*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Thornbrook Village* - A month ago
The next morning, when Aris stepped out of his room at the Thornbrook Rest, Rodran was already there.
The man stood in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous child. His clothes were clean but worn, and his hands were clasped together as if in prayer. When he saw Aris, his face lit up with a hesitant smile.
"Eh... Good morning, Aris."
Fox nibbled at Aris's foot, a warning. But Aris ignored him. He looked at Rodran's face, at the desperation written in every line, and felt something twist in his chest. Pity, maybe. Or recognition.
He forced a smile. "Good morning, Rodran. I assume you still want me to teach you?"
"I will be forever in your debt." Rodran's voice cracked with emotion. "Forever."
---
They set up in the inn's common room. Mustafa, the innkeeper, had a small cauldron he let them borrow. It was old and dented, but it would work.
Aris began with the basics. How to grind herbs properly. How to measure liquids. How to control the heat. How to channel the barest whisper of magic into the mixture at exactly the right moment.
Rodran watched with rapt attention, taking notes on scraps of paper. His hands shook as he copied down every word.
"Now try," Aris said, stepping back.
Rodran's first attempt was a disaster. The herbs were ground too fine. The heat was too high. The magic came too late. The mixture turned black and foul-smelling, bubbling over the cauldron's edge.
"Again," Aris said gently.
Rodran bought more herbs from a local apothecary and tried again. This time, the heat was too low. The mixture never reached the right consistency. It remained a soupy mess.
"Again."
Rodran bought more herbs. And more. And more.
By the fifth failed attempt, Aris could see the man's desperation growing. His hands shook harder. His notes became frantic scribbles. His eyes darted between the cauldron and Aris's face, searching for some secret he was missing.
"Rodran," Aris said carefully, "this type of spending will ruin you. You're buying herbs faster than you can use them."
"I have to get it right." Rodran's voice was tight. "I have to."
"Maybe we should start with tier two potions. Build up your foundation first."
"No." Rodran's head snapped up. "At that rate, I would never reach those new infused types. The ones that really matter."
Aris felt a chill. Rodran was talking about blood-infused potions without saying the words. The ones Marduk taught. The ones that required sacrifice.
"You need to master the basics first."
"I don't have time for basics!" Rodran's voice rose. "I've been trying for three years. Three years of failure. I need to catch up. I need to be chosen."
"Chosen by who?"
Rodran didn't answer. He just stared at the cauldron, his hands clenched into fists.
---
Throughout the day, Aris noticed Vorn watching them.
The halfling beastmaster sat in a corner of the common room, nursing a mug of ale. But his eyes were not on his drink. They were fixed on Fox, who had curled up under the table, trying to stay out of sight.
Every time Aris looked up, Vorn was there. Staring. Calculating. His filed teeth visible in a predatory smile.
Fox noticed too. The black fox pressed closer to Aris's ankle, his dark eyes darting toward the halfling every few minutes.
"He's still watching," Fox whispered.
"I know."
"What are we going to do?"
"Nothing we can do. Just stay close to me."
But Aris felt the weight of Vorn's gaze like a physical thing. A promise of trouble to come.
---
By evening, Rodran had failed twelve times. Twelve attempts. Twelve wasted batches of herbs. The man's face was pale with exhaustion and frustration. His hands were stained with herbs and burned from the cauldron's heat.
"I'm doing everything you said," he muttered, staring at his notes. "Everything. Why isn't it working?"
"Alchemy isn't just following steps." Aris sat down across from him. "It's about feeling the magic. Understanding how the ingredients interact. That takes time."
"I don't have time."
"Then you'll never learn."
Rodran's face twisted. For a moment, Aris thought the man might cry. Or scream. Or throw something.
Instead, Rodran took a deep breath and forced himself to calm.
"Aris," he said slowly, "I have a home here. A small place. Not much, but it's mine. I have... I have things there. Things that might help you. A mage's robe. An imbued dagger. They belonged to my father. I was saving them, but..." He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Would you come? One last demonstration? I can take better notes there. And I can give you the robe and dagger. As payment. For your time."
Aris hesitated. The caravan was leaving at dawn. He should be packing. He should be preparing.
But Rodran's face was so desperate. So broken.
"One demonstration," Aris said. "That's it."
"Thank you." Rodran's relief was palpable. "Thank you so much."
---
As they left the inn, Aris caught Vorn's eye one last time. The halfling raised his mug in a mock toast, his smile widening.
Fox pressed against Aris's leg.
"I don't like this," the fox whispered.
"One demonstration. Then we're done."
But as they walked through the darkening streets of Thornbrook, Aris couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That he was walking into a trap.
He ignored it. He had to. Because Rodran was just desperate. Just like Aris had been. Just like Aris still was.
They were the same, weren't they?