“What’s that?” Caelus asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspicion as he nodded toward a peculiar bottle nestled in Lorian’s bag. The faint glow from within danced softly against the room’s dim walls, casting golden beams that shimmered and pulsed like the heartbeat of a living thing.

  “Oh, this?” Lorian replied, barely glancing up from the cluttered mess of potions, tools, and odd trinkets he was trying—and failing—to organize in his overstuffed bag. “It’s a fairy.” He said it as casually as if he were mentioning the weather.

  Caelus blinked, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer. “A fairy?” His tone made it clear he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. He leaned over, eyeing the bottle with cautious scrutiny. The glow inside shifted, almost as if it were aware of his presence. “You’re telling me Soren gave you a fairy in a bottle... and you just took it? No questions? No second thoughts?”

  “Yup,” Lorian said with a shrug, entirely unbothered by the inquiry. He zipped up one pocket of his bag, only for a vial to pop out from another. His hands moved quickly, trying to catch it before it fell. Meanwhile, Cheese jiggled on the table next to him, letting out a bubbly sound that might have been agreement—or excitement.

  Caelus folded his arms, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at the bottle. Inside, the faint outline of a tiny, winged figure became visible for a moment before disappearing back into the warm, golden light. “You do realize this is Soren we’re talking about? The same guy who hands out ‘gifts’ like they’re free samples but never tells you what the catch is?”

  Lorian, still not looking up, began methodically stuffing smaller items into the bag’s remaining pockets, humming softly to himself. “I don’t think it’s a big deal,” he said dismissively. “Soren said it might come in handy, and I trust him. Sort of.” He paused, tilting his head as if reconsidering, then shrugged again. “Mostly.”

  Cheese bounced enthusiastically, its glowing blue hue flickering slightly as if to second Lorian’s confidence.

  “Well, as long as you’ve got it all figured out,” Caelus muttered sarcastically, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing warily at the glowing bottle. Something about it unsettled him—the way the light flickered in perfect rhythm, the faint hum it emitted, barely audible but undeniably there. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Soren’s so-called “gift” was more trouble than Lorian realized.

  But Lorian’s carefree demeanor left little room for argument. He closed his bag with a triumphant snap and stood, beaming like he’d just solved a great puzzle. “Ready to go!” he announced, clearly oblivious to Caelus’s lingering doubt.

  “Sure,” Caelus muttered, shaking his head as they headed out. His eyes flicked back to the bottle one last time, unease creeping in like a shadow. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he added under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

  The bottle sat quietly in Lorian’s bag, its golden glow flickering softly, almost as if it had heard.

  The royal castle’s training grounds were alive with the clang of steel and the murmur of voices as the champions gathered under the cool embrace of an early morning sun. The pale light spilled over the neatly arranged sparring rings, archery ranges, and magical testing fields. It carried with it the fresh scent of dew and damp earth, a welcome contrast to the oppressive, swampy air of Blackthorn Marsh.

  In the armory, King Rowan stood waiting, his presence commanding despite his lack of royal adornment. Gone was the gleaming crown and the imposing cape that symbolized his station; instead, he wore a simple tunic of deep blue, belted at the waist, and a pair of well-worn boots. The practicality of his attire mirrored the gravity of the moment, and though his face was youthful, his expression carried the weight of countless decisions made in the shadow of war.

  As the champions entered, Rowan stepped forward, his hands steady as he placed a heavy leather pouch onto the central table. The pouch landed with a solid thud, and the unmistakable jingle of gold coins echoed in the quiet space. “Your efforts have been extraordinary so far,” he began, his voice calm but laden with a quiet determination. “This—” he gestured to the pouch, “—is a small token of Helia’s gratitude. Use it wisely—for supplies, weapons, or anything else you might need to prepare for the trials ahead.”

  Elira, standing closest to the table, wasted no time. With a swift motion, she snatched up the pouch, tossing it lightly into the air before catching it with practiced ease. A grin spread across her face as the coins jingled in her hand. “Finally, some pay for all the near-death experiences,” she quipped, her amber eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m saving up for the biggest food spree when we hit Kur’thar. Think I can get a feast fit for a champion?”

  Rowan didn’t dignify her cheeky remark with a response, though a faint flicker of amusement crossed his otherwise composed face. Instead, his piercing blue eyes moved across the group, pausing briefly on each of the champions as if silently taking their measure. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, every word weighted with purpose. “Magnus was right about Myrkos. His dark magic is his greatest strength—but it is also his greatest weakness.”

  The air in the room seemed to shift, tension rising as the gravity of his words settled over them. Rowan turned to a nearby table where several ancient scrolls and books lay open, their faded script revealing secrets lost to time. He ran a hand over one particularly weathered page. “We’ve scoured Helia’s archives,” he continued, “and there are ways to counter him. Methods forgotten by most, but still within our grasp. However, they require preparation—focus—and unity. You just need to be ready.”

  The champions exchanged glances, their initial confidence now tempered by the enormity of the task.

  Rowan’s gaze landed on Magnus, who stood tall and serene, his pale green hair catching the light. “Magnus, your magic has a natural affinity for balance and nature. You may find yourself key to disrupting Myrkos’s corruption. Trust in your instincts, and we’ll bolster your skills with everything Helia has to offer.”

  Magnus inclined his head solemnly. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said softly, his green eyes alight with quiet determination.

  Rowan then turned to Seraph, whose silver eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light. “Seraph, your magic is attuned to disrupting darkness. That connection will be vital. Myrkos thrives in shadow, but you can pierce through it. Do not underestimate the light within you.”

  Seraph straightened, her expression calm but resolute. “I won’t let you down,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight of expectation.

  Finally, Rowan’s gaze rested on Lorian, and by extension, the small, wiggling blob of Cheese perched happily on his shoulder. Rowan allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “And you,” he said, addressing the slime, “are unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Your ability to purify corruption is extraordinary. That power will be invaluable in the battles to come.”

  Cheese let out a bubbly sound of approval, glowing faintly as it wobbled in delight. Lorian grinned, reaching up to pat the creature fondly. “Cheese is our secret weapon!” he said proudly, earning a chuckle from Magnus and a faint eye-roll from Elira.

  Rowan’s expression sobered once more as he addressed them all. “This won’t be easy. Myrkos will test not just your strength, but your resolve, your unity, and your willpower. Use the castle’s facilities to prepare. Train your bodies, sharpen your minds, and strengthen the bonds between you. Only together can you overcome what lies ahead.”

  The room fell into a moment of silence, the weight of Rowan’s words sinking in. Then, with a resolute nod, the champions split up, each heading to their respective areas of training. The castle’s armory and training grounds buzzed with renewed purpose as the champions took their first steps toward facing the looming darkness.

  The alchemy lab was a mesmerizing haven, a blend of rustic charm and arcane wonder. Wooden tables, worn smooth by countless years of use, were scattered across the room, each one laden with an assortment of alchemical tools—delicate glass beakers, twisted alembics, and small brass scales. Shelves carved from dark oak lined the stone walls, sagging slightly under the weight of jars, vials, and flasks. Each container held something unique: dried herbs of every imaginable color, shimmering powders that caught the light like crushed gemstones, and peculiar liquids that swirled and shifted as if alive.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Bundles of hanging plants—lavender, sage, and something faintly glowing—dangled from the ceiling, filling the air with a heady mix of earthy and floral scents. The faint hum of enchantments resonated in the background, emanating from softly glowing lanterns suspended from the ceiling. Their light bathed the room in a gentle amber hue, illuminating the fine motes of dust that danced in the air. A large, circular window at the far end of the room let in streams of morning light, which played across the polished surfaces of mortar and pestles, glass stirring rods, and stacks of parchment covered in scrawled notes.

  Lorian’s wide eyes darted around, unable to take in the sheer abundance of magical and mundane tools alike. His small hands hovered over a jar of sparkling blue powder, itching to explore. “This place is incredible,” he whispered, almost reverently.

  Magnus stood nearby, his serene green eyes focused on a thick, leather-bound recipe book resting on a sturdy oak lectern. He turned each page with care, the faint scent of old parchment wafting upward. “Straightforward,” he said softly, pointing to a recipe with a faint smile. “This healing potion is a good starting point.”

  At another table, Seraph gently arranged ingredients with an air of quiet precision. Her silver eyes gleamed as her hands, delicate but steady, brushed over bundles of herbs and vials of liquid that shimmered faintly in the light. She glanced up, her expression calm but tinged with excitement. “I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, her soft voice carrying a note of anticipation. “But it looks... magical.”

  Rowan stood at the center of the room, his presence grounding amidst the vibrant chaos of the lab. Though his posture was relaxed, there was an undeniable authority in the way he moved, his sharp blue eyes scanning the group. He had shed the formal trappings of royalty for something more practical: a simple tunic and trousers, though the subtle embroidery along the cuffs hinted at his station. He stepped forward and tapped a finger against the recipe Magnus had selected.

  “We’ll start here,” Rowan said, his calm, even voice carrying a quiet confidence. “It’s simple, but effective. Once you master the basics, we can move on to more complex concoctions.”

  Magnus nodded thoughtfully. “A sound approach,” he agreed, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of the page.

  Lorian, on the other hand, could barely contain his excitement. He leaned closer to the table, his small hands hovering over the ingredients. “Can we add something extra?” he asked, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “Like—make it better somehow?”

  Rowan chuckled, a rare sound that was warm and disarming, cutting through the tension of the past days. “One step at a time, Lorian,” he said, his tone patient but firm. “Master the basics before you start experimenting. A poorly mixed potion can be more dangerous than no potion at all.”

  Lorian pouted briefly but nodded, reaching for a handful of dried sage as instructed. Seraph smiled at his eagerness, her silver eyes twinkling with amusement as she handed him a jar of powdered unicorn root.

  The three of them worked in harmony, guided by Rowan’s steady instruction. The ingredients were crushed, measured, and carefully combined in a small cauldron set over a flame. The air grew warm and fragrant as the potion began to bubble, its liquid shifting from a dull brown to a vibrant crimson.

  “It’s working!” Lorian exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder.

  Seraph’s smile widened as she leaned closer to examine the cauldron. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her silver eyes reflecting the potion’s glow.

  Rowan, observing their progress, allowed a small, approving nod. “Well done,” he said, his voice carrying a note of pride. “This is how we begin. Each potion, each spell—it’s a step toward preparing for the battles ahead.”

  The atmosphere in the lab felt lighter, their camaraderie growing as they shared in the small triumph. For a moment, the looming threat of Myrkos seemed distant, replaced by the simple joy of creation and discovery.

  The trio worked in seamless harmony, each contributing their unique touch to the process. Magnus’s hands moved with the steady grace of a seasoned craftsman, crushing herbs into fine powders with practiced ease. The rhythmic sound of the mortar and pestle filled the room as he hummed softly to himself. Beside him, Seraph measured crystalline powders with the precision of a jeweler, her slender fingers deftly pinching the exact amounts and adding them to the mixture. Her focus was unwavering, her silver eyes gleaming in the amber glow of the enchanted lanterns above.

  Meanwhile, Lorian was in charge of heating the cauldron over a small, flickering flame. His small hands trembled with excitement as he adjusted the flame’s intensity, his wide eyes darting between the glowing liquid inside and the ingredients scattered across the table. As the potion began to bubble, the room filled with a fragrant, heady aroma—a blend of lavender, sage, and something distinctly magical. Slowly, the once-dull liquid brightened, transforming into a vibrant red that seemed to glow with an inner light.

  Rowan stood nearby, arms crossed as he observed their efforts with quiet pride. He had refrained from intervening, letting the trio figure out the process under his watchful eye. As they celebrated, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  Lorian’s curiosity quickly shifted gears. He looked up at Rowan, his head tilted in that way that always signaled a question was coming. “How do you know so much about this stuff, Rowan?” he asked, his youthful voice laced with genuine curiosity.

  Rowan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he spoke. “I was trained from a young age,” he said simply, his voice steady but tinged with something heavier. “Magic came naturally to me—it had to. I didn’t have the luxury of learning at my own pace. When I was a child, the throne was thrust upon me far too soon.”

  The room grew quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The soft bubbling of the potion was the only sound for a moment.

  Seraph’s silver eyes widened, and her usual timidity gave way to open admiration. “You’re incredible,” she said earnestly, her voice soft but brimming with sincerity. “To learn so much, to take on so much… I can’t imagine.” She clapped her hands again, her gaze fixed on Rowan with awe.

  Magnus nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. “A remarkable burden for anyone, let alone a child,” he said, his calm voice carrying a note of respect.

  Even Lorian, usually so quick to chatter, fell silent. He regarded the young king with a newfound respect, his wide eyes reflecting both admiration and sympathy. “I didn’t realize you went through all that,” he said quietly. “You’re… kinda amazing.”

  Rowan looked at them, his piercing blue eyes softening as he caught their gazes, their admiration clear. “Amazing?” he repeated, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know about that. I just did what I had to. And now, I’m doing it again—for Helia, and for all of you.”

  The sincerity in his voice struck a chord, a weight of responsibility layered beneath his words. The champions exchanged glances, each silently recognizing the burden the young king carried.

  Suddenly, a loud yelp shattered the moment. Lorian stumbled back from the table, coughing as a puff of thick, acrid smoke billowed from the cauldron in front of him. “What happened?” he exclaimed, fanning the air with his hands, his brown eyes wide with panic.

  Rowan stepped forward, his calm demeanor unshaken by the small disaster. “The flame’s too hot,” he said evenly, his voice steady as he knelt beside the cauldron. He reached out to adjust the burner with practiced ease, the smoke quickly dissipating. “Patience, Lorian. Alchemy isn’t just about following instructions—it’s about control. A steady hand and a calm mind are just as important as the ingredients.”

  Lorian’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing sheepishly at the young king. “Sorry. I got a little excited…”

  Rowan chuckled softly, a rare sound that seemed to lighten the air in the room. “Excitement’s not a bad thing. It shows you care. But let’s focus that energy.” He gestured for Lorian to step back to the table, motioning for Magnus and Seraph to assist.

  Under Rowan’s guidance, the trio returned to their work. Magnus stabilized the small cauldron while Seraph added a precise pinch of crushed crystals to the mix, her careful movements ensuring the potion wasn’t ruined. Lorian, still red-faced but determined, adjusted the flame with newfound care.

  The liquid inside the cauldron shifted, its murky consistency smoothing out as it began to shimmer. Colors danced across its surface, and the once-dull potion transformed into an even more vibrant, glowing concoction that seemed to pulse with life. The room filled with a soft, radiant light and a subtle, soothing aroma that felt like sunlight on a spring morning.

  Rowan straightened, his gaze sweeping over the bubbling potion with quiet approval. “See?” he said, offering Lorian a small but encouraging smile. “You’ve got this.”

  Lorian’s face lit up with pride, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” he said, his voice brimming with gratitude.

  Magnus gave Rowan an approving nod, his green eyes calm but impressed. “Your patience is as valuable as your knowledge.”

  Even Seraph offered a rare, bright smile, her silver eyes shimmering in the potion’s light. “It wouldn’t have come together without you.”

  Rowan waved their praise away with a modest gesture. “You’re the ones who made it happen. I just pointed you in the right direction.”

  The alchemy lab felt lighter, the earlier tension replaced by a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie. Lorian carefully ladled the potion into a glass vial, sealing it with a cork and holding it up triumphantly. “It’s perfect!”

  Rowan smirked faintly, his tone warm but still instructive. “One potion doesn’t make a master alchemist, but it’s a good start. Keep at it—you’ll need these skills for what’s ahead.”

  And in that moment, the champions felt the beginnings of a transformation—not just in their skills, but in their bond with one another and their young king.