《Akilliz: The Secret to Mana Potions. ( A potionmaster’s tale)》 Chapter Two: Cold Truths The chill of the night air sank deep into Akilliz¡¯s bones as he stepped away from the hearth¡¯s fading warmth. He closed the door with a soft creak, peering back into the cottage one last time. Torin carried Elowen to bed, her frail form swallowed by the shadows, her face paler than he¡¯d ever seen. She had never looked so sick, he thought, a tear glistening in his eye. The hearth¡¯s glow flickered, a cruel reminder of the home he was leaving behind. With a shaky breath, he turned and set forth through their humble village, the weight of her life pressing on his shoulders. ¡°She¡¯s strong. We can do this¡ªbut I have to hurry!¡± he muttered, his quickened footsteps crunching on the frost-dusted path. He glanced up at a sky full of stars, the sun long set, the moon casting a silver sheen over Lumara. ¡°At least there¡¯s enough light to see,¡± he shivered, his breath clouding in the frigid air. A single snowflake drifted down, catching the moonlight, and he blinked as more followed, a gentle flurry whispering through the night. As he trekked through the village, he peered into the homes of his neighbors. Families settled beside glowing hearths, dousing lanterns to prepare for sleep, their laughter muffled through the windows. He wished that¡¯s what he was doing tonight¡ªcurled up with his parents, safe and warm. They meant everything to him, and Elowen was his world. His heart ached at the thought of her sickness, at how long she must have hidden it, her smile masking the pain. Up ahead, the market square lay silent, its stalls shuttered under a thin layer of snow. Akilliz forced himself to focus. ¡°I need to pass Old Cobb¡¯s house and head into the forest,¡± he whispered, his voice trembling. ¡°There¡¯s a path that takes me higher. How far up is this flower, anyway?¡± He¡¯d never been on Frosthelm at night. Children¡¯s tales of red-eyed demons lurking in the shadows echoed in his mind. No one traveled at night without weapons, lanterns, and two sets of eyes¡ªbut there was no time for fear, only for what must happen. He had to reach the trees, find the path, and climb the mountain. The end of the village came into view, the last cottages fading behind him as the tall trees of Frosthelm¡¯s forest loomed closer, their dark silhouettes clawing at the starry sky. Snowflakes thickened, dusting his shoulders and catching in his sandy hair, the cold biting deeper under the forest¡¯s shadow. He paused at the clearing¡¯s edge, the warmth of Lumara now a distant glow, the icy wind howling softly through the pines ahead. ¡°It¡¯ll be easy to find a glowing plant, right?¡± he muttered, his voice small against the vastness. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one before¡­ Aurelia has a shrine near the summit¡ªsurely it¡¯s not that far? Ugh, I should¡¯ve asked for more details.¡± He glanced at the journal tucked in his pack, its weight a quiet comfort. ¡°Maybe Ma left hints on where to find it. No time to look now, but if I can¡¯t spot it quick, I¡¯ll dig it out.¡± A gust of wind swept through, snow swirling around him as he took his first step into the forest. The trees closed in, their branches creaking like ancient whispers, the moonlight dimming under the dense canopy. The cold deepened, frost crackling beneath his boots, and Akilliz pulled his tattered tunic tighter, his heart pounding with both fear and resolve. The snow fell heavier now, a relentless curtain that stung Akilliz¡¯s cheeks like tiny needles, each flake a reminder of how unprepared he was. He trudged deeper into Frosthelm¡¯s forest, the tall pines towering over him, their branches sagging under fresh powder, blotting out the moonlight. His boots sank into the deepening snow, now knee-high, the sound of his steps muffled by the eerie stillness. He pulled his tattered tunic tighter, the thin fabric doing little against the biting cold, shivers wracking his body as his fingers grew numb, his breath clouding in the frigid air. He¡¯d never felt so small, so alone, the weight of Elowen¡¯s life pressing harder with every step. ¡°I have to hurry,¡± he muttered, his voice trembling, barely audible over the howling wind. ¡°She needs this.¡± The thought of her pale face, her shallow breaths, drove him forward, but it also made him reckless. He scanned the darkness for the path she had once described¡ªa narrow trail winding up the mountain¡ªbut the snow blurred everything, and his haste made him careless. He stumbled over a hidden root, catching himself on a tree, the rough bark scraping his palm. ¡°Focus!¡± he hissed, but fear gnawed at him, whispering tales of red-eyed demons lurking in the shadows. What if he was too late? What if he never found the Bloom? The trail appeared at last, a faint break in the trees marked by a gnarled pine bent like an old man¡¯s cane, but it climbed steeply, forcing him to scramble over icy rocks and duck under low branches heavy with snow. His legs burned, the cold seeping into his bones, and his worn boots slipped on the frost, each step a battle against the mountain¡¯s wrath. A rickety bridge loomed ahead, its wooden planks slick with ice, spanning a narrow ravine where a frozen stream glittered below. He hesitated, the wind howling through the gap, shaking the bridge like a living thing. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this,¡± he growled, urgency overriding caution. He gripped the fraying rope railing and stepped onto the bridge, his heart pounding as it groaned under his weight. Halfway across, a plank snapped beneath his foot, and he lurched forward, barely catching himself as the rope burned his hands. He scrambled to the other side, collapsing in the snow, his breath ragged, his body trembling from cold and fear. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill, and he knew it would only make things worse¡ªdamp clothes in this cold could be deadly. Still, he pressed on, the path growing narrower, the air thinner, the snow now up to his knees. A rustle in the underbrush made him freeze¡ªa small, red-furred fox darted out, its eyes glinting in the dim moonlight, weaving through the deep snow with ease. It circled him, drawn by the scent of his last piece of dried meat in his pack, its movements quick and teasing. Akilliz clutched the pack to his chest, trying to protect it as the fox darted in and out, nipping at the edges, its teeth grazing the leather. ¡°Get away!¡± he shouted, spinning to face it, but he couldn¡¯t turn fast enough in the heavy snow. He drew his small dagger, his numb fingers clumsy, and swung at the fox, but his foot caught on a hidden stone, and he stumbled, falling to one knee. The fox pounced, its jaws tearing into the pack, ripping through the fabric to snatch the dried meat before bolting into the storm. Akilliz lunged after it, but the snow dragged at his legs, and the fox vanished, leaving him with nothing but a torn pack and a gnawing hunger. ¡°I needed that,¡± he whispered, his voice cracking, his stomach growling as he hauled himself up, his hands numb, his body aching, and kept climbing. The trail twisted higher, the wind a relentless howl, and Akilliz¡¯s fear grew with every step. He was shivering uncontrollably now, the sweat from his earlier exertion freezing against his skin, sapping what little warmth he had left. He hadn¡¯t eaten since morning, and hunger clawed at his insides, his strength fading with every step. Magic relied on a person¡¯s strength, and his legs burned from the trek, his body growing tired, numb all over. His fingers felt like ice, his toes barely registering in his boots, and each breath was a struggle against the thinning air. He was unprepared¡ªno lantern, no proper cloak, no weapons beyond a small knife. The stories of demons felt all too real now, the shadows shifting with every gust, and he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of being watched. ¡°I can¡¯t stop,¡± he muttered, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely speak. ¡°Ma needs me.¡± But the urgency made him reckless again. He spotted a shortcut¡ªa steep, rocky incline that might cut time off his climb¡ªand in his haste, he took it, ignoring the slick ice coating the stones. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The mistake was immediate. His boot slipped, and he slid down the cliff, a cry tearing from his throat as he clawed at the snow, trying to stop his fall. He hit a jagged outcrop, pain exploding in his leg as he tumbled into a snowbank below. For a moment, he lay there, stunned, the cold seeping deeper, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He sat up, wincing, and touched his leg¡ªa gash on his shin bled freely, staining the snow red, and his ankle throbbed, twisted from the fall. ¡°Stupid,¡± he choked, tears freezing on his cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m so stupid.¡± He wallowed in the snow, the weight of his failure crushing him. He was too slow, too weak, too unprepared. Elowen was suffering, and he was failing her, just like he¡¯d failed to notice her illness sooner. ¡°I can¡¯t do this,¡± he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. ¡°I¡¯m not strong enough.¡± Still pouting, Akilliz opened his pack, the cold wet seeping into his clothes and bones, making him shiver harder. He pulled out Elowen¡¯s journal, its leather cover worn but precious, and angled it under the faint moonlight, careful not to let the snow dampen the pages. His fingers trembled as he flipped to a page marked with her neat handwriting, a herblore entry on the Lightspire Bloom. ¡°Found near the Lady¡¯s shrine, the Lightspire blooms only for a fleeting hour after dusk, its petals glowing with her divine light,¡± she¡¯d written. ¡°When the glow fades, the flower closes until the next day, unharvestable. To gather, hum the Song of Dawn¡ªthree notes, soft and pure¡ªwhile cutting the stem at its base with a single, steady stroke. Disturb its roots, and the light will die.¡± Akilliz¡¯s heart sank. Dusk had long passed¡ªhad he missed his chance? The snow fell harder, burying him in its icy embrace, and for a moment, he wanted to give up, to let the cold take him. But a faint glow caught his eye through the storm¡ªa soft, golden light emanating from a small stone shrine just up the path. It was a statue of Aurelia herself, her elven features carved with serene beauty, her hands outstretched as if watching over the mountain. A cryptic inscription at its base read, ¡°She who lights the peaks sees all.¡± Akilliz crawled toward it, his injured leg dragging, his body screaming with every movement, the storm thickening around him, snow swirling in blinding gusts. He collapsed against the shrine, the stone warm beneath his touch, a comforting heat that seeped into his frozen hands. He embraced it, clinging to the statue as if it were Elowen herself, and cried, his tears mixing with the snow. ¡°Aurelia, please¡­ help me save her,¡± he whispered through chattering teeth. ¡°I can¡¯t lose her. I¡¯ll do anything.¡± As if in answer, the storm stood still for a moment, the wind dying, the snow parting like a curtain. Akilliz sniffled, opening his eyes, and there, nestled in a crevice between two boulders near the shrine, glowed a cluster of flowers, their petals a radiant white, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. The Lightspire Bloom, its light still shining, a miracle in the darkness. ¡°It¡¯s real,¡± Akilliz breathed, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his leg, and limped toward the flowers, humming the Song of Dawn¡ªthree soft, pure notes, his voice shaky but determined. With a single, steady stroke of his knife, he cut the stem at its base, careful not to disturb the roots, and the Bloom¡¯s glow held steady as he tucked it into his pack. But a low growl froze him in place. A shadow-touched wolf emerged from the darkness, its fur black as night, eyes burning with a sickly yellow light, the air around it shimmering with an unnatural haze. Akilliz¡¯s heart pounded¡ªthe demons were real, and he was in no shape to fight. The wolf stalked closer, its growl deepening, each step a deliberate threat, its claws scraping the icy ground. He backed away, his injured leg trembling beneath him, his breath coming in panicked gasps. The wolf lunged, jaws snapping, and he dove to the side, his leg buckling as he hit the snow, pain searing through him. He fumbled for his knife, but it slipped from his numb fingers, skittering across the ice. The wolf circled, its eyes locked on him, saliva dripping from its fangs, the tension building as it prepared to strike again. Desperate, Akilliz grabbed a handful of snow and crushed the last of his dried herbs¡ªnettle and sage¡ªinto it, muttering a spell Elowen had taught him. ¡°Burn!¡± he shouted, his voice raw, throwing the mixture at the wolf. The herbs sparked, a weak burst of flame flaring in the air, catching the wolf¡¯s flank. It yelped, its fur singed, and retreated into the shadows, giving Akilliz just enough time to scramble to his feet, clutching the pack with the Bloom. He didn¡¯t stop to catch his breath. Elowen¡¯s time was running out. He stumbled back down the mountain, the snow a blinding flurry, his injured leg dragging, each step a jolt of agony that felt like it took ten times longer than the trek up. The path was a nightmare of ice and darkness, his vision blurring, exhaustion and cold threatening to pull him under. He slipped again, tumbling down a snowy slope, his body battered against rocks, his gash reopening, blood soaking his leg. But he clung to the pack, protecting the Bloom at all costs, his mother¡¯s frail smile driving him forward through the endless, torturous descent. Lumara¡¯s lights came into view at last, a faint glow through the storm, and Akilliz barely made it back in one piece, his body bruised, his leg bleeding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He burst through the door of the cottage, snow falling from his shoulders, his chest heaving. ¡°Ma! I got it!¡± he cried, holding up the Lightspire Bloom, its glow illuminating the dim room, his voice raw with desperation. Torin looked up from Elowen¡¯s bedside, his face etched with grief. Elowen lay still, her breath shallow, her skin ashen, but a faint smile touched her lips as she coughed weakly. ¡°Aki¡­ your leg,¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes flickering with concern. ¡°Torin¡­ mend it¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯ll get to that, love,¡± Torin said, his voice trembling but firm, his eyes on the Bloom. ¡°First, how does he make the potion?¡± Elowen, too tired to speak, pointed a shaky finger at the journal on the table, her strength fading. Torin grabbed Akilliz, pulling him into a fierce embrace, his voice thick with pride. ¡°You made it, lad. I knew you could. Focus now¡ªtry your best.¡± Akilliz nodded, tears in his eyes, and dropped to his knees beside her, the journal already open to the page he¡¯d found on the mountain. The recipe called for Lightspire Bloom, moondew, and a drop of honey, boiled under a whispered charm. His hands shook as he gathered the ingredients, his knife slipping as he chopped the Bloom, its glow fading with each cut. He lit the hearth¡ª¡°Up!¡±¡ªbut his magic faltered, the flame flickering weakly, his strength sapped from the climb. He tried again and again, presenting the potion to Elowen each time, but she shook her head, her coughs growing weaker, the liquid discolored¡ªgray, then brown, never the pure white it needed to be. Akilliz was crying now, his tears falling as he attempted one final time, his supplies nearly gone. He cut the last of the Bloom with precision, added the moondew drop by drop, and a single drop of honey, adjusting the temperature with care, lowering the flame to a simmer. He sang the charm¡ªa soft, lilting tune Elowen had taught him¡ªfighting to keep his voice steady despite the sobs threatening to break through. He was so weak, his magic barely sparking the flame, but he kept trying, pouring every ounce of himself into the potion. The liquid shimmered, a faint white, but still not pure, and Elowen shook her head one last time, her eyes full of love but fading fast. The family drew together, holding Elowen in a tender embrace, her frail hand tousling Akilliz¡¯s hair one final time. She looked into his eyes, a soft smile on her lips, and whispered, ¡°My brave boy¡­¡± Her breath stilled, her chest no longer rising, and she passed, the light leaving her eyes. Akilliz and Torin cried, their sobs filling the room, their grief a shared weight as they clung to her, unwilling to let go. Torin fell to his knees, clutching the pendant of Aurelia around his neck, a small golden charm he¡¯d worn since their wedding day. He wailed out a plea, his voice raw with anguish. ¡°Aurelia, mercy! Heal her¡ªI¡¯ll do anything, sacrifice myself if I must!¡± His cries echoed in the silence, the room heavy with their sorrow. Akilliz buried his face in Elowen¡¯s hand, his tears soaking her cold skin, the weight of his failure crushing him. A warm feeling embraced the room, a golden light cutting through the darkness, followed by an ethereal presence. Aurelia appeared, her form radiant, her elven features sharp yet gentle, her eyes glowing with divine light. She spoke in the elven tongue, her voice short but commanding, a melody that resonated with power: ¡°Shal¡¯ethar, vyn¡¯ara.¡± Be at peace. The soul of Elowen rose, a shimmering figure, her smile soft and serene as she looked at her family one last time. Aurelia laid a hand on Akilliz¡¯s shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. ¡°Your mother is needed, child. Do not worry¡ªI will watch over you,¡± she said, her voice a soothing balm. Akilliz tried to speak, his voice breaking, but she smiled softly, turning to Torin. ¡°It was her time,¡± she said, her tone final yet kind. The presence faded, the room returning to its dim stillness, leaving a quiet solace in their hearts. Torin bowed his head, a quiet acceptance in his eyes, finding peace in Aurelia¡¯s words. But Akilliz¡¯s heart burned with rage and guilt. He¡¯d failed. The Lightspire Bloom, the climb, the wolf¡ªit was all for nothing. He turned away, fists clenched, the weight of his failure a fire that would drive him forward. Chapter 003: Forge and Fire within The funeral draped Lumara in a silence heavier than the snow cloaking the village. No hammer rang against Torin¡¯s anvil, no children scampered by the well, their laughter snuffed out like a pinched wick. The villagers gathered beneath a bruised gray sky, snowflakes drifting onto woolen cloaks and melting into tears on weathered faces. Elowen¡¯s garden lay still, its herbs drooping as if they, too, mourned¡ªthyme and feverfew bowing low, their faint glow dimmed to a whisper. Akilliz stood beside Torin, his skinny thirteen-year-old frame swallowed by a borrowed tunic two sizes too big, its hem brushing his knees. He stared at the wooden marker carved with her name: Elowen, Light of Lumara. The crowd murmured¡ªWhat sickness took her? Could it spread? Was anyone else hiding it?¡ªbut no answers came, least of all to him. He clutched her journal, its leather edges frayed from nights spent hunched over the Lightspire recipe, each failed attempt a fresh stab of guilt. He¡¯d climbed Frosthelm, fought a wolf, bled for her¡ªand she was gone. The weight of it settled in his chest, a cold stone he couldn¡¯t shift. That night, the cottage felt like a shell. Akilliz muttered ¡°Up!¡± to the hearth, and the flames flickered weakly, casting jittery shadows over the worn table where her laughter once warmed the air. Torin slumped in a chair, clutching the small golden Aurelia pendant he¡¯d worn since their wedding, his eyes red and sunken. ¡°She¡¯s with her now, lad,¡± he rasped, voice thick with unshed tears. ¡°A miracle, her coming like that¡ªrare as stars at noon. Significant, Aki. Unheard of.¡± Akilliz nodded, mute, the memory of Aurelia¡¯s golden light still burned into his mind¡ªher elven words, Shal¡¯ethar, vyn¡¯ara, echoing soft and commanding. Be at peace. But peace wouldn¡¯t come, not when his hands still trembled with the memory of that last potion, not when her frail smile haunted him. He crawled into bed, the journal beneath his pillow, and stared at the ceiling until dawn crept through the shutters. Days bled into weeks, each one a gray blur. Akilliz drifted to the garden, kneeling among the thyme and feverfew, humming the three-note spell she¡¯d taught him¡ªa lilting tune that once made the herbs dance. The petals unfurled, glowing faintly like tiny stars, but their light felt dimmer without her beside him, her soft voice correcting his pitch. He¡¯d pluck a sprig of lavender, crushing it between his fingers until its sharp scent stung his nose, and whisper, ¡°Why¡¯d you leave me, Ma?¡± The wind tugged at his patched tunic, cold against his skin, offering no reply. He¡¯d sit there for hours, staring at the brook burbling past, its silver glint mocking him with memories of her trowel flicking dirt. The garden was hers, and now it was his, but it felt wrong¡ªtoo quiet, too empty. One morning, he opened her journal, its pages crinkling under his touch, and stared at the Lightspire entry: Found near the Lady¡¯s shrine¡­ blooms only at dusk¡­ hum the Song of Dawn¡ªthree notes, soft and pure¡ªcut steady at the base. He stumbled to the hearth, gathering moondew from her vial, a drop of honey from the jar, and a wilted feverfew sprig¡ªclosest he had to the Bloom. ¡°Up!¡± he snapped, and the fire sputtered to life. He boiled the mix, humming until his throat ached, but the brew turned gray, then a muddy brown, never the pure white she¡¯d needed. He slammed the pot down, shards scattering across the floor, and sank beside them, fists clenched. ¡°I failed you,¡± he muttered, tears freezing on his cheeks as the hearth¡¯s glow dimmed. ¡°I¡¯m not good enough.¡± The words became a mantra, bitter and relentless, gnawing at him through sleepless nights. Weeks later, as snow melted into slush, he climbed Frosthelm again, a dull hatchet from Torin¡¯s forge slung over his shoulder. His boots crunched through the pines, carving a smoother path up the steep trail¡ªsomething to do, something to keep his hands busy. The air bit at his lungs, thinner with each step, and the shrine loomed ahead: Aurelia¡¯s stone form, serene and unyielding, her hands outstretched over the mountain. He checked the crevice between the boulders¡ªno Bloom glowed; dusk had slipped away, or maybe it hid from him. He sank against the statue, its faint warmth seeping into his numb hands, and glared up at her carved face. ¡°Why¡¯d you take her?¡± he demanded, voice cracking like ice underfoot. ¡°Why was it ¡®her time¡¯? Who decides that¡ªyou? I could¡¯ve saved her if I¡¯d been better¡ªfaster, smarter. Why didn¡¯t you help me? Why¡¯d you leave me alone?¡± His fists pounded the snow, wet and cold soaking through his tunic, but the statue offered no answer¡ªjust the wind howling through the peaks, snow swirling in blinding gusts. He trudged home, empty-handed, a simmer of rage curling beneath his grief, driving his steps faster down the path he¡¯d hacked. Spring crept into Lumara, thawing the frost, and life stirred again. The forge roared one afternoon, golden sparks swirling as Torin shaped a plow blade for Old Cobb. Akilliz lingered nearby, grinding sage in a chipped mortar, its earthy tang cutting through the smoky air. He couldn¡¯t shake the questions clawing at him¡ªevery failure, every wilted herb, stoked them higher. ¡°Pa,¡± he said, setting the pestle down, his voice low but firm, ¡°why¡¯s magic so different? Why could Ma do what others can¡¯t? Why couldn¡¯t I save her?¡± Torin paused mid-swing, the hammer glowing a faint blue before dimming in his grip. He wiped soot from his brow with a rag, his smile soft but tired, etched with lines Akilliz hadn¡¯t noticed before. ¡°Ain¡¯t got all the answers, lad. Magic¡¯s a gift¡ªfrom the Nine, they say. Each made a city, poured their power into it¡ªAurelia¡¯s Luminael, down south where the elves dwell, and eight others scattered across Ao, far beyond our maps. She shares her light with us, like the others do their own¡ªwind, fire, stone, what have ye. Some folk hum to herbs and they bloom, some swing a hammer and it sings blue¡ªit¡¯s what calls to ye, what ye work at.¡± He leaned on the anvil, eyes drifting to the horizon where Frosthelm¡¯s snowy cap caught the sun. ¡°But it¡¯s got a price, Aki. Tales tell of a sorcerer up that mountain, mad with wind magic¡ªhe pushed too hard, burst into a cloud, lost his body entire, drifting forever in the skies. Magic¡¯s alive, lad, and it bites back if ye overreach. Fire magic burns ye from within, blisters skin, steals yer touch ¡®til ye can¡¯t feel a thing. Common folk like us don¡¯t fret much¡ªhumming to a plant or sparking a forge won¡¯t kill ye¡ªbut them who pact with wizards or delve deep into it¡­ they pay dear, body and soul.¡± Akilliz¡¯s eyes widened, fingers tightening on the mortar. ¡°The Nine¡ªdo they ever come here? Why¡¯d Aurelia take Ma?¡± Torin rubbed his beard, voice dropping to a reverent hush. ¡°Rarely, lad. They¡¯ve been here since dirt was new and skies were young, but most don¡¯t show their faces in a man¡¯s life¡ªfar as I know, anyway. Aurelia¡¯s different¡ªfolk say she visits Luminael once a year, at the Festival of Light, shining down on her elves. The others? Might as well be myths to us. Her coming for yer ma¡­¡± He clutched the pendant, tears glinting in the forge¡¯s glow. ¡°That¡¯s a marvel, Aki. Significant. Unheard of in Lumara, maybe anywhere. She¡¯s likely doing something grand with her now¡ªI feel her watching over us, though it might just be an old fool¡¯s hope.¡± His voice softened, breaking slightly. ¡°She¡¯d be proud of ye, lad¡ªgrieving don¡¯t mean ye¡¯re weak. It means ye loved her fierce.¡± He nodded, the words sinking in slow, a tangle of comfort and ache. Questions simmered¡ªabout the Nine, about Luminael, about why his magic faltered when hers shone¡ªbut he let them rest for now, turning back to the garden. The herbs waited, their glow faint but stubborn, and he knelt among them, hands trembling as he tried to tend them alone. Feverfew wilted under his clumsy hums, nettles stung when he rushed, and he cursed under his breath, kicking at the dirt. ¡°I¡¯m not you,¡± he muttered, but he opened the journal again, determined to prove something¡ªto her, to himself, to the silence that pressed in. Summer bloomed across Lumara, the brook glinting like liquid gold under a fierce sun, and Akilliz threw himself into potions, desperate to fill the void Elowen left. The garden hummed under his touch now, thyme and sage unfurling with his three-note tune, but every success stung¡ªshe wasn¡¯t here. One afternoon, Widow Bess knocked at the gate, her scrawny goat trailing behind, bleating pitifully. ¡°Aki, this beast¡¯s all bones¡ªcan ye fix him?¡± she asked, wringing her apron, her gray eyes pleading. He frowned, mind racing, and nodded. For days, he tinkered¡ªgrinding oats with a pestle, steeping burdock root, adding a pinch of glowing thyme from the garden¡¯s edge. He hummed until his throat rasped, the mixture shimmering a faint green¡ªGoat¡¯s Grit, he called it. Poured into the trough, it worked slow magic: the goat¡¯s coat thickened, legs muscled up, and within a month, it butted Bess¡¯s fence with new vigor. She beamed, trading a plump pheasant, its feathers iridescent in the sun. ¡°Yer a wonder, lad!¡± she said, pinching his cheek. Akilliz grinned despite himself, a flicker of pride cutting through the gloom, but as she left, he clutched the pheasant and whispered, ¡°Wish you¡¯d seen this, Ma.¡± He brewed more, selling to the village¡ªDusk Draught (chamomile and honey, violet-glowing) to Mara for sleepless nights, easing her cough by dawn; Glowpetal Mist (yarrow and sage, shimmering red) to Old Cobb for a sliced thumb, traded for a sack of barley. Failures dogged him¡ªa Cinder Tonic to warm bones flared too hot, scorching his workbench with a hiss, and he slumped by the hearth, muttering, ¡°I¡¯m still not good enough.¡± Torin found him there, clapping his shoulder. ¡°Ye¡¯re learning, lad¡ªmistakes make the master.¡± Akilliz nodded, but the ache lingered, sharp as nettle stings. One crisp evening, Tild the butcher fell ill, his wife Mara pounding on the cottage door. ¡°Aki, he¡¯s burning up¡ªcoughing, sweating somethin¡¯ fierce!¡± Akilliz grabbed his pack, following her to their squat stone house. Tild lay on a cot, skin flushed, breath rattling like dry leaves. Akilliz knelt, pressing a hand to his brow¡ªhot, clammy¡ªthen sniffed the air: stale, heavy with fever. ¡°Feverfew,¡± he muttered, digging through his herbs, ¡°mint to cool, moondew to bind it.¡± He brewed a Feverfew Kiss over their small fire, humming soft and steady, the liquid glowing a faint blue. Tild sipped it, grimacing, but the flush faded, his cough easing by nightfall. Mara pressed a smoked ham into Akilliz¡¯s hands, tears in her eyes. ¡°Yer Elowen¡¯s son, alright,¡± Tild rasped, grinning weakly. Akilliz forced a smile, chest tight¡ªsuccess felt hollow without her to see it. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Winter blanketed Lumara again, and he climbed Frosthelm a second time, his boots¡ªworn but sturdy¡ªcrunching through fresh snow. Two years had hardened him; he was fifteen now, taller, shoulders broader from hauling wood and herbs. The shrine stood bare under a slate sky, no Bloom glowing in the crevice. He knelt, breath clouding, and traced the statue¡¯s base, the cryptic inscription¡ªShe who lights the peaks sees all¡ªmocking him. ¡°If she¡¯s with you, Aurelia,¡± he said, voice low and raw, ¡°tell her I¡¯m trying. But I need more¡ªI can¡¯t lose anyone else like that. Why¡¯d you let her go?¡± The wind sighed through the pines, cold biting his ears, and he lingered, half-hoping for a sign¡ªa glow, a whisper. Nothing came. He descended, resolve hardening like ice, the journal¡¯s weight in his pack a quiet promise. Spring returned to Lumara, the air thick with the scent of budding herbs and the brook¡¯s cheerful gurgle, but Akilliz¡¯s rage simmered beneath the surface, a quiet fire stoked by every day he stayed. He tended the garden¡ªfeverfew and thyme glowing under his hums¡ªhelped Torin at the forge, and brewed potions, but his mind churned with Luminael, with the elves, with a world beyond the village¡¯s stone walls. One afternoon, rummaging behind the forge for a spare bellows strap, he found an old sword¡ªrusted, notched, its leather hilt cracked from years of neglect. It wasn¡¯t Torin¡¯s gift; his father didn¡¯t know the itch driving him. He hefted it, the weight dragging his skinny arms, and swung at the air, a clumsy arc that nearly toppled him. ¡°I¡¯ll need this,¡± he muttered, jaw tight, imagining Frosthelm¡¯s wolves, imagining proving himself¡ªto her, to himself. He trained in secret, late into spring nights when the forge¡¯s glow faded and Torin snored inside. Under a waxing moon, he hacked at straw dummies he¡¯d lashed together with twine, the sword¡¯s heft bruising his palms, each swing a battle against his own weakness. His arms trembled, barely holding the blade aloft, and his wild strokes missed half the time, thudding into dirt or slicing air. He¡¯d stumble over roots, breath hitching, and curse under his breath, sweat stinging his eyes. ¡°Stronger,¡± he¡¯d growl, swinging again, the steel a dull gleam in the dark. One dusk, Torin caught him¡ªleaning against the forge, arms crossed, a knowing glance flickering in his hazel eyes. ¡°What¡¯s this, lad?¡± he called, voice gruff but laced with curiosity. Akilliz froze, blade mid-swing, chest heaving. ¡°Just¡­ messing about, Pa,¡± he lied, wiping his brow. Torin stepped closer, squinting at the boy¡¯s shaky stance¡ªfeet splayed wrong, grip too tight. ¡°Hold it steady¡ªhere,¡± he said, nudging Akilliz¡¯s hands lower, kicking his boots apart. ¡°Swing from the shoulder, slow, like yer chopping wood.¡± he tried, the blade wobbling, and grazed the dummy¡¯s arm, straw spilling. His father chuckled, a deep rumble. ¡°Yer ma¡¯d say ye dance like a goat, Aki¡ªkeep at it.¡± He lingered, studying him with a father¡¯s quiet wonder¡ªwhy the sword?¡ªbut said no more, retreating inside with a thoughtful frown. He pressed on, out late, the sword a leaden burden he refused to drop. His arms ached after a few minutes, shoulders screaming, but he¡¯d grit his teeth and swing again, a boy¡¯s desperation forging resolve. Inside, he hid the fire¡ªthe elusive city burned in his thoughts, but he kept it from Torin, helping with the forge, tending herbs, biding time. Summer flared hot and dry, and Akilliz sat by the anvil one dusk, sage dust on his hands, the forge¡¯s heat waning as crickets chirped. ¡°Pa,¡± he said, voice casual but probing, ¡°what¡¯s Luminael like? What¡¯d Ma say about the elves?¡± Torin wiped sweat with a rag, eyes softening as he leaned on his hammer. ¡°She said it¡¯s all golden spires and glowing trees, lad¡ªmagic thick as mist, humming in the air. The elves are sharp, proud folk¡ªstingy with their knowledge, not keen on outsiders. Yer ma learned from an old alchemist there, stern but kind, who taught her herbs are the earth¡¯s heartbeat¡ªolder¡¯n any spell we weave.¡± He sighed, clutching the pendant at his neck. ¡°She¡¯d want ye to grow beyond Lumara, Aki¡ªsaid the Festival of Light¡¯s a sight, Aurelia herself shining down. I¡¯d give a year¡¯s iron to see it.¡± His voice carried a wistful ache, but Akilliz¡¯s heart raced¡ªproof he needed more, proof the elves held answers. Two years honed him sharp. He mastered the journal¡ªLightfoot Brew (rosemary and glowpetal) to lighten steps, traded for a skein of wool that scratched his neck; Storm Salve (aloe and a cryptic herb, faintly crackling) for burns, bartered for a slab of venison that dripped red on the table. Merchants rolled through under late summer¡¯s haze, their carts creaking, and Akilliz haggled with a fierceness they didn¡¯t expect from a boy¡ªa stag-clasp cloak, deep green and warm against the evening chill; boots of thick leather that hugged his feet like a promise; vine-etched bottles delicate as frost, glinting in the lantern light. His purse clinked with coins, each trade a brick in the wall he¡¯d built toward leaving, though rage simmered beneath¡ªa fire he couldn¡¯t douse, a scream he swallowed daily. One sweltering late summer day, Akilliz helped Torin forge a broadsword for a merchant bound south. The forge roared, heat plastering his tunic to his skin, and he pumped the bellows, arms burning from dawn spent weeding the garden, nights swinging that cursed sword, and no meal since a stale crust at noon. His stomach gnawed itself, his head swam, and the tedium¡ªpump, pump, pump¡ªstoked his rage higher. Torin barked, ¡°Steady, lad¡ªkeep the rhythm!¡± Akilliz¡¯s hands slipped, slick with sweat, and the bellows faltered. The fire flared wild, a tongue of flame licking out, searing his forearm with a sharp, white-hot sting. He yelped, dropping the bellows with a clatter, the burn blistering red against his skin. Rage burst free¡ªhe kicked the anvil stand, pain forgotten, and roared, ¡°I¡¯m done, Pa!¡± Storming inside, the cottage door banged shut, rattling the stew pot on its hook. Torin pushed through the cottage door, his heavy boots thudding against the worn floorboards, his brow creased with worry and frustration. ¡°What¡¯s this nonsense, Aki?¡± he demanded, his voice cutting through the stifling air. Akilliz spun around, pacing the cramped room like a trapped animal, his words bursting out in jagged, splintered shards. ¡°I failed her¡ªI¡¯m a failure! She died because I wasn¡¯t good enough¡ªtoo slow, too weak, too stupid! I tend herbs, help ye forge, swing that damn sword, and it¡¯s nothing¡ªnothing! I need more¡ªI need to study with the elves, learn everything they know. I won¡¯t let anyone I love die like that again¡ªnot you, not anyone!¡± Tears streamed down his face, hot and unrelenting, his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms, the fresh burn on his hand throbbing in rhythm with his racing pulse. He collapsed to his knees, sobs wracking his frame, his head bowed low. ¡°I hate myself, Pa¡ªI hate me.¡± Torin dropped beside him in an instant, pulling him into a fierce, enveloping hug, his own tears falling silently onto Akilliz¡¯s sandy hair. ¡°Ye¡¯re no failure, lad,¡± he said, his voice rough but steady. ¡°Ye climbed a mountain, faced a beast¡ªye¡¯re brave, like her, stronger than ye know. She died ¡®cause it was her time¡ªAurelia said it¡ªnot ¡®cause ye fell short. The elves¡­¡± He trailed off, exhaling a shaky breath, his voice cracking under the weight of memory. ¡°They¡¯re a hard lot, proud and stingy with their secrets. Master her journal¡ªevery page¡ªand ye might win ¡®em over. She¡¯d be proud, Aki¡ªproud ye¡¯re doing so well.¡± He gripped Akilliz¡¯s shoulders, his eyes glistening but resolute. ¡°I feel her watching¡ªI know ye will go on to be a great potion master just like yer ma¡¯¡± The wildfire of Akilliz¡¯s rage simmered down, cooling into something solid¡ªpurpose. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, nodding silently, and wrapped his burned hand in a scrap of cloth, the sting a sharp anchor to his resolve. In the days that followed, he threw himself into the journal¡¯s final recipes: Cinder Tonic, refined until it warmed without scalding, traded for a copper coin; Feverfew Kiss, perfected with a steady hum, easing a child¡¯s cough in exchange for a crusty loaf of bread. The garden flourished under his care, the herbs glowing brighter¡ªa quiet tribute to her¡ªand each night, he swung the sword, his movements growing surer, though still clumsy, his arms trembling less with every passing moon. Late summer bled into autumn, the leaves brushing the trees with hints of gold, and one evening, as the forge cooled and the stew pot bubbled on the hearth¡ªits spoon twirling lazily, filling the cottage with savory warmth¡ªAkilliz sat Torin down by the fire. ¡°Pa,¡± he said, his voice calm and clear at fifteen, his eyes steady, ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking. Ye¡¯ve kept me busy¡ªgarden, forge, all of it. I know ye¡¯re stalling, trying to keep me from Luminael. But I want to go¡ªsoon. I need to learn, make her proud. I can¡¯t stay here forever.¡± He placed the journal on the table between them, its pages worn but intact, a roadmap to the future he envisioned. Torin¡¯s hand drifted to the pendant around his neck, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. He sighed, shoulders slumping as if the weight of years pressed down on him. ¡°Aye, lad, ye¡¯ve caught me,¡± he admitted, his voice breaking. ¡°Wait ¡®til spring¡ªroads¡¯ll be kinder, and I need ye ¡®til then, helping with the forge. Truth is¡­¡± He faltered, and the big man seemed to crumple, tears streaming into his graying beard, his hands trembling. ¡°Ye¡¯re all I¡¯ve got, Aki. I love ye, love our family¡ªmiss her so fierce it¡¯s like a blade in me. I don¡¯t want to be alone, rattling ¡®round this place with naught but echoes. But I know a young man¡¯s journey matters¡ªI stayed, built a life, but ye¡­ ye¡¯ve got fire.¡± He swallowed hard, meeting his son¡¯s gaze with raw, unguarded honesty. ¡°Stay ¡®til spring, get stronger¡ªI need to know ye can face the wide world alone. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll lose ye too, won¡¯t hear from ye again, but ye¡¯re smart, strong. I¡¯ve got to trust that. If ye stay, I¡¯ll give ye my blessing come thaw.¡± Akilliz¡¯s throat tightened, and he reached out, gripping his father¡¯s arm, the dull ache of his burn grounding him. ¡°I¡¯ll stay ¡®til spring, Pa¡ªhelp ye, get ready. I¡¯ll come back, I swear¡ªye won¡¯t be alone forever. I¡¯ll learn, make ye both proud.¡± Torin nodded, a sob shaking his broad frame, and pulled him into a tight embrace, a father¡¯s love fierce and fragile in the hearth¡¯s gentle glow. Autumn deepened into winter¡¯s slow creep, Akilliz tending the herbs through frost, swinging the sword¡ªstill heavy, still awkward, but steadier¡ªuntil spring¡¯s first thaw glimmered on the horizon. When the time came, he started to pack his treasures: the journal tucked close to his heart, bottles of remedies clinking softly in his pack, his boots laced tight beside the stag-clasp cloak. Torin¡¯s blessing lingered in his mind with a quiet hum, and as the budding dawn whispered through the village, the road to Luminael was close now. He was prepared to say his goodbye to all he had known and venture forth into the world beyond the humble village. Chapter One: Frosthelm Mountain Chapter One: Frosthelm (I was thinking FrostHeim or something as well) The garden smelled of thyme and warm earth, a scent Akilliz could find blindfolded. He knelt beside his mother, Elowen, his skinny fingers brushing the fuzzy leaves of a feverfew plant. ¡°Grow, you stubborn thing,¡± he muttered, humming a tune she¡¯d taught him¡ªa lilting, three-note spell that made the herb perk up, its white petals unfurling like tiny stars. At thirteen, he wasn¡¯t much good at it yet, but the garden didn¡¯t mind his crooked notes, its glow a gentle encouragement. ¡°Gentler, Aki,¡± Elowen said, her voice soft as the brook burbling past their cottage. She knelt a pace away, her dark hair streaked with gray, guiding a trowel that dug on its own with a flick of her wrist. ¡°You¡¯re singing to it, not shouting at a goat.¡± Her smile crinkled her eyes, warm as the afternoon sun spilling over Lumara¡¯s stone rooftops. Akilliz grinned, sticking out his tongue. ¡°Goats listen better.¡± He gave the feverfew a final hum, and it stretched an inch taller, glowing faintly¡ªa trick of the village¡¯s magic, where every chore had a spark of life. He leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow, his sandy hair sticking out like a haystack, his patched tunic smelling of moss. He loved this¡ªthe garden¡¯s hum, the way Elowen¡¯s magic danced with the plants, the quiet rhythm of their life in Lumara. She chuckled, brushing dirt from her skirt. ¡°You¡¯ve got a knack for it, lad, but feverfew¡¯s stubborn. It likes a soft touch.¡± She reached into her basket, pulling out a sprig of lavender, its purple blooms shimmering faintly. ¡°This one¡¯s for calming¡ªgood for a restless night. When I was your age, I¡¯d sneak it into my pa¡¯s tea when he got too grumpy. Worked like a charm.¡± She winked, her laughter like wind chimes, and Akilliz couldn¡¯t help but laugh too. ¡°Did it really?¡± he asked, scooting closer, his eyes wide. ¡°Did Grandpa ever figure it out?¡± ¡°Oh, he knew,¡± Elowen said, her smile turning mischievous. ¡°But he¡¯d pretend to be cross, then sleep like a babe. Herbs have their secrets, Aki. They¡¯re older than us, older than Lumara even. Some say they whisper to the gods¡ªlike Aurelia herself, watching from Luminara.¡± She pointed south, where the horizon glowed faintly with the city¡¯s golden light, a beacon of divine magic. Akilliz followed her gaze, his curiosity sparking. ¡°Do you think she really watches us? And what about the dwarves in Frosthelm? Tild says they¡¯re just stories, but Mara swears she saw one once, trading ore for bread.¡± He tilted his head, his voice full of wonder. ¡°Are there really dwarves up there?¡± Elowen¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°Maybe, maybe not. Frosthelm¡¯s full of mysteries¡ªcaves deep as the earth¡¯s heart, where the stone sings if you listen close. My ma used to say the dwarves guard their secrets, but they¡¯ll trade if you¡¯ve got something they want. She met one once, long ago, said he was gruff but fair, with a beard as red as fire.¡± She ruffled Akilliz¡¯s hair. ¡°You¡¯ll have to climb up there one day and find out for yourself.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Akilliz laughed, the idea thrilling and terrifying all at once. ¡°I¡¯d probably get lost before I found a single cave!¡± Across the yard, his father¡¯s forge roared, a plume of golden sparks swirling as Torin swung his hammer. The big man grunted a word¡ª¡°Strike!¡±¡ªand the hammer flared blue, slamming into a blade with perfect aim, folding the steel like dough. The air shimmered with the spell¡¯s echo, a faint hum Akilliz felt in his bones. ¡°Show-off,¡± the young boy called, dodging a playful glare. Torin¡¯s laugh rumbled like thunder, his apron smudged with soot, his broad shoulders hunched over the anvil. ¡°Keep to your weeds, lad. This blade¡¯s not for Old Maris today¡ªI¡¯m working on something special.¡± He beckoned Akilliz over, wiping his hands on a rag. ¡°Come see.¡± He scampered to the forge, the heat washing over him like a warm embrace, the scent of molten steel mixing with the garden¡¯s earthy aroma. His father held up a half-finished sword, its blade etched with faint runes that glowed a soft blue. ¡°For a traveler passing through tomorrow¡ªa knight from the southern valleys,¡± Torin said, his voice proud. ¡°Says he¡¯s hunting beasts near Frosthelm. This¡¯ll cut through ¡®em like butter, with a bit of magic to light his way.¡± He ran a finger along the runes, and they flared brighter, casting a gentle glow across the forge. Akilliz¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Beasts? You mean those the red-eyed demons Tild talks about?¡± He reached out, touching the blade¡¯s hilt, the metal warm under his fingers. ¡°Could be,¡± Torin said, his tone gruff but kind. ¡°Tild¡¯s got a big mouth, but there¡¯s truth in some stories. Frosthelm¡¯s no place for a boy, though¡ªnot yet.¡± He slapped Akilliz¡¯s shoulder, his big hand gentle. ¡°Help me with the bellows, eh? Let¡¯s get this finished.¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Akilliz nodded eagerly, grabbing the bellows and pumping them with all his might, the fire roaring higher as his father worked the blade. They laughed as a stray spark landed on Akilliz¡¯s tunic, Torin swatting it out with a grin. ¡°You¡¯ll be a blacksmith yet, lad,¡± he teased, and Akilliz beamed, the forge¡¯s warmth wrapping around him like a second home. A knock at the gate interrupted them, and they turned to see Mara, the butcher¡¯s wife, her arms full of a wrapped bundle. ¡°Elowen!¡± she called, her voice cheery as she stepped into the yard, her cheeks rosy from the afternoon sun. ¡°Brought some venison¡ªthought you might trade for a bit of that sage you grow. Tild¡¯s been grumbling about his aches again.¡± Elowen rose, her trowel hovering mid-air as she waved Mara over. ¡°Always a pleasure, Mara. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡± She inspected the venison, nodding approvingly, and handed over a bundle of sage, its leaves shimmering faintly. ¡°Steep this in hot water for Tild¡ªit¡¯ll ease his joints. And tell him to stop hauling flour sacks like he¡¯s a young sprout again!¡± Mara laughed, tucking the sage into her basket. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver, Elowen. Aki, you helping your ma today?¡± She winked at him, her smile warm. ¡°Always,¡± he said, puffing out his chest. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be the best potion maker in Lumara one day¡ªjust like Ma!¡± ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± Mara said, pinching his cheek as she turned to leave. ¡°You three take care now.¡± As Mara¡¯s footsteps faded, Elowen set him to a new chore¡ªgathering mint from the garden¡¯s edge for a cooling salve. He hummed as he worked, the mint leaves glowing softly under his touch, their scent sharp and refreshing. ¡°Ma, how¡¯d you learn all this?¡± he asked, plucking a leaf and holding it up. ¡°You always know just what to use.¡± She smiled, her eyes distant. ¡°My ma taught me, and her ma before her. But I learned the most from an old elf in Luminael, years ago. She was a potion master, sharp as a blade, but kind. Said herbs are the earth¡¯s magic¡ªolder than any spell we can weave. You¡¯ll learn too, Aki, if you keep at it.¡± Her voice softened, a flicker of strain crossing her face as she caught her breath, her trowel wobbling mid-dig. ¡°You alright?¡± Akilliz asked, his grin fading. She¡¯d been slower lately, her hands shaky when she thought he wasn¡¯t looking. ¡°I¡¯m fine, love,¡± she said, too quick. She waved the trowel back to work, but it dropped into the dirt, the feverfew beside her wilting a touch, its glow dimming. He reached for her arm, but she shooed him off. ¡°Just the heat. Fetch me some water, dear?¡± He nodded, unease prickling, and darted to the cottage. Inside, the hearth flared with a snap of his fingers¡ª¡°Light!¡±¡ªcasting a cozy glow over the worn table. A waterskin hung by the door; he grabbed it, pausing as the stew pot hummed softly, its spoon spinning in a bubbling dance. Outside, Torin¡¯s hammer sang, blue sparks shaping the knight¡¯s sword, the forge¡¯s warmth a steady heartbeat. Akilliz smiled despite himself¡ªmagic made Lumara home. Back in the garden, he handed his mother the waterskin. She drank, her hands trembling faintly, her breath a little shallower. Torin ambled over, wiping soot on his apron. ¡°Sun¡¯s dipping,¡± he said, squinting at the valley¡¯s rim, where Frosthelm loomed, its snowy cap catching the last light. ¡°Best get that stew inside, darlin¡¯.¡± She nodded, rising with a wince. ¡°Aye, and little one¡¯s tonic needs testing.¡± She tousled his hair, her touch warm but frail. They crossed the yard together, Torin¡¯s arm around her, Akilliz trailing with the journal clutched tight. The village settled into dusk¡ªlanterns flickered to life with soft murmurs, a goat bleated as its tether untied itself, and the brook glinted like liquid silver under the first stars. Inside, Torin set the stew pot on the table with a clink. Akilliz lit the hearth again¡ª¡°Up!¡±¡ªthe flames dancing higher. Elowen sank into a chair, her breath hitching, her face paler than before. ¡°Let¡¯s see that tonic,¡± she said, forcing a smile. He grabbed sage from a shelf, honey from a jar, and dew from a vial¡ªElowen¡¯s stash, collected at dawn. He hummed as he mixed, the sage leaves curling tighter with each note. The brew bubbled in a small pot, turning a faint green¡ªnot blue this time. ¡°Better?¡± he asked, holding it up. She leaned forward, then froze. Her hand flew to her chest, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat. The pot slipped from Akilliz¡¯s grip, splashing green across the floor, as she slumped forward. ¡°Ma!¡± he shouted, his heart lurching as he lunged to catch her. Torin reached her first, cradling her against his broad chest. ¡°Elowen!¡± His voice broke, raw with desperation. He pressed a hand to her brow, muttering ¡°Warm,¡± but the magic faltered¡ªno glow, no heat sparked beneath his calloused fingers. Her eyes fluttered, glassy, her breath a frail wisp. ¡°Aki¡­¡± she rasped, her trembling hand clutching his wrist. ¡°The cupboard¡­ the white bottle. I need¡ª¡± A heavy cough cut her off, and she slumped against the table, sweat beading on her pale forehead. Akilliz bolted to the kitchen, heart pounding. There it was, tucked behind a jar of honey¡ªa glass bottle, pure white, shimmering faintly as if light danced within. He snatched it and hurried back, thrusting it into Torin¡¯s hands. ¡°By the gods¡­¡± Torin uncorked it, peering inside with a grimace. ¡°Empty, love. Plum dry.¡± He tilted it over a wooden cup, coaxing out a few meager drops, his usually cheerful face creasing into a frown. ¡°How long¡¯ve you been taking this? Why didn¡¯t you say?¡± Elowen gasped, her voice thin. ¡°Didn¡¯t want¡­ to burden you. Is it truly gone?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Torin grunted, setting the bottle down. ¡°You need to lie down. Tell me how to get more¡ªI¡¯ll fetch the herbs, call the monk if I must.¡± ¡°No time,¡± she whispered, her grip tightening on Akilliz¡¯s wrist. ¡°Aki, darling¡­ Lightspire Bloom. On Frosthelm. It glows¡­ best found at dusk.¡± ¡°Frosthelm?¡± Akilliz¡¯s heart thudded against his ribs. The mountain loomed north, a jagged shadow capped with snow. ¡°Ma, I can¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You can,¡± she said, her voice fierce despite its frailty. ¡°Take my journal. Go.¡± Torin¡¯s gaze met his, eyes wet and fierce. ¡°I¡¯ll get her to bed and pray to Aurelia, lad. Hurry¡ªnow.¡± Akilliz stumbled back, chest tight, as the hearth¡¯s glow dimmed. The cozy warmth of Lumara wavered, urging him into the night.