Potion formula:
Main ingredients;
Candlewick of an Escaping Mouse (collected in a crystal)
Key Flower Petal (3 petals)
Supplementary Ingredients:
Dew of the First Frost (20 millilitres)
Breath of Zephyr (captured in a vial)
Conductor Sand (50 grams)
Filtered Spring Water (100 milliliters)
As the old man commenced, his demeanour suggested that this was not mere alchemy but a rite of passage, a transmutation of the soul as much as of the substance.
The old man began with the Candlewick of an Escaping Mouse, which he retrieved from a crystal container that refracted the room's dim light. He explained that the wick, once part of a candle that had flickered within a labyrinth, was said to hold the essence of escape and survival—traits any aspirant would find invaluable. Carefully, using a pair of fine tweezers, he placed the delicate wick into a burnished silver mortar.
Next, he turned to the Key Flower Petals, plucked from a plant whose roots, according to legend, twisted into the shape of forgotten keys. "Three petals, for the triad of mind, body, and spirit," he murmured, adding them to the mortar.
The Key Flower Petals were separated from their stem, an act symbolizing the release of potential. As these main ingredients were prepared, the old man spoke of their significance, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate with the energy of the room.
He proceeded with the supplementary ingredients.
The Dew of the First Frost was then carefully measured, its crystalline drops glistening like the first hint of dawn. It was followed by the release of the Breath of Zephyr, a gentle exhalation that seemed to animate the static components with an unseen life force. The Conductor Sand was sprinkled with a reverence akin to a priest anointing a relic, while the Filtered Spring Water was poured with a hand that betrayed no tremble.
With a mortar and pestle, he stirred the Candlewick and Key Flower Petals into a fine powder, a base for the potion, symbolizing the unity of spirit and endeavour. He spoke a cadenced chant that seemed to sync with the grinding, a harmony of word and action that was hypnotic to behold.
The old man explained the process to Finn, his voice a didactic whisper. "The essence of the Apprentice pathway is new beginnings never forget," he said.
Marcellus watched, the observer's role one he wore like a second skin. His eyes traced the spiralling ascent of the vapours within the alembic, the liquid condensing along the cool glass of the coil, and finally, the potion's essence dripping into the receiving flask—a liquid embodiment of nascent power.
The end product was not a dramatic potion of bubbling, iridescent fluid but a subtle elixir, the colour of pale amber, imbued with a glow that suggested its mystical origin. The old man held the flask aloft, and the liquid caught the dying sunlight, holding it within as if it were a sacred flame.
"This is the essence of the path you choose," the old man intoned, presenting the potion to Finn. "To be an Apprentice is to walk the road of perpetual knowledge, where the pursuit of mastery is the journey itself."
Finn's fingers wrapped around the flask with a mixture of anticipation and impatience. The liquid within seemed almost alive, a captive wisp of some greater force. His gaze, intense and questioning, met Aulus's, the old man's name uttered like a challenge. "What are the particular abilities I will gain? Stop being vague, Aulus."
Aulus's response was a smile that barely disturbed the set lines of his face, a flicker of amusement in a visage carved from the bedrock of enigma. His shrug was noncommittal, a gesture that in any other setting would have been infuriating in its lack of substance, but here, it held the weight of unvoiced truths.
"I can't say for certain," Aulus began, his voice a melody of mystery, "but their abilities are rather strange." He turned away from Finn, his eyes scanning the shelves lined with arcane curiosities as if seeking counsel from the silent bottles and jars. "It can only be confirmed that this is the originating pathway of a mage."
He paused, allowing the word 'mage' to hang in the air between them, an invocation that carried centuries of wonder and fear. "They are rarely trapped and very difficult to be stopped. They often can escape and pass through obstacles every time…"
Finn's mind raced at this revelation, the prospect of such abilities igniting a flame of desire. To be untrapped, unstoppable—was that not the dream of every person shackled by the mundane, the ordinary, the physical?
But Finn's intellect, a sharpened blade honed by years of navigating the treacherous waters of the Vipers and his ambitions, sensed the lacunae in Aulus's words. "Every time," he echoed, latching onto the certainty Aulus had voiced, the one unambiguous promise. "But how? Through what means? Can you not offer me more than riddles?"
Aulus turned back to face him, and in his eyes was the gleam of a man who held knowledge as his most prized possession. "Think of it as... potentialities," he said, each syllable measured like the ingredients of the potion itself. "The Apprentice pathway is my pathway boy, all I can say for certain is at high sequences they can teleport. It is a foundation, a state of being from which your innate abilities will emerge, evolve, and adapt."
He leaned closer, the light catching the vial in Finn's grasp and throwing a distorted shadow on the wall—a shadow that seemed to stretch and move of its own volition. "An Apprentice mage does not wield power in the crude sense; they become a vessel through which power flows and manifests. You will find that barriers, physical and otherwise, become... less definitive."
Marcellus, silent until now, interjected with a voice of cautious pragmatism. "And the risks, Aulus? What of the dangers that come with such a... porous existence?"
Aulus's gaze shifted to Marcellus, acknowledging the question with a nod. "The path of an Apprentice is beset with challenges, as is any path worth treading. The very nature of this power can lead to... unpredictable outcomes. You must be ever vigilant, for the same power that allows you to slip through the fingers of your foes can just as easily slip beyond your control."
The air in the room seemed to grow dense, the moment heavy with the gravity of Aulus's words.
Finn held the vial up to the light once more, his decision hanging in the balance. In the golden liquid lay a world of possibilities, a tapestry of what might be woven from the threads of his resolve and the enigmatic magic of the potion.
With a final, decisive nod, Finn downed the flask. The decision was made; the course was set. The path of the Apprentice awaited, and with it, the allure of the unknown.