The meal stretched on longer than my usual lunch break, but I enjoyed it, learned a lot, and as I pulled a stool in front of my charred and pockmarked alchemy bench, I was feeling oddly refreshed. How much of that was a result of Bartan and Eimer's skills rather than the more standard benefits of taking a break for a good meal with good company? I didn’t know, but it sure felt like magic.

Speaking of which, as I scanned through the recipe for a simple health potion, a reassurance that only a minimal amount of mana was required stood out. I briefly considered whether this was one of those areas I should ask for help with, but it said the cost was minimal and I couldn't imagine that Sarala wouldn't have known mana was required when she recommended health potions as a good place to start. It definitely wasn’t just that I was excited to try magic. That would be irresponsible. Any haste as I rushed to acquire the ingredients or one of their many possible substitutions was purely coincidental.

As it turned out, it was a good thing there were so many substitutions noted on the recipe as it quickly became clear that while we had those at the bottom of the list in abundance, the original ingredients were completely absent. I felt a surge of gratitude for my former self who had the foresight to catalogue both the substitutions and a few pairs of ingredients that interacted poorly. The potion itself was relatively simple, composed of an element to encourage blood clotting, something to promote regeneration, and finally an indicator to ensure the two were in the correct balance. The indicator was the one part of the original recipe that hadn’t changed and had no known substitutions, but thankfully we had a little in stock. Only a few drops of the proprietary mixture were needed for each batch anyway. Not only would it reveal the potion was properly mixed and not a blood thickening poison, but it also gave potions their distinctive pink colouration. Without even looking at the recipe for the mana potion I was convinced the same would be true for its indicator and distinctive cerulean hue.

In this instance for the coagulant, I was distilling the blood of a furred quadruped about the size of a horse that skittered across the sands of the dungeon. Its short sandy fur hid spines that drew moisture from adventurers that it slammed into or smothered beneath it. Its blood solidified incredibly quickly in the hot desert air to conserve as much moisture as possible when injured. Thankfully it was a relatively ‘simple’ distillation with the desired coagulant having a much lower boiling point compared to the rest of the blood.

The regenerative element was somewhat more complicated, and was where the magic would hopefully happen. I began chopping a web of roots that stretched as long as my arm into more manageable chunks. It came from a small cactus that rapidly grew roots to entrap creatures if jostled. Less an antagonistic monster and more of a naturalistic trap, particularly as they often grew in clumps and were paired with predators that would use their distraction. The top of the cacti was even edible, if not particularly appetising despite the miracles I was assured Bartan could work with other cacti.

I wasn’t being too precise, just hacking away with a cleaver to get everything down to a more manageable size. It didn’t have to look pretty, it just needed to be small. Preferably similarly sized small but when some roots were as fine as hair and other sections were as thick as my wrist, I didn’t think that particularly achievable. Scraping the diced mixture into a large cauldron in a move reminiscent of cooking, I filled it with water and set it on a hook in the banked furnace. I needed it to stew low and slow for properties to seep into the liquid before it drained. locating a long wooden stick I gave it a quick stir. I’d need to do that periodically so it wouldn’t burn. I the next step for this half of the potion would be to use magic to encourage as many of the beneficial properties as possible to infuse into the water, but first I should get the other half started.

Approaching the still I gingerly disconnected most of the swirling connectors until only a single glass tube remained, spiralling off the main vessel. I doubted it was the optimal setup, but I figured it should be functional. One thing I knew for sure though, properly cleaning it afterwards would be a pain. Well, nothing for it. I uncorked several vials of the blood, a coppery scent rushing forth with every pop, and upended them above the main vessel of the still. To my surprise the blood didn’t pour out so much as slowly glomp down, thick and viscous. I suppose that was the reason I was using it after all, but I was suddenly worried about whether it would boil properly. I briefly considered adding a little water, but gravity and a few judicious thumps on the base of each vial did a decent enough job of getting the blood out, even if it was a little slower than expected. I didn't want to mess with things too much. I'd follow the directions exactly the first time and navigate in future based on those results. Besides, I'd be keeping an eye on it.

Once six vials were emptied save for a congealed film of crimson around the inside, I ducked back to give the cauldron a quick stir then set a lump of coal upon the brazier beneath the still. The finer heat control of a magic source rather than the raw heat of a well stoked blaze was often preferred for alchemy. Thankfully the brazier was just such a source and Sarala had given me a few quick directions how to operate it over lunch. Placing a finger on the outer rim of the small bronze bowl, I thought of flame and with a pop a small blue flame appeared around the coal, I recoiled in alarm. Of course, despite the shocking abruptness, a closer look proved everything was working as intended. There was no sign of the coal smouldering or smoke, just a thin blue corona of flame around the coal. Placing my finger back on the still cool rim, I slowly swiped it around the edge, thinking of the flame slowly growing as I did so. More clear and distinct the flame grew around the coal, tapering into a point that licked the underside of the still. A slow burn, just what I wanted. A quick check of the glassware revealed everything was in its proper place. Now all that was needed with this half of the potion was time, as the thick blood slowly began to burble. A glance back down at the flame showed the coal within, still unburning but perhaps just a little smaller than when it started. Time and fuel I amended as I turned most of my attention back to the cauldron, vowing to check the still occasionally to make sure the flame hadn't gone out and wondering if, for my first time, doing the steps in series rather than parallel wouldn't have made more sense.

Sighing, I gave the cauldron a stir with the stick once more. It was bubbling consistently now; it would soon be time for me to attempt the magic portion of making this potion without any tool to help guide the mana. Thinking back to Argat's lessons I recalled what he said about magic and mana. The aspects were thought to exist in a wheel: historical, then emotional, physical, vital and magical before returning to historical. However, where the other aspects mostly influenced and were influenced by their adjacent aspects, for example physical health and memories having an impact on a person's emotional health and vice versa, the placement of our magical aspect was apparently based more on what it opposed. The more Argat talked, the more I got the sense the sages were really still just working things out and taking their best stab at how our aspects and their various resources interacted. But I'd happily take their best guess over having no clue, at least for now. That meant magic was primarily defined as being opposed to physical and emotional, which made sense since it required not just mana to be spent, but also the consumption of both a strong desire for that effect and a physical object related to it. The brazier was an enchanted item, basically functioning like training wheels, drawing in ambient mana for the small spell rather than forcing me to use my own reserves and providing an inbuilt picture for the output, allowing my desire to be much weaker and vaguer while still providing control. Only supplying the coal as the physical element was like harnessing magic without the tool, but that was obviously the easy bit, provided you had time and resources to prepare. Even there though the brazier helped, having a failsafe to end the spell if the physical component ran out. While a spell might do this normally, apparently more often it looked for suitable material within the spellcaster themselves, with predictably harmful results.

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Double checking the instructions once more, I confirmed what I had to do. The slow boil of the cactus root was infusing the water with some of its soluble elements. Where magic came in, was to ensure that the water absorbed as much as possible of the wanted properties (rapid regrowth and minor anti-inflammatory potential), while reducing the contamination from unwanted properties. Some impurities shouldn't be actively harmful in this instance, save for making the finished potion less effective, but I could imagine that wouldn't always be the case. Thankfully there was a steady supply of a material on hand famous for absorbing what was nearby and growing rapidly, even particularly attuned to qi, the fundamental resource associated with vitality and lifespan, that I could use as the physical element to offer to the spell. Miracle shoots. A cynical part of me wondered as I picked up some of the offcuts from my work on the glaive, how well the empire would manage if it actually got rid of the miracle shoots. They were undeniably a problem with how they spread barely checked despite phenomenal effort, disrupting farmland and even growing through structures on occasion, but so many things from currency to magic in the empire had adapted to their abundance, it was hard to tell how it would fare without them.

I glanced back at the still, smiling as a few dewy droplets began to coalesce in the spiralling tube. Soon enough they would drop into the beaker below. The coal was noticeably smaller now, but I wasn't worried about it going out any time soon. I took a deep breath as I turned back to the cauldron and gave it a stir. Time to stop stalling and do this.

Stirring with one hand and holding the miracle shoots in the other I instinctively closed my eyes. Trying to imagine the healing properties of the root seeping into the water with every stir leaving a husk behind. I thought of the vast latticework of fine roots and tried to picture an open wound being knit shut as skin regrew in a similar fashion. Of redness and fever fading just as the aloe from the plants that grew near it soothed burn wounds. I could feel something stirring within me, but whether if it was mana or just nerves, I didn't know. I really wanted this to work, to do magic, to make a potion, to help people. Did the miracle shoots feel lighter? Opening my eyes I saw most of the shoot above my grip powdering and dissolving into the air as the liquid in the cauldron seemed to shimmer like it caught the moon's light.

I gasped concentration broken and felt it all stop, the remains of the shoot fell like ash through my grasp. No longer dissolving into thin air but lacking any cohesion or structure became a drifting powder I hastily wafted away from the cauldron. I was stunned it had worked so quickly. I might have cut the magic a little early but that was better than the alternative, then I remembered I needed to act. Hurriedly donning my thick gloves, I lifted the cauldron off the heat and over to a large strainer. Pouring through successfully separated the larger chunks of the remaining root from the imbued liquid. The directions suggested it was important to separate the two quickly after the magic lest the roots begin reabsorbing some of the properties magically drawn from them as the usual balance tried to reassert itself. With the larger chunks removed, the now cloudy liquid was poured through a fine metal sieve and then a cloth to ensure no solid matter remained. Wiping some sweat from my brow, one half of the potion was ready.

A glance at the still showed a steady dripping of liquid into that beaker and the coal about half the size it started. For a moment I thought I could see a few flakes swirling briefly in the azure flame before disappearing, but perhaps it was just a flicker. This gave me a little time to clean up some of the mess I'd made before the next step, the steady dripping staccato a pleasant background to the task. Possibly foolishly, I decided to hold onto the powdered remains of the miracle shoot I'd used. It might not have much further practical use, but it was a memento of the first magic I could remember casting, and I guess I'm a bit sentimental. As I was finishing, I realised the dripping had slowed significantly. I watched as one ponderously made its way down the bottom of the spiral, before with aching slowness dropping into the beaker. It hadn't quite slowed to a stop, I could get a little more from the materials, but I also risked introducing impurities if I continued too long. Deciding caution was the better part of valour on this occasion, I placed a finger upon the unnaturally cool metallic rim of the brazier and with a thought the flame extinguished. Replacing the beaker quarter full of pearlescent liquid with a smaller fresh one to capture any stray drops that remained, I was ready to combine the two halves of the potion.

With a pop I pulled free the top of an innocuous looking little bottle with a well-worn tag proclaiming it to be the required indicator. Inserting the dropper, I extracted a small amount, having to tilt the bottle since it was mostly empty. Into the beaker containing the pearlescent coagulant from the still I added one drop, then a second and finally a third. It was supposed to change in colour, but nothing was happening. Desperately trying not to panic, and resisting the urge to add more than the recommended amount of indicator, I gave the beaker a swirl. Like a curtain opening on a stage the slightly shimmering off-white colour pulled away to reveal a perfectly colourless liquid. Returning the remaining indicator from the dropper to the bottle and resealing it, which required a surprising amount of force, I placed the beaker under a tall thin piece of glassware. It was a tube as long as my arm with markings evenly spaced along its length and a nozzle at the bottom controlled by a small glass valve. The words burette and titration were floating around in my head, as well as memories of some sort of test, but like jigsaw pieces jumbled on a table I couldn't quite place them for now. Still, knowing they went in the same general area was progress. With the aid of a funnel, I filled the long tube with the slightly cloudy yellow, almost broth like cactus water, realising quickly just how narrow the tube was as the small amount of liquid filled most of its impressive height.

I was about to open the valve at the bottom of the tube to start slowly adding the solution which hopefully bore regenerative properties to the coagulant below when I got the feeling something was off. Double and triple checking the instructions, I couldn't find what the issue was, so with some trepidation I proceeded. The valve gave great control of how quickly the liquid in the tube was dropped into the beaker below, not just allowing for a narrow stream but also a stream of drops at different speeds or even drop at a time with carefully opening or closing the valve. I knew none of this, and immediately turned the valve ninety degrees producing a thin stream from the bottom of the nozzle that shot into the colourless liquid below in a purplish pink plume. Hurriedly closing the valve, I feared I'd drastically overshot the amount needed to be added as the goal was to add just enough to have the solution change colour. Thankfully a swirl of the beaker had the solution changing back to colourless once more. It couldn't be far off however. Much more cautiously adjusting the valve I managed to get it dripping like a leaky tap. Each drop turned from dull cloudy yellow to the distinctive purplish pink as it entered the clear solution, so I reached a rhythm of drop, swirl, check to see if it changed colour, drop, swirl, check the colour, until eventually I swirled and the whole liquid turned that translucent purple/pink. In my shock I barely remembered to turn off the valve before the next drop. I'd done it. I'd made a potion. Carefully decanting it into a handful of small bottles I'd left out earlier that I quickly sealed with cork and a few drops of wax, all that was left was to appraise it and see how I got on. But first, I had glassware to clean.