I had read about them in my public alchemy classes. They were made for moments of absolute desperation, capable of stabilizing someone on the brink of death. When he opened the vial and poured the contents over the grotesque wound in his neck, the results were almost immediate. The area began to smoke and writhe, and the dehydrated flesh started to regenerate in an irregular fashion.
Still, it was a temporary solution. I knew that. The potion was a desperate device, but it wouldn't heal completely. The fire magic energy now circulating through his body was as dangerous as the original wound, something he would have to deal with later – if he could survive until then.
However, this fight for life was something common among Apprentices. No one here accepted death easily. Bruce, with his strong vitality, had more chances than most to survive, but even so, the cost would be high.
