Syryn's troubles kept him busy thinking about his future but he wasn't so distracted that he would fail to notice Altaire's routine. The senior alchemist made and drank a cup of his draught every day without fail. Come rain or sunshine, Syryn would find him brewing a cup.
"Why do you drink that?" He asked the man when they had taken a break to brew the liquid. Altaire never offered him a cup though he was offered everything else that the man consumed.
"Do you want some?"
"Sure."
The senior alchemist held out a cup of the deep red liquid. The smell was odd, like burnt rice and rust. The mage was about to taste it when he saw Altaire watching him like he was waiting for something to happen. Syryn's courage fled and he placed the cup back into Altaire's hand.
"Wise decision," the man informed Syryn.
"Why?"
"Drink and you'll find out."
___
The duo reached the outskirts of Elysium one week later.
