The silence in my workshop was almost suffocating. The only sound was the occasional drip… drip… drip of the healing potion I was coaxing into existence. The air hung with a mix of metallic tang and the earthy sweetness of medicinal herbs. Candlelight flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across my workbench, making the scattered tools and vials look like ghostly figures.

 I held my breath, watching the final three drops of catalyst descend into the healing draught. The liquid pulsed with an unsettling, almost sickly green glow. The air shimmered, fully charged, a warning that the configuration was off. I took a step back, bracing for the inevitable. Then, with a sharp crack, the vial exploded, scattering the failed concoction across the table. 

 A heavy sigh escaped me. “This,” I muttered, dragging a frustrated hand through my hair, “is why I gather herbs myself.” The commission from Adler, one I always struggled to refuse, now felt like a curse. I grabbed the burlap sack of calendula he’d provided. Wilted, brown-tinged stems, falling petals – half-dead. Useless in most hands. But not mine. A glance at the comforting, controlled chaos of the half-finished blade on my anvil was a tempting distraction, easily ignored. Dawn was too close. Jaw tight, I meticulously cleaned the mess, grabbing a fresh vial. “A half-dead flower won’t defeat me.” My resolve hardened. Again, I measured the ground calendula, adding precise pinches of yarrow, a touch of comfrey, a dash of fresh lemon balm. I swirled the vial slowly, herbs mingling, palms damp with anticipation. Finally, the spring water, each drop carrying a sliver of hope.

This time… the green radiance softened, morphing into a warm, reassuring light. “Yes!” A smile of pure relief spreading across my face. Success. Now, the final step. I wove a subtle magic circle, its intricate pattern shimmering into existence from my fingertips. No longer just a mixture of herbs, but a true potion. Satisfied, I carefully packed the healing potion into a small box, ready for delivery.

Exhaustion tugged at me, a heavy mantle, and I decided to call it a night. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I moved to extinguish the candles. Wisps of smoke curled upwards, the room now bathed in soft, fractured moonlight filtering through the windows. Slowly, I ascended the stairs, my eyelids heavy. These are the nights I crave, I thought, eager for the solace of sleep. I sank into bed, welcoming the embrace of slumber.

But my rest was short-lived. A sharp, piercing crack jolted me awake, followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

My hand flew to my drawer, fingers closing around my dagger. I listened, senses heightened, detecting only one intruder by the echoing footsteps. I moved swiftly, silently, down the stairs, confronting him head-on.

The clash of our blades shattered the silence, a sharp, metallic ring. He had the advantage of reach, a deadly threat in the darkness. I danced back, deflecting his blows with my dagger, seeking an opening, a weakness. My vision was limited, but I relied on instinct, sensing his movements. Predictable. Or so I thought. His attacks suddenly became erratic. I dodged, spun, and collided with my worktable—a sharp thud and a wince escaping my lips. I threw aside all defensive maneuvers, shifting to offense. No more testing. No more restraint. It was time to strike. Before I could act, he lunged for the window, vanishing into the night.

He left me standing in the dark, shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. I carefully relit my lantern, its warm illumination revealing the chaos. I hurried to the box, my heart pounding. A wave of relief washed over me; I saw its reassuring green sheen, still nestled within. He hadn’t taken anything. But why? My mind raced, questions colliding, forming a chaotic storm.

Fear, cold and sharp, crept into my chest. I bit down on my lip, trying to suppress the rising panic. “I came here to disappear,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the empty room. The night offered no answers, just the chill of the open window.

Dawn painted the sky in soft pink and purple hues, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. I stared at the box containing the healing potion, the sunlight glinting off its polished surface. A knot formed in my stomach as I replayed the intruder’s escape. Delivering this simple potion felt like a monumental task.

The leather straps of my sword settled against my back, followed by the click of my dagger sliding into its thigh sheath. My travel bracelet, a delicate band of shimmering metal, lay cool against my skin. A touch, and its hidden mechanism yielded, revealing my personal dimensional storage. I gently placed the box of healing potion inside, a small act of protection. The healer waited, and I would not break my promise. Perhaps the simple act of walking through town would still the turmoil in my mind.

The heavy wooden door swung open, releasing me into the crisp, pre-dawn chill. It was much different from the warmth of my home. Beneath my boots, the cobblestones felt rough and uneven, worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic. The street lamps, their wicks still flickering. Small, tightly packed stone homes, each a patchwork of weathered grays and browns, lined the way, their windows dark and slumbering. A low hum of activity began to permeate the quiet; shopkeepers, their voices a muffled chorus, were erecting their stalls, the clatter of wood and the rustle of canvas breaking the stillness.

I paused before Miss Deleana’s stall, a humble wooden cart, its wheels groaning softly under the load of its wares. The scent of ripe fruit and fresh earth filled the space around the cart. Miss Deleana’s smile, as bright as the rising sun, crinkled the delicate lines around her eyes. Her blonde braid, thick and tightly woven, shimmered in the lamplight. “Would you like something today, dear?” she asked, her voice warm and melodic. My fingers, drawn by the velvety peaches. I selected five, their sweet fragrance filling my senses. “Three copper coins, please,” she said, her voice a gentle chime. I counted out the coins and handed them to her. “Have a lovely day, please stop by again,” she said with a slight, graceful bow. “Thank you,” I replied and continued on my way.

My gaze scanned the street, searching for any subtle shift in the ordinary, any telltale sign of unease. Finding only the familiar rhythm of a town waking, a sliver of relief, thin as winter sunlight, slipped through the knot of worry in my chest. “Almost there,” I murmured, my breath misting in the cool morning. Two men, huddled on a weathered wooden bench, caught my attention. Their brows were furrowed, their voices hushed and urgent. I caught the phrase “Glen’s Crossing,” a name that echoed with a distant, unsettling resonance. A full day’s journey, that town. What news could travel so far, so quickly?

Turning down a narrow lane, I reached Adler’s shop, a quaint building with a faded sign swinging gently in the breeze. “The Potionary of Adler,” the black lettering declared, its paint chipped and worn. As I stepped inside, the shop held a heady aroma of dried herbs and simmering concoctions. Rows of meticulously labeled herbs, their leaves a vibrant tapestry of greens and browns, nestled in clay pots beneath the window. Glass vials, filled with shimmering liquids of every imaginable hue, lined the walls, each label a testament to Adler’s meticulous hand. A soft glow emanated from behind the counter, where Adler’s salt-and-pepper hair peeked above a stack of parchment, his hands moving with practiced precision as he restocked his shelves. The click of the door closing drew his attention.

“Ah, Lyra! The healing potion?” Adler asked, his deep, gruff voice cutting through the morning stillness.

“Good morning,” I replied, handing him the box. “As requested.”

He examined the potion, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “A grade three potion. It will suffice. Thank you. How did you manage it? I thought you received half-dead Calendula.” Adler began organizing items beneath the counter.

“I managed to salvage it,” I said, hoping to avoid further questions.

He stopped, retrieving a pouch of coins. He pulled out a single silver coin. “Thank you again for the potion. Here is your payment.”

“I’m glad it will serve its purpose, but we agreed on twenty-five copper. This is too much,” I said, my voice hesitant.

Concern etched his features. “Lyra, you undervalue yourself. Please, take it. It’s a fair price for your work.” He slid the coin towards me. “Please.”

“Okay, thank you,” I conceded, tucking the silver coin away with a soft smile, turning to depart.

“Wait, Lyra…” I faced Adler again, seeing his eyes filled with anxiety. “Have you heard about the attacks in Glen’s Crossing?” He paused for a moment. “Shadowveil Stalkers.”

“No, I haven’t… though I did overhear some townsfolk mentioning Glen’s Crossing,” I said slowly, a sense of unease creeping in. “What exactly happened?”

“They attacked in the dead of night, while the town slept. Silently took out the gate guards, then moved into the town, ransacking the square and shops. They must be searching for something; it’s not their usual behavior. Thankfully, three traveling mercenaries – a mage and two swordsmen – intervened. No further casualties beyond the guards.”

“I’m relieved everyone else is alright… but that doesn’t make sense,” I murmured, disbelief clouding my thoughts. “Have you noticed anything odd around here?”

“No, everything seems normal, just a bit of unease because of the news.”

“At least things are fairly normal here.” My gaze drifted towards the window, the sun now fully risen. “Adler, I’m sorry, but I really need to get going.”

His eyes searched mine for a moment. “Be careful out there, Lyra,” he said, giving my arm a brief, gentle pat. “The woods can be dangerous. I worry when you travel alone.”

“I appreciate the concern, Adler. I’ll be careful. You stay safe as well,” I said, offering a genuine smile before departing, the scent of herbs clinging to my clothes. What is going on? I wondered to myself as I stepped outside. First last night with the intruder and now with the Shadowveils.