftly through the quiet halls, past students whispering incantations and apprentices training their elements with brow lines etched from too much failure and too little sleep.
As she reached master Therin's potions room, the smell of burnt herbs and scorched paper was already leaking through the cracks.
She knocked once.
A voice called out, gruff and distracted, "It's open, but don't come in if you're expecting sense."
She pushed the door open.
The room was a storm of chaos. Scrolls were stacked and falling, vials clinked dangerously on every surface, and wisps of failed brews curled like ghosts from overturned flasks.
In the center of it all, hunched over a bubbling basin, stood Master Therin, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hair pinned back with copper sticks, and his eyes wild with focus.
He didn't look up. "Unless you have better news than the last five failures, I'm not interested."
"I do," Lira said simply, stepping inside. "To make the potion work, you need a protector. One who agrees. Then you must bond."
At that, Therin froze.
A drop from his pipette landed in the wrong vial, causing it to hiss violently but he didn't move. Slowly, he turned toward her, his face lined with exhaustion.
"You're certain?" he asked. "Not just a whisper or guess?"
"It's not theory anymore," she said. "I found the answer in the groove."
His eyes dropped to the pouch at her side. "You brought potions?"
Lira opened it carefully and laid the three vials on the only clean space she could find, the curve of a leather-bound atlas. Their glow was faint but undeniable. He leaned in, inspecting each label. Calling Brew. Bondroot Essence. Phantom Veil.
He exhaled deeply, then dragged a hand through his hair, knocking one of the copper pins loose. "You have no idea how many times we've failed. I've tried every variation. Even the old formulas from before the Collapse. Some exploded. One melted through the floor." He gestured at a blackened hole in the stone beside them. "And still… nothing."
"I know," she said gently. "But this isn't about ingredients anymore. It's about connection. Willingness. Balance between power and trust."
He sat down heavily on a stool, which creaked like it might snap beneath him. His brows furrowed as he stared into the distance, deep in thought.
"Protectors…" he said at last. "That changes everything."
Lira nodded. "You'll need to find one, who can bond. Who choose it. It won't work otherwise."
Therin rubbed his beard slowly. "There aren't many within the academy walls that qualify. Familiars are scarce, and the summoned ones… too wild."
He stood abruptly, muttering to himself. "Then we'll have to go outside. Into the woods, the mountains. Maybe even the lowlands near the old veil. Creatures of will, not command. Beings who can protect."
Lira tilted her head. "You're planning to find one?"
"If the potion is what you say it is," he said, looking at her sharply, "then we need to test it. Properly. And we'll need brave souls willing to bond."
Lira met his gaze.
A corner of Therin's mouth quirked upward.
"I suppose you'll be helping me do that."
Lira sighed softly. "Of course I will."
He looked at her again, this time not as a student, not even just as an alchemist, but as someone who had seen something sacred and brought it back untouched by pride.
"Lira," he said, almost quietly, "you may have just changed the path of protective magic."
She didn't answer, only returned his gaze with steady calm.
Then Therin clapped his hands once. "Right. No time to waste. I'll send notice to the grandmaster Elion that we will leave for some timea together for research. We meet here tomorrow before dawn."
"And after that?"
Therin grinned, fire lighting in his tired eyes. "Then we shall go find a being for protector, to test a potion that finally works."