Lira slept deeply through the night, undisturbed and still, wrapped in warmth and quiet dreams. As morning crept into the room, soft golden sunlight filtered through the curtains and painted gentle lines across the bed. The warmth stirred her awake.
She blinked slowly, then sat up, brushing sleep from her eyes. The air felt fresh, full of quiet promise. She moved quickly, washing up and braiding her hair with steady hands.
On the bed, Fluffy was still curled into a perfect circle, one eye lazily opening at the rustle of cloth.
"Will you come with me?" Lira asked softly, her voice a little hoarse from sleep.
Fluffy let out a small, yawning sound, then slowly uncurled and stretched—back arched, paws extended forward—before hopping down from the bed to follow her.
They stepped out of the room together, Lira adjusting her satchel and pouch, Fluffy walking in smooth steps behind her.
Downstairs, Master Therin stood near a group gathered for breakfast, his arms crossed lightly and his gaze following the morning bustle. He spotted Lira and gave her a small, approving smile.
"Good morning," she greeted him as she approached.
"Morning," he replied. "Grab some food. We'll leave soon."
Lira nodded and joined the others, filling a small plate with warm bread, a few berries, and a bit of soft cheese. She slipped Fluffy some herbs from her pouch and passed him a piece of bacon from her own plate, which he accepted with content satisfaction.
After finishing their meal in quiet company, Therin stood and gave a small nod. "Let's go."
The walk through the city was brisk, the streets beginning to fill with life. As they neared the competition grounds, a gentle tension hung in the air. Tables were already set, spaced out across the square, each one with clean surfaces, empty bottles, and tools laid out in neat rows. Young participants moved around nervously, checking supplies or talking quietly in pairs.
Up on a slightly raised platform, the judges sat or stood in small groups, talking among themselves with casual ease—older masters, robed and experienced, sipping tea or going over scrolls.
Lira took it all in—the setup, the mood, the sense of ritual. This was it. The beginning.
Therin glanced sideways at her and said calmly, "No need to rush. They'll call names soon. You'll be fine."
She nodded, the weight of the moment settling into her shoulders, but not in a frightening way. It was something she had been walking toward for a long time, one careful step at a time.
Lira moved quietly among the rows of tables, eyes scanning for one that felt right. The space buzzed softly with voices and the shuffling of robes, but her focus was inward. She found a table near the middle—sturdy, clean, with just the right amount of light hitting it from above.
She reached into her pouch and pulled out her wooden amulet, carved with subtle symbols, worn smooth from years of use. As she placed it gently on the table, something stirred.
Thin, green vines grew swiftly from the edges of the table, curling up in graceful spirals to gently wrap around the legs of the amulet. They glowed faintly, then settled—still and pulsing softly with life. The table had accepted her. She was recognized.
Lira exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
She began to set out her essential tools: a small curved knife, a fine glass stirring rod, three clean vials, and a bowl carved from dark stone. Each piece placed with precision. Fluffy curled up near her feet, tail flicking gently, alert and calm.
The others around her finished their own preparations. Some looked nervous, others overly confident. Lira simply waited—her hands folded, her breath steady.
Soon, footsteps echoed closer.
A tall figure in blue robes approached, holding a scroll. His voice rang out clear and calm:
"Welcome, all, to the second round of this year's Arvellien Potion Competition. You have passed the first test—and now, the real challenge begins."
He unrolled the scroll slowly, pausing with intention.
"You will each be given a list of ingredients. From those, you must craft a potion of your own design. The judges will not only test its quality but also the creativity, harmony, and skill shown in your process. You have two hours."
Assistants moved among the rows, placing small parchment lists at each participant's table, along with sealed ingredient satchels.
Lira's paper fluttered softly as it was placed before her. She looked down:
Moonflower petals
Crushed sunroot
Dust of iron bark
Whispervine extract
River pearl water
One wild card ingredient of your choice
Her fingers brushed the top of the sealed bag next to it. A slow smile tugged at her lips. This would be fun.
She glanced down at Fluffy. He blinked at her, calm and ready.
Master Therin stood at the edge of the grounds, watching silently from behind the other masters. His arms were crossed, but his eyes were steady on her.
Lira straightened her shoulders. She had work to do.
Lira sat quietly at her table, her fingers resting lightly on the wooden surface where earlier the carved amulet had awakened the vines beneath her palms. Now, those same vines pulsed faintly under her tools—glass spoons, small knives, a mortar made from rose quartz, and three tiny vials of clear liquid. Fluffy lay curled beside her feet, watching with slow blinks.
The air carried a hum of magic and tension as the announcer stepped down from the platform. His voice rang out:
"Begin the second round: the brewing of one original potion."
Some contestants scrambled, others immediately began measuring, chopping, or lighting burners. Lira, however, remained still a moment longer, her eyes closed. She was remembering the feeling she had in the garden the first time a dying herb had leaned toward her palm rather than the sun.
Then she moved.
From her pouch she drew a small paper bundle, opening it gently. Inside lay sunroot, dried but still golden. She broke it with her fingers and dropped the pieces into her mortar. Each grind of the pestle released a scent like sunlight and crushed dandelions. The crowd murmured—sunroot was rare and difficult to use without overpowering other ingredients.
She added iron bark dust, just a pinch, measured by touch rather than weight. Its reddish shimmer blended into the gold like smoke into fire. She stirred it in a figure-eight motion with a narrow glass wand—careful, steady.
Her next choice was quieter: a small vial of river pearl water, its surface rippling faintly. She tilted the bottle slowly, letting the drops fall like the start of rain. With every drop, the mixture shimmered faintly green.
And then she sang—very softly, not a spell, but a humming tune. A lullaby, perhaps, or a memory.
Fluffy lifted its head.
From another pouch she withdrew her market treasure: a dried petal from a foreign plant, bought the day before. It was almost translucent, with a faint lavender hue. She crushed it between her fingers and let it fall into the swirling mixture. It sank slowly, like a leaf into water.
Finally, she uncorked a bottle shaped like a curved leaf and poured the glowing mixture into it. Around the bottle's neck, she wrapped a thin whispervine, plucked from the side of her table, as if the wood had offered it to her.
When the potion settled, it was soft green with flecks of silver, like sunlight on dew.
She lifted it slightly.
Breath of the Grove.
The judges leaned forward.
One of them—a thin woman with bark-brown robes and mossy hair—whispered to the others, "That's not a restoration tonic. That's a botanical coaxing draft. I haven't seen one of those made properly in years."
Another nodded. "It's focused entirely on plants. Specialized. Sensitive. Not loud, but effective."
Lira didn't hear them. She simply placed the bottle in the center of the table, sat straight, and folded her hands. Fluffy rubbed against her leg.
She had made something real. Something alive.
The sun had risen higher by the time the announcer stepped forward again, his robes fluttering with every movement. He raised his staff and spoke clearly across the grounds:
"Time is up! All participants, step back from your tables."
A soft murmur swept the grounds as hands lifted from bubbling vials and steaming bowls. Some participants leaned back in exhaustion, others in defeat. A few slumped, eyes lowered—they hadn't finished in time.
"If your potion remains incomplete," the announcer continued, "you are to step away now. This round requires completion for advancement."
With heavy steps and quiet expressions, a handful of young alchemists gathered their things and left their stations, guided gently by assistants.
Then silence fell again.
"Judges will now begin their assessment."
A trio of robed judges began moving slowly through the rows of tables. They carried crystal rods and featherlight parchments, marking notes with glowing ink. For each potion, they observed its color, smell, consistency, magical resonance, and in some cases—effects when exposed to testing wands or whispered spells.
As they neared Lira's table, Fluffy sat up straighter, his tail twitching.
The judges paused.
Their eyes caught the faint shimmer above her potion—a silvery mist curling gently upwards, and tiny green vines blooming softly around the bottle's base, reacting subtly to the presence of the finished brew.
The lead judge leaned forward, sniffing the air near the vial.
"This..." she said, blinking, "is Breath of the Grove? But... attuned only to flora?"
Another judge hummed in interest. "Yes. It's a rare refinement. She's reworked the traditional formulation. Look—she's used whispervine. Clever."
The third one gently touched the wooden amulet still on the table. "It's responding to her magic. Not just skill... this is resonance."
They all exchanged glances, then scribbled rapidly on their sheets.
Lira remained still, her hands behind her back, Fluffy leaning into her leg. She said nothing—but in her chest, her heart pounded with quiet pride.
The announcer's voice rose above the murmuring crowd.
"After careful judging, we have our main winner of the second round—Ardon Ferel of the Northwind Circle!"
A wave of applause followed as a tall boy stepped forward, beaming with pride.
Lira clapped politely, trying to hold back the strange twist of doubt in her chest. Fluffy nudged her ankle gently.
But then, one of the judges raised a hand. "Before we close," he said, stepping forward, "there is one more matter to address."
The crowd quieted.
"A potion was crafted today unlike any we've seen. It was not made for battle, nor for healing the self—but for the care of plants. Delicate, precise, and deeply attuned. It shows remarkable mastery—one we rarely see, especially in someone so young."
The judge turned his gaze to Lira.
"We award Special Recognition for Botanical Excellence to Lira of the Sanctum."
The crowd was silent for a heartbeat—then broke into murmurs and clapping.
Master Therin stood tall at the edge, a quiet pride in his eyes.
Lira blinked, stunned, then slowly stepped forward as her name echoed in the air. Her heart thudded, not with the pride of winning, but with the warmth of being seen—for exactly who she was.