Chapter 13: Footsteps and Vile things

  The market of Luminael shimmered under dusk’s amber glow, the tall spires above catching the sun’s fading embers as vendors’ calls wove through the air. Akilliz navigated the bustling stalls, his coin purse dangling light with only three silvers, the last of his earnings. Sylvara’s jest echoed in his mind, “Thy pack smells like old socks!” The luminescent bottle with him, “bottled starlight” , it was a fry cry from the idea he had in mind for the festival, but it took hard work and maybe someone would barter with him if needed. He paused at a stall draped in fine cloth, where an elven vendor, polished a sleek leather satchel, its edges shimmering with faint blue threads.

  “Fine work, that vial,” the vendor said, her voice sharp yet warm, eyes narrowing at the potion. “What seekest thou?” Akilliz pointed to the satchel, heart thumping. “That pack, how much?” She leaned forward, her fingers tracing the leather’s engravings. “Five silvers, Lumaran. Enchanted, holds a merchant’s hoard, weighs but a feather.” Akilliz’s grin faltered, his purse too light. “Three silvers… and this magnificent potion!” he countered, holding up the glowing bottle, its light dancing on her face. The vendor’s laugh was a bright chime, a long sewing needle twirling in her hand. “Bold, for a market pup! Four silvers, and the vial stays thine.”

  “Three’s my all,” Akilliz said, voice earnest, leaning in. “This potion’s starlight—took a day’s craft. Worth more than a silver, aye?” Her eyes gleamed, sizing him up. “Cheeky, but clever. Toss in a tale, why the pack?” Akilliz’s cheeks warmed, the plaza’s hum, vendors’ shouts, a distant lute’s trill, grounding him. “Well..mine is old, and Sylvara says it smells like old socks,” he said, “I need a new one real bad, to carry things for my craft, and I’m going to try and dazzle Aurelia at the festival.” The vendor’s needle paused, her grin widening. “A laugh and a dreamer! Fine, three silvers, the vial, and thou’rt mine best haggle today.” Akilliz laughed, handing over the coins and potion, the backpack’s leather warm in his hands, impossibly light despite its depth. He slung it over his shoulder, marveling as it settled without strain, a magical boon for his Festival ambitions.

  The vendor winked, her elven eyes catching the dusk’s glow. “Mind thy steps, dreamer, Luminael’s shadows grow long.” Akilliz nodded, the plaza’s vibrancy pulling vendors packing their wares, the air thick with the tang of roasted nuts and the clink of coins. He drifted toward the garden, its crystal blooms glowing under twilight’s first stars, the pack a quiet promise upon his shoulders.

  “Hey! You’re that human boy from Lumara, the potion-maker!” a bright voice called. Akilliz turned, cheeks flushing, to see Lirien, an elven girl his age, a silver vine-shaped Vael pin glinting on a green healer’s cloak, pale blonde hair framing warm hazel eyes. She clutched a starbloom pastry, smile shy yet eager. “I saw thy demonstration in the square, the soul’s breath trial! Must’ve been terrifying.” Akilliz rubbed his neck, voice soft. “Kinda scary, yeah, but it all worked out for the best.” Kael, a lanky elf with fiery red hair and sharp green eyes, stepped up, a silver rune pin glowing on his rune-stitched apprentice cloak. “Nerves of steel you’ve got! I’m Kael, apprentice to Master Zolam. This is Lirien, apprentice to Lune Vyn, a wonderful healer.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lirien said, blushing faintly. “I’ve never met a human before. We didn’t want to bother you, but we should talk later, if you don’t mind!” Kael grinned, tossing a pastry. “I’ve got questions about life outside Luminael, and trainin’ under Sylvara! We gotta go, but if you see us, stop and say hello!” Akilliz caught the pastry, sweetness mingling with the plaza’s nutty tang, heart lifting. “I’m pleased to meet you too! I’ll find you, promise.” Their laughter faded as they waved, a vendor’s prayer drifting: “Aurelia’s light guide us.” The plaza’s vibrancy pulled him to the garden, crystal blooms glowing under twilight’s stars.

  The garden unfolded like a dream, petals shimmering with a faint, silvery hum, their edges catching the indigo sky’s silver streaks. Luminael’s spires loomed, silver and white stone etched ancient designs, so tall they seemed to kiss the sky itself. His nose detected a floral whisper, sweet and crisp, mingling with the distant chime of a fountain, its water glinting like starlight. Above him, birds trilled in the canopy, their wings a flicker against the deepening dusk, and a gentle breeze stirred the crystal blooms, their glow weaving patterns on the stone path. Akilliz’s chest rose, a deep breath savoring the city’s pulse, its vibrancy, its mystery, its promise.

  Lirien’s laugh from the earlier echoed in his mind, Kael’s wiry figure a whimsical reminder. The plaza’s bustle, the vendor’s sharp wit, the pack’s uncanny lightness, they wove a fragile hope. Could he belong here, craft a creation worthy of this radiance? The garden’s glow, the sky’s vastness, urged him forward, his path unfolding like the petals around him.

  A chill pricked his neck as he rose, the garden’s glow dimming under a thickening twilight. The plaza’s lights faded, stalls now shuttered, their vendors gone. Yet a soft scrape echoed. He heard footsteps, deliberate, trailing his own. He glanced back, catching a cloaked figure, elven in shape, yet cloaked in an unnatural shadow, a void swallowing the dusk’s faint light. His heart quickened, his new pack bouncing as he hastened his pace, the tower’s spire a distant beacon. The figure lingered at the garden’s edge, a fleeting glimpse of a hood, then vanished behind a crystal tree. His breath hitched, hand tightening on the satchel, no wand or weapon to wield. Was this another of Voryn’s tricks? The footsteps resumed, closer now, a rhythmic shadow matching his stride through the emptying plaza.

  He veered toward a side street, its cobbles slick with evening dew, the alchemy tower’s corridor just beyond. The figure reappeared, a silhouette against a flickering lantern, moving faster, deliberate. Akilliz’s heart pounded, his steps breaking into a run, the backpack improbably light despite his haste. A second shadow flickered to his right, a glint of steel catching the starlight, and his stomach knotted. The corridor door loomed, a promise of safety, but it held fast, tonight it was locked tight. “Sylvara!” he shouted, banging hard, panic rising, the wood unyielding under his fists. The shadow closed in, a low hiss cutting the air, and a knife pressed cold against his throat, its edge biting.

  “Mud-Born filth,” a sinister voice whispered in broken elvish, venom lacing the words, “does not belong in the sacred city.” Akilliz froze, the blade’s sting sharp, his vision blurring as a searing pain flared at his throat. Darkness swallowed him, the plaza’s hum fading to a void.

  He woke to the sterile scent of herbs, a bandage tight around his throat, his voice a raw ache. The medical ward’s walls glowed with crystal lanterns, their light soft yet piercing, and Thalindra sat beside him, her pale blue cloak cascaded neatly, and she had two guards at her flank. Her flame, a steady ember, met his confused gaze. “It brings one joy to see thee awaken once more. Young Lirien’s cry summoned me, Kael carrying thee to the tower steps, struck by a poisoned dagger. Didst thou see the assailant’s face?”

  He shook his head, wincing as he rasped, “No… a shadow, spoke mostly elvish… said ‘Mud-Born filth’…” His words broke, jagged in his throat. Thalindra’s eyes narrowed, her gauntlet tapping her knee. “I am truly sorry,” she said, softer. “I roam the market at dusk, seeking trinkets, fortunate, or thou might not have survived.” Akilliz’s brow furrowed, voice hoarse. “I.. just met Kael and Lirien, glad they.. Called for you. But…how’d you… save me?”

  “The dagger’s poison was trivial to extract,” she said, her flame brightening. “The wound, deep but healing, thanks to Lirien’s quick spell, and the medical ward’s craft. A day or two, and thou’lt be whole. Stay clear of nightfall’s shadows.” When noone was looking, she pressed a crystal into his hand, its surface warm, with a single elven rune inscribed upon it which was pulsing faintly. She whispered so that only he could hear, “Crush, if danger finds thee once more.” Akilliz’s fingers closed around it, heart thumping. “Focus on thy craft, thy mind upon the Festival,” she added, louder now. “This attack, a grave sin against my guest, will be answered. I’ll find the culprit, justice for thee shall be delivered with haste.”

  The ward’s door swung open, and Sylvara burst in, her sprig clutched tight, eyes wide with worry. “Akilliz, darling!” she cried, her chaotic hum faltering. “I searched the plaza, guards said thou wert here!” She sank beside him, her hand tapping nervously. “Thou’rt safe, thank the Nine. Lady of light bless thy soul, rest now, thy wound surely needs time.” Akilliz nodded, throat aching, the stone’s warmth a quiet anchor.

  After Thalindra’s departure he eased himself upright, the bandage around his throat tight, his voice a raw ache. Despite the attack, and that he was unmistakably shaken, he grew restless. He wanted to defy the attacker, he wanted to press on.

  He was afraid, he’d never been the target of such an attempt, and he knew he should play it safe but something inside him was ablaze. He earned his place here, he had faith in Thalindra to protect him, in Sylvara, and himself. Now that he knew that Voryn was likely trying to kill him, he would be prepared. If he could figure out how to test, and make a dragonsfire potion… maybe it would live up to its name. Could he craft something that let him breathe fire, not merely bottle it for light? He had to find out.

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  The festival ambitions burned brighter than the part of him that was afraid, the part of him that wanted to run back to Lumara and embrace his father again. “Sylvara,” he rasped, wincing, “I’m fine. Can we get out of here? I want to gather dragons breath. I want to.. *cough* work on my potion” Her sprig froze mid-twirl, eyes narrowing with concern, but a grin broke through. “Stubborn mortal! A day’s rest, I said, but I see thy heart’s a flame.” She tapped her hand on the ward’s table, a restless drum. “Tis’ not a perilous journey yet it may be too early for you to tread. Frosthelm’s slopes are trecharous, and one must mind thy steps, lest you end up in even worse condition. Hmmm… I am not one to keep my apprentice locked up in the healing ward, with a bit of pace, and slow steps, we shall take ourselves for a stroll. Dost thou truly feel up to the occasion, young light?”

  He coughed, dissuading her caution “I feel… I feel fine. I must do this. Let’s get the breath and I’ll stay in the workshop till I’m whole again, I swear it Sylvara!”

  She eyed him suspiciously, “Aye, I see it now. My apprentice is hard willed and stubborn. Thy life was nearly extinguished yet here thee are, focused on the task at hand. I admire that, youngling. “

  They ventured beyond Luminael’s spires, the city’s radiance giving way to Frosthelm Mountain’s rugged ascent, volcanic slopes steaming under a twilight sky streaked with ash. The air thickened with sulfurous haze, sharp and biting, obsidian shards crunching underfoot, glinting like shattered stars. It hurt his throat to breathe, but he continued on. His legs were sore, and he was weaker than he thought, but something urged him forward.

  Ahead, dragon's breath plants clustered in a jagged crevice, fiery red petals pulsing with molten light, their heat shimmering the air. Akilliz’s throat stung more now, sweat beading despite the slow pace they had taken. Paces away from the first cluster, Sylvara knelt, wand tracing a careful arc, humming an off-key tune. “Dragons Breath is a spark’s dance, darling. Cut wrong, it blazes. Use thy wand, not thy hands.” She flicked her wand, an invisible cut, severing a petal that floated into a well placed pouch without flare.

  Akilliz wanted to try next, he gripped the wand he had practiced with before, heartbeat echoing in his ears as he aimed. Sylvara coached him briefly, “It’s about intention, young light. Imagine thyself slashing a sword as thy flick the wand.” He focused, but the flick was too sharp, the entire dragonsbreath bush erupting in a crimson fireball, heat singeing his cloak, a roar shaking the slope. He stumbled back, “Sorry!” Sylvara’s cackle rang, wand waving flames away. “Too fierce, moon-chaser! Try a smaller fern, safer for thy spark.” She pointed to a small cluster, petals swaying in their own heat. Akilliz focused again, flicking softly, but the entire branch ignited, ashes scattering. “Gentler!” Sylvara urged. His next flick slashed wide, sparking the ground. On his fourth try, a petal sliced cleanly from a pace away, drifting to his pouch. “I got it!” he rasped, grinning despite the ache. Sylvara clapped, “A fine cut, thou’lt slash foes yet!”

  They harvested a dozen dragons breath petals, spending time to ensure each was gathered with care. His mentor added “This bloom’s too perilous for Luminael’s gardens, fetches a fortune though, few dare to trek here and gather it,” she said, eyes gleaming. Akilliz’s voice softened, fae medallion humming faintly. “I want a potion like liquid fire, vibrant, powerful, something like…molten steel. It’s in my mind, I know I can make it blaze for Aurelia.” Sylvara’s sprig paused, grin manic. “A bold dream, darling, thy will shapes it.” A twig snapped nearby, a shadow flickering beyond the steam. His hand tightened on the crystal, but Sylvara’s hum sharpened. “Just beasts, not to worry dear, mind the plants.” Her eyes flickered, wary, and he nodded, pouch heavy in his satchel. Though they gathered just a dozen, each held remarkable weight for their size. He was thankful for his new pack, which lessened the load somehow as he packed their supplies away.

  Descending, Luminael’s spires reappeared, tall towers pulsing like a heartbeat. Sylvara’s wand tapped rhythmically, voice soft. “Thou’st taken a shine to the wand. As my apprentice, we’ll start spell training soon, off the potion master's path thou lovest. Though, if shadows strike again, the right tricks could guard thee well.” His throat burned, but he nodded, voice fierce. “Teach me, Sylvara, I want to fight back.” Her laugh chimed, “Bold heart, we’ll make a mage yet! Perhaps, a meeting with Master Zolam is in order soon.” Pride swelled, he might get to meet Kael’s mentor. He wondered what a Wizard would be like, he’d never met one before.

  As they slowly walked back to the tower in comfortable silence a thousand questions buzzed within his mind. He was happy to have finally gathered dragon’s petals, but the trip had exhausted him far more than he’d imagined. He knew, he had probably pushed it a little too far and a little too fast today. Within him, ambition burned fierce, and if he was tired, he would do it tired. That’s the way his pa’ taught him.

  Safely back in their alchemy tower he detected a tang of scorched herbs curling from the workbench as he set his new satchel down. The bandage around his throat itched, his voice raw, but the dragons breath petals, crimson and writing faintly, lay ready, a fiery promise for his Festival offering. Sylvara twirled her hair as she spoke “Thy harvest was a fine dance,” she said, wand tapping the workbench like a metronome. “Now, we tinker, a recipe to dazzle Aurelia. I know not the exact potion thee have in mind, but I know the start. Grind the dragons breath fine, mix with nettle ash, and mind the spark!” Her voice leaped, guiding him to the mortar.

  He ground the petals, their heat stinging his fingers, the powder glowing like embers. He sifted nettle ash, stirring it into a copper bowl, but a stray spark flared, singeing the air with a crimson flash. “Whoa!” he rasped, jerking back, eyes wide. Sylvara’s laugh chimed, wand waving the smoke away. “Too fierce, darling, slow, like a whisper to flame!” He adjusted, stirring gently, the mixture settling into a radiant red, its surface pulsing like molten fire. “It’s holding,” he said, pride swelling, satchel’s runes glinting as if in approval. His vision of liquid fire, vibrant and powerful, began to take shape, a blaze to outshine the bottled fire he’d seen before.

  Stirring carefully, the tower door creaked wide as Lirien and Kael stepped in, their cloaks catching the lamp’s glow. Lirien’s smile warmed, a basket of starbloom cakes in hand. “Pardon our intrusion, Master Sylvara, Akilliz.” she said, her healer’s voice soft, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Kael’s laugh boomed, red hair tousled, green eyes glinting as he dusted rune-etched chalk from his hands. “Survived a blade and still crafting? Tougher than Zolam’s runes!” Akilliz’s cheeks flushed, their presence a hearth against the attack’s chill. “Just a scratch,” he rasped, grinning. “How did you guys find me? Thalindra said you saved my life!”

  Lirien’s eyes sparkled. “We had heard a panicked running from the garden upon our way back.. I didn’t know it was you upon the ground until we got closer..” Kael, face solemn, chimed in “It was by chance, really. Aurelia guides us all, Lirien was quick to mend the bleeding. Glad to see you are okay, friend. On lighter matters, say, what in the Nine are you working on there?”

  Akilliz glanced at the red mixture, its glow steady. “I can’t thank you both enough, I’m in your debt. If there’s something you need that I can make, or if you need help with anything… It seems you know where we work, please, don’t hesitate to ask. As for this.. It’s something fiery, I want to… make something fierce for Aurelia” he said, voice soft, as if echoing dawn itself.

  Kael leaned closer, peering at the potion. “Don’t mention it, I can’t say if I’ve ever heard of an attack in Luminael, it caught us all off guard. Trust me though, you don’t want me to grab you when Master Zolam gives me a task. Wizard’s a real headache sometimes. My oh my though, that’s no salve! Looks like Pyridion’s wrath!” Lirien nodded, offering a cake, its sweetness cutting the herb tang. “It rivals Aurelia’s light, Akilliz.” Their laughter wove a fragile hope, their earlier rescue, Lirien’s cry and Kael’s carry, binding them closer. Akilliz munched, heart lifting, the potion’s pulse a spark for his ambitions. “I know it sounds mad but, maybe if I make it consumable… I could breathe flame,” he said, voice earnest. Kael’s grin widened, “That’s mad magic, I would pay to see that!” Lirien’s shy giggle warmed the room, “Aa potion that lets one breathe fire, thou has high ambitions, Akilliz! I have no doubt, thy hard work will bear fruit.”

  Suddenly, a guard entered, armor clinking, a scroll in hand. “From Thalindra,” she said, voice crisp. “No trace of thine attacker yet, only whispers. Yet her search continues. She bids thee stay vigilant.” Akilliz’s hand trembled as he looked into the guards eyes, “Thank you.. Thank you all for looking after me.” the elven guard was emotionless, and replied “If there is but a trance, we will find it. Good day, mortal.” The guard left, and Kael clapped his shoulder. “She’ll find ‘em, just focus on outshining us!” Lirien’s nod was gentle, her cake basket lighter. They lingered, sharing tales of Festival hopes, Lirien’s salve dreams and Kael’s rune mishaps under Zolam’s stern gaze, their bond a shield against the attacker and the worries that came with it. They shared laughs and bid him farewell, he realized he wanted to know more about them. Maybe they would visit him tomorrow, he hoped.

  Sylvara’s hum faltered, wand pausing. “Enough work today my apprentice, thy wound needs rest, or I’ll brew a sleeping draught!” Her grin was mischevious, but her eyes held worry, echoing the ward’s warning. Akilliz’s throat ached, the mixture’s glow urging him on, but he nodded “Just a bit more?” he rasped, voice earnest. Sylvara sighed, “Tomorrow, young one, we’ll tame that fire. Sleep, or I’ll bind thee!” Her laugh chimed, and he smiled, the tower’s warmth a haven, his craft a spark ready to blaze for the Festival.

  Slowly, he left the potion where it was. As it stood, he believed it half crafted. It was fiery, it had glow, but what would it do? Would it burn the table, his skin? He needed to tame it, to make it fierce, yet unharmful to him. How would he go about adding the right ingredients? He sat down on the bed finally, and exhaustion began to take over.

  The Festival awaited, his craft a fire ready to blaze, a breath of Aurelia’s light against the gathering dark.