With his familiars hard at work and his memories from a past life guiding every step, Fenrir moved smoothly through the process of brewing.
Potion-making, when stripped of shortcuts and modern conveniences, was a demanding craft—delicate, meticulous, and stubborn.
But for Fenrir, it was as natural as breathing. In his previous life, he had made everything by hand, and now, surrounded by his furry assistants and a supervising Nedrax, it almost felt nostalgic.
He stirred the final mix in the large, rune-inscribed cauldron with a slow infusion of mana, binding the different elemental ingredients together. .
The mana flowed through the mixture, steady and measured, ensuring no explosions or magical backlashes this time.
Steam rose, heavy with the scent of ash, mint, and ozone.
As the brew shimmered from muddy brown to a clear, glowing silver, Fenrir knew it was ready.
