Kyrian remained in his room for sixty consecutive days.
During that time, almost no one saw him.
The door remained closed. The room was constantly filled with the aroma of spiritual herbs slowly burning inside the cauldron.
He had truly completely immersed himself in the world of alchemy. Day after day. Night after night.
The gray flame beneath the cauldron almost never went out. Herbs were purified. Essences were refined. Pills emerged.
Kyrian practically did not take breaks.
Sometimes, he stopped for a few hours, just to recover his mental energy, drink some water, or sleep briefly. But those intervals were short.
Soon he returned to the cauldron. At some point… it had stopped being just practice.
Kyrian had truly become addicted to refining pills. There was something deeply fascinating about the process.
Each herb possessed a different essence. Each mixture reacted in a unique way.
