The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Avalon, the quiet market town nestled at the edge of the wildlands. The town was a serene place, nestled between rolling hills, where life moved at a pace dictated more by nature than by the rush of the world. The market square was bustling with activity as usual—adventurers preparing for journeys into the untamed wilderness, merchants haggling over the prices of wares, and townsfolk going about their daily routines.
Among the stalls, tucked away between vibrant displays of herbs and spices, was a small, inconspicuous booth, its shelves cluttered with vials of various sizes and colors, each containing mysterious liquids that seemed to shimmer in the daylight. Behind the stall, standing with a calm and focused expression, was Leonard—his unassuming appearance barely standing out amidst the chaos of the market.
A light breeze ruffled his dark hair as he adjusted a vial of glowing red potion on the shelf. His stall wasn't much to look at—simple, practical, yet its contents spoke volumes of his skill. To the casual eye, it was a collection of basic alchemical potions—healing salves, strength elixirs, and the occasional concoction to ward off the more dangerous creatures of the wilderness. But to those who knew where to look, there were rarities among the bottles. Potions designed for more specific needs, some crafted with a delicate mix of herbs and subtle magic, others requiring the precise knowledge of mechanics and alchemy to produce.
"Ah, Leonard!" A voice broke his focus. It was an adventurer, one of the regulars who came through Avalon's market every few weeks. Tall, rugged, with a faint scar across his cheek, the man approached the stall with a grin. "Got anything new for me today?"
Leonard's lips twitched into a small, polite smile, though his gaze remained steady and calculating. He was a man of few words, preferring to let his work speak for itself.
"A few new batches," Leonard replied, his voice smooth and calm. He gestured toward a shelf where several vials filled with deep violet liquid sat in a row. "This batch should help with enhanced stamina for those long hunts. It's a bit stronger than the last, but I recommend only using it sparingly."
The adventurer's eyes gleamed, and he immediately picked up a bottle, inspecting it with a trained eye. "I'll take two," he said, handing over a small coin pouch.
Leonard accepted the coins with practiced ease. He paused for a moment to inspect the pouch, feeling its weight. Inside were three round, dull silver coins—plea, the mid-range currency of Avalon. Seven cera equaled one plea, which made it a respectable amount for a transaction like this. Though not as valuable as a valo, which was worth nine plea, it was enough to exchange for several potions. He nodded, calculating the exchange mentally.
He quickly wrapped the potions in soft cloth and handed them over. "Be careful out there," he said, his voice soft but carrying a hint of authority.
With a nod, the adventurer disappeared into the crowd, off to prepare for his next expedition. Leonard returned to his stall, his gaze drifting across the market once again. Life here was predictable, peaceful. It was the kind of place where time seemed to stand still—a perfect escape from the world he had left behind.
As the sun began to set, casting golden hues across the sky, Leonard packed away the remaining potions for the day. His work was done, and the town would soon fall into a quiet evening, the market stalls emptying one by one. But for Leonard, there was no rush. He would retreat to his small home on the outskirts of Avalon, a modest place where he could continue his work in peace, creating new potions, tinkering with machines, and perhaps, if the mood struck, working on a few projects that required more… unconventional methods.
For now, the world outside was as peaceful as it had ever been. And for Leonard, that was enough.
At the farthest edge of Avalon, nestled between the wilderness and civilization, stood a peculiar house—the only one that defied the night.
By day, it looked like an ordinary craftsman's workshop, its modest stone-and-wood exterior blending seamlessly with the rural outskirts. But when dusk arrived, the house transformed into something almost mystical.
A warm golden glow spilled through its round glass windows, unlike the flickering candlelight that illuminated the rest of the town. The source? Glass bulbs strung along the eaves and within the house, each containing a delicate bamboo filament. These bulbs pulsed steadily, fueled not by fire but by an alchemical power source—a stone box filled with zinc and sulfur, linked to the bulbs by thin steel-like ropes.
Inside, the air smelled of dried herbs, parchment, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with neatly labeled potions and mechanical components. A large wooden workbench sat at the heart of the room, cluttered with intricate clockwork designs, half-finished blueprints, and scattered notes written in a meticulous hand.
Upstairs, where the ceiling sloped beneath the thatched roof, Leonard's personal quarters were equally unique. Bookshelves overflowed with volumes on alchemy, architecture, and forgotten sciences. Near the round window, a sturdy desk was piled high with documents—some detailing new alchemical formulas, others sketching out strange machines no one else in Avalon could comprehend.
For the townspeople, Leonard's home was a curiosity, a marvel, and a mystery. It stood alone as a symbol of quiet defiance, a lone beacon powered by knowledge in a world yet to understand him.
Leonard's life was one of quiet diligence. Each morning, the scent of simmering herbs and alchemical reagents filled his modest workshop. Rows of glass vials lined his wooden shelves, filled with various tinctures—some to heal wounds, others to sharpen the mind, and a few too dangerous to be sold without caution.
His fingers, deft from years of practice, carefully measured out ingredients. Powdered amber for concentration potions, crushed moonflower petals for soothing tonics, and serpent's bark to enhance endurance. Each mixture was precise, each result tested before being handed over to adventurers who sought his craft.
When the potions were done, his focus shifted. Across the room, stacks of parchment and blueprints lay scattered on a large worktable. Clockwork mechanisms, gears, and metal plates formed the skeleton of his latest invention—a self-winding timepiece powered by ambient mana. It was an ambitious project, but one that fascinated him.
Beyond his work, Leonard's thirst for knowledge never waned. Books on architecture, alchemy, and herbology were his silent companions in the flickering candlelight. He read about ancient structures, learning how to reinforce buildings against time. He studied rare flora, understanding how to extract their properties. The deeper he delved into these subjects, the more he realized how intertwined science and magic truly were.
As the day faded into night, Leonard cleaned his tools, organized his materials, and prepared for another cycle of creation. His life was simple, but fulfilling. Yet, the world had other plans for him—plans that would soon shatter this peaceful routine.