The next morning, Lira kept her thoughts quiet. Not a word about the dream, or the book. Some things felt too strange to share yet—like they belonged to a deeper part of her she hadn't fully touched.
Her elemental class passed quickly, her mind drifting in and out of focus, lost between sparks and wind currents. As the last bell rang, she found her feet already carrying her toward the greenhouse.
The warm air inside welcomed her like always. Faivy Ivvie fluttered near the entrance and chirped excitedly when she saw Lira, spinning in small circles before darting off into the hanging vines.
Thara was already there, gently misting the fire-leaf plants. She gave Lira a calm smile, and together they moved through the rows—checking roots, turning soil, speaking little. Their rhythm was quiet and familiar, like the way sunlight moves through leaves.
When their work was done, Lira stepped outside, brushing dirt from her hands, her thoughts turning toward the potion master.
But there it was again—still.
The fox.
Sitting near the edge of the forest mist, calm as ever. Its eyes found hers and held them. Neither moved. Then slowly, Lira walked on. The fox did not follow, only watched.
She didn't look back.
Down the path, through stone arches and ivy-covered walls, she reached the potion hall. The old wooden door creaked as she pushed it open. Inside, the scent of spices and dried roots lingered thick in the air.
The potion master stood at his long table, already waiting.
His eyes, sharp and gold-flecked beneath bushy brows, settled on her with quiet curiosity.
"Lira," he said. "I wondered when you would come."
Lira stepped inside, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft thud. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with vials, dried herbs, and glowing liquids in colors she couldn't name. The potion master motioned for her to come closer, gesturing toward a clean space on the workbench.
"We'll begin with something simple," he said, placing a set of ingredients before her. "A clarity draught. Let me see how steady your hand has become."
Lira nodded quietly, rolling up her sleeves. She picked up the knife and began to slice the leaves—thin, even, deliberate. The bubbling pot beside her began to steam as she stirred, added root shavings, then turned to grind the crystals with practiced precision.
The master watched in silence, arms crossed. Only when she poured the final liquid into a clear vial and stoppered it without spilling a drop did he speak.
"Hmm."
She looked up.
"You've improved," he said slowly. "Your cuts are cleaner. Your timing is more exact. And the proportions—" He picked up the vial and held it to the light. "Perfectly balanced."
Lira felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I've been… practicing."
He studied her a moment longer, then gave a small nod, half approving, half curious.
"You've been practicing somewhere," he said. "Keep going. Let's try something more complex."
He turned, pulling new ingredients from a high shelf—roots wrapped in cloth, tiny glass bottles filled with oils, a pinch of blue powder that shimmered like stardust.
As he laid them out, Lira took a breath, steadying herself.
She wouldn't tell him the truth—not yet.
Let the work speak for now.
The potion master unwrapped a bundle of dried roots and laid them gently beside a silver bowl. Beside it, he placed a small vial of crimson oil and a pouch of moon-dusted salt.
"This one," he said, tapping the table with one finger, "is a protection tonic. Much more delicate than the clarity draught. It guards the mind against manipulation, but only if brewed correctly. If it curdles, it backfires—makes one more susceptible."
He looked at her seriously. "Concentration. Precision. No room for error."
Lira nodded, her hands already tingling with anticipation.
She ground the roots slowly until they turned to powder, added a pinch of the salt—just enough that it shimmered without clumping—and stirred them together. As she heated the silver bowl, she tilted her head, remembering the motion from the dream. Slowly clockwise, never counterclockwise.
When she poured in the crimson oil, the mixture hissed, releasing a fragrant curl of smoke. The master raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
Lira's hands moved with confidence. She adjusted the flame, watched the shimmer on the surface of the tonic, and added three drops of dew she'd collected earlier from the greenhouse. The mixture turned deep violet—exactly the hue from her dream.
She bottled it without a word.
The master picked up the vial and tilted it back and forth. "This... is exceptional," he said after a moment. "Rare control for someone your age. You've done this before?"
She hesitated, then offered a quiet, "Not exactly."
He watched her a moment longer, then placed the potion on the high shelf. "We'll continue this level of work going forward. You're ready."
Lira exhaled slowly, a quiet pride settling in her chest. She gathered her things in silence, but inside, she was glowing.
As she turned to leave, the master called out, "Keep your focus, Lira. Something's guiding you. Don't waste it."
She paused at the door. "I won't."
Just as Lira's fingers brushed the door handle, the potion master's voice stopped her.
"One more thing."
She turned.
He folded his arms, studying her with something between approval and calculation. "In two weeks, there will be a gathering of potion masters from across the region. A competition and market—part showcase, part trade fair. Only the best are invited."
Lira blinked, unsure why he was telling her this.
"I want you to come," he continued. "Not just to watch. To compete."
Her mouth opened slightly. "Me?"
"You're progressing fast. And you need to see what others are doing—how they brew, how they present, what sells, what fails. You'll learn more in those two days than a month of lessons."
He picked up a ledger and flipped through it. "There will be elementars attending too—some looking to buy custom work, others scouting for apprentices. I plan to sell some of your potions. Quietly. If they impress, it could open doors."
Lira stood still, a mixture of nerves and quiet excitement blooming in her chest.
"I'll handle the paperwork," he added. "Grandmaster Elion will approve it if I ask. But I need to know—are you in?"
She nodded, slowly at first. "Yes. I want to go."
"Good." He gave a rare smile. "Then prepare. Brew, test, refine. Show them what you can do."
Lira walked out, the door closing softly behind her, and her thoughts already swirled with possibilities—potions, people, the mysterious fox, and a future that felt suddenly much bigger than before.
As Lira stepped out into the sunlit corridor, still processing the news, she nearly bumped into someone rounding the corner with quick steps.
"Lira!" Maelin's familiar voice rang out, bright as always.
Lira smiled instinctively. "Maelin."
The girl's grin widened as she tucked a curl of golden hair behind her ear. "You're glowing. Did something happen?"
Lira laughed lightly. "I was just asked to join the regional potion gathering."
Maelin's eyes lit up. "That's amazing! You have to go—it's such a big thing! All the best crafters, and so many weird and rare potions. They say even the elixir of windless sleep gets brewed there."
"I don't even know where to start," Lira admitted. "I need to pick what to bring."
Maelin took her hand and squeezed it with excitement. "You'll figure it out. I'll help if you need anything. Oh—maybe you can show me some of your potions before you go?"
Lira nodded, feeling a spark of warmth in her chest. "Of course."
They walked side by side down the hall, the chatter of students echoing around them, but Lira's mind was already bubbling with ideas. Recipes, ingredients, and the quiet tug of the green book waiting back in her room.
The two girls made their way toward the greenhouse, laughter and light conversation trailing behind them. As they entered, the soft glow of afternoon light filtered through the high glass panels, casting golden stripes over rows of vibrant greenery.
Evvie, fluttering above a patch of chamomile, chirped happily at their arrival.
The tiny fairy zipped around her in a spiral before darting toward the row of mint bushes.
Lira grabbed two small baskets, handing one to Maelin. "Let's get some moonmint, coolshade, and wild fennel. I'll need them later."
They moved between the rows, picking carefully. Maelin kept the chatter going, as usual. "Did you hear about the second-year who accidentally dyed her hair blue with a mistberry tonic? She's pretending it was on purpose, but everyone knows."
Lira chuckled softly. "Sounds like something I might've done a few weeks ago."
"You'd make it look elegant, though," Maelin winked.
As they worked, Maelin continued with a stream of school updates—someone getting in trouble for sneaking into the aviary at night, a secret party in the water tunnels under the dorms, and a teacher who'd been caught talking to their shadow.
Lira listened with a smile, warmth blooming in her chest. She realized how rare and precious this kind of ease was—just gathering herbs with a friend, laughing freely. I'm grateful for her, she thought silently.
Once their baskets were full, they left the greenhouse and made their way to Lira's room. Inside, the space smelled faintly of dried lavender and parchment. Lira lit a small brewing flame and arranged the gathered herbs.
"What are you making?" Maelin asked, sitting by the window.
"A cooling potion for you. For when you're near the furnaces again."
Maelin blinked, visibly touched. "Really?"
Lira nodded, gently crushing a leaf between her fingers. "You help me so much. I want to return a little of that."
The potion shimmered to life in a small glass bottle—icy blue with a soft swirling core. Lira handed it over, and Maelin cradled it like it was made of crystal.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. "You're getting really good at this."
Their eyes met, and Lira felt something solid form quietly between them—trust, friendship, a shared moment that would last far beyond the potion's effect.