Without another word, Lira reached into her pouch.
One by one, she placed the slender vials on the Grandmaster's table. Each was sealed with care, glass glimmering faintly in the morning light, the liquids inside swirling with soft hues: deep green, violet-gray, a flicker of soft blue, and one that shimmered like liquid dusk.
Elion watched her movements with quiet attention. When the last vial was set down, he leaned forward slightly, his long fingers brushing the glass gently. He selected one, the pale blue and unstoppered it.
At once, the air shifted.
A delicate scent unfurled into the room, cool and bright, like morning dew over fresh mint and sky herbs. It wasn't overpowering, but it carried something old, something true. The air almost seemed clearer in its presence.
He opened another, the violet one. A richer aroma spread this time, earthy and grounding, with a hint of floral shadow. It curled through the chamber like the scent of soil before rain.
Elion inhaled softly, then nodded.
"This…" he murmured, "this is another kind of progress."
He turned to her fully now, setting the vials in a neat line.
"These essences," he continued, "are strong, pure. You've tapped into something refined. They could elevate many of our brews, especially the more advanced elixirs. Their clarity, the balance of scent and energy… Yes. Yes, this is very good."
Lira's heart fluttered as she listened, unsure whether to smile or hold her breath.
The Grandmaster's gaze softened, and he nodded once more.
"I suggest you speak to Potion Master Therin. Show these to him. He has the skill and the authority, to work them into our formal recipes. If he agrees, we will begin offering them for trade, and you will receive due credit."
He paused, thoughtful.
"You have a gift, Lira. Not just of Earth but of distillation. Of knowing what lies beneath."
Then, quietly, he added, "Use it well."
The vials clicked gently in her pouch as Lira stepped out of the Grandmaster's chamber. The soft hum of the tower faded behind her, replaced by the subtle soundscape of the Sanctum,rustling robes, faint footsteps, a distant splash of water magic. She moved quickly, her steps light with purpose.
The potion chambers were located on a lower level, carved partly into the stone of the mountain itself. The scent of herbs hit her before she even entered, sharp, sweet, bitter, and earthy all at once. The door to Master Therin's workshop stood open, thick steam curling lazily from within.
Inside, the chamber glowed with warm lanternlight and flickering crystal sconces. Shelves lined every wall, filled with jars, roots, dried flowers, and powders in every shade imaginable. In the center of the room, bent over a large copper cauldron, stood Master Therin.
His broad back was turned to her. He stirred slowly, muttering to himself as vapor curled above the brew. The liquid inside the cauldron bubbled gently, glowing faintly green.
Lira stepped in. "Master Therin?"
He looked up immediately, his sharp hazel eyes glinting behind a pair of glass lenses perched on his nose. "Ah.Lira.
She smiled nervously and approached, pulling out the pouch.
"I've made a few essences," she said, placing the vials carefully on the nearby worktable. "Grandmaster Elion said they might be useful."
Therin raised a brow, wiping his hands on a cloth before examining the vials. One by one, he held them to the light, tilted them, uncorked, and sniffed the contents with a practiced nose.
After a long pause, a grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Well," he said, "these are exceptional. Clean extraction. Deep notes. And no clouding."
He selected one, the soft blue essence Elion had liked, and turned toward his cauldron.
"I've been needing something exactly like this," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "The stability's been off on this blend for three days. Watch."
He uncorked the vial and carefully let a single drop fall into the cauldron.
The reaction was immediate.
The bubbling slowed to a calm, steady rhythm. The potion's color shifted, becoming a translucent light blue, like a spring sky in a bottle. A faint shimmer rippled through it, and the air filled with a subtle, calming scent.
Therin gave a satisfied nod. "Perfect. It's settled. You'll be bringing me more of this."
He turned back to her and opened a small carved box, pulling out a leather pouch. With a soft clink, he handed it to her — the sound of coins inside unmistakable.
"This is for today's batch. You'll get the lion's share of every sale. I'll handle the trade agreements and brewing. You, my dear, keep distilling this quality, and we'll both be happy."
Lira accepted the pouch with wide eyes. "Thank you, Master Therin."
He waved a hand dismissively but with a faint smile. "Just keep your hands steady and your senses sharp. You've got a touch most don't."
She nodded, stepping back as he returned to his work, already pouring the stabilized potion into small glass bottles marked with golden runes.
Lira lingered for a moment, watching the liquid fill each vial. She studied the process, the careful pouring, the cooling spell, the corking. She memorized every movement, every flick of his fingers, every tool he used.
In her mind, she was already planning.
I'll try something similar at the grove, she thought. With sage root instead of thyme. And maybe snowflower extract as a base…
The idea danced through her like the scent of her own essence.
With the weight of the coin pouch still warming her palm, Lira left Master Therin's chambers, thoughts bubbling faster than any potion.
It wasn't just the satisfaction of coin, though that was new enough to send a small thrill through her chest. It was the realization: She had something people wanted.
Not just wanted. Valued.
She walked through the winding halls of the Sanctum with a new kind of curiosity, eyes catching small details she hadn't paid attention to before, signs pinned to walls, murmurs of apprentices, crates being floated down the hallways by enchantments, marked with guild stamps.
She paused when she spotted a young mage talking with a cloaked woman at a side table tucked between corridors. On the table were laid a few small carved stones and a basket of dried flowers, not for spellwork, from the look of them, but for… trade?
Lira hesitated, then approached.
"Excuse me," she said softly. "Is this… for sale?"
The cloaked woman, older, with wiry silver-streaked hair and clever eyes, looked her over, then gave a nod. "Mm. Bits and bundles. I bring them in from the southern fields. Good for tea, sachets, charm weaving. Interested?"
Lira shook her head. "Actually, I was wondering… is there a market here? Somewhere to sell things?"
The woman's brow lifted slightly. "Ah, a new gatherer then." She glanced at the vials on Lira's belt. "Potions, maybe?"
"Yes," Lira said, surprised. "And… maybe some tinctures later. Oils, blends."
The woman gave a thoughtful hum, then leaned in. "There's a market, yes. A small one in the inner courtyard every sixth day. Open tables for those approved. Potioners, gatherers, crafters. You'll need permission from the quartermaster, that's Hennil, the elf with the always-wrinkled robe. He keeps the list."
"Do they allow apprentices?" Lira asked carefully.
"If you're part of a guild or have a master's signature, yes. You'll need someone to vouch. But I've seen newer folk sell through their mentors or strike coin-split deals."
She paused, then handed Lira a small wax-sealed tag from under the table. "This will get you in to look around. Not to sell, not yet, but to watch. Ask questions. Maybe trade quietly."
Lira turned the token over in her hand. The seal bore a knot of vines and stars, the symbol of a licensed Sanctum vendor.
"Thank you," she breathed.
The woman gave a knowing smile. "If you've got the hands to craft, and the mind to ask, you'll do fine. Just don't price too high your first time. And never sell something you wouldn't drink yourself."
"I won't," Lira said.
She tucked the token safely into her pouch beside the coins and turned toward the inner courtyard, her steps quicker now, her focus sharpening.
She was lucky, it was market day.
The inner courtyard buzzed with life, more than she'd ever seen in the normally serene halls of the Sanctum. Tables were lined in loose rows, some covered with neat cloths, others overflowing with jars, bundles, vials, stones, scrolls, and small enchanted items that hummed faintly with power.
Lira stepped forward, the wax-sealed token warm in her pocket and a quiet thrill in her chest.
If I can sell potions… she thought, maybe I can afford more plants. Maybe even some of the rare ones. Merlin might send them, if I ask.
The thought of receiving new herbs from the deepwoods, rare petals that shimmered under moonlight, or roots that thrummed with element energy, gave her spine a quiet straighten. She walked more confidently now, weaving through the tables.
She'd passed this courtyard a hundred times, but had never seen it like this. She'd always been too busy, head in her green book, hands stained with ground leaves, mind full of element and essence. But now the world had opened just a little wider.
A vendor stirred a glowing blue syrup into tiny bottles and corked them with a precise twist. A dwarven apothecary showed a laughing customer how to test a salve's warmth without burning skin. Lira's fingers itched with curiosity.
She stopped near a table where someone was selling small bottled fog, actual fog, trapped in glass. The merchant gave her a nod, but said nothing. She moved on, watching, listening.
Everything was trade. Everything had value.
Even the quiet ones like her had a place here.
She stood at the edge of the market for a long moment, breathing it in, not just the scents of herbs and polished wood, but the feeling of it.
Possibility.