Zosimael took me to her treehouse on the edge of the tribe. Inside, the home was covered in drying herbs with shelves of potions-filled clay pots. A splash of colored paint covered each pot, along with a picture hinting at what each pot contained. I sucked in a breath and felt my bones ache.

Keep breathing. I had to breathe even if I bled from my eyes and ears or my lungs exploded; I couldn't stop. Stopping would make it impossible to move forward. So I had to think like a mage, and a mage knew how to make sacrifices. It wasn't all about flashy attacks; sometimes, a strong foundation was needed, and I didn't want to get kicked out after risking so much.

The old elf looked back at me then her eyes widened. "What is a round ear doing in my hut. Is little Glorael playing a prank on me? Should I have her mother give that girl a talking to?" Zosimael said.

"What a sharp memory you have. I bet you know what each pot contains. There's no way you would forget something that important." I said.

The old elf coughed. "Enough of that; if you live as long as I have, it's easy to get lost in memories. I remember you. Samael played you for a fool and nearly took your balls. Glorael gave you a difficult task, and you've nearly killed yourself already. If you don't give your body a break, your organs will shut down, and you will die." Zosimael said.

I stared at the woman then shook my head. Stopping would only waste time; my healing factor would have to keep up. If it didn't, then all my problems would be solved.

"If you die, then Samael will torture that girl you're sweet on to death. Dear sweet Samael has had many wives, but none lasted long enough to bear a child. Besides, if you pass out during the mating ceremony, they will have to copulate again. Each copulation improves the chances of pregnancy. You don't want that do you." Zosimael said.

"Of course, I do, isn't that the point of this, to prove Elarael's value to the tribe and bear an heir to the chief's line. She sacrificed her freedom for my sake without a second thought. If I freed her from this, she might do it again." I said.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Every breath felt more difficult than the last, and talking to Zosimael felt like an exorcise in futility. She would forget everything in a few minutes.

"What if I told you I had a way to help you surpass your limits and fight Samael on equal footing?" Zosimael asked.

"No offense, but I don't trust your potions. Besides, how would that help me get Elorael back?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I work hard to make the best potions I can, but I'm forgetful, and I don't know what half of these do or why I made them. I forget at the worst times, and when I come to, it's like I'm in the past. But that doesn't make my creations useless. Each of them has been tested on other tribesmen or skull tribe during our war. I wouldn't have them on my shelf if they weren't complete brews." Zosimael said.

I stared at the elf. Zosimael had an ageless appearance like all elves with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. Her hands rested at her side and occasionally pulled at the hem of her pelt robe, exposing the tip of a reasonably large member. Most elves had pretty small breasts, Elorael included, but this elven woman had large breasts held tightly by a cotton wrap. She was lithe like most elves and only looked exotic with her silver hair.

My tongue moved over the roof of my mouth, feeling for the newly developed lumps. Even after Samael knocked my teeth out, I wasn't ruined. My teeth were growing back at a steady pace. Even if every breath was agony, I managed to block most of that pain out. With every breath, my control over my body improved.

"Even if your brew can make an elf equal to Samael, that wouldn't do me any good. I'm not an elf." I said.

"I'm sorry again; I thought you were suffering from numerous birth defects. Still, you don't have to be an elf to use this potion. I used some flesh from a stillborn forest god when I made it.

"Shouldn't it be incompatible?" I asked.

"Not many know this, but breathing techniques are inconsequential. We become stronger by incorporating flesh from other gods, just like the gods do when they eat another of their kind. This potion is just the standard tonic for the elven children training to become warriors. Drink it, and you will gain some of the forest god's powers." Zosimael said.

I took a brown clay pot with a caricature of the forest god on it and pulled off the lid. A shinning green liquid bubbled, giving off a faint smell of pine.

"But what about different breathing techniques," I asked.

"Well, the power isn't in the breath; it's in the god. The breathing technique allows us to trick the power into believing we're like the gods. So a forest god that eats a sea god has the same powers as a sea god that eats a forest god. Though its original powers will be stronger." Zosimael said.

I turned the pot up and drank the strange liquid. All the while, I continued to breathe, keeping up my cycle. Once the pot was drained, I put it back on the shelf.

"Thief, what are you doing here and drinking my whole pot of forest god breathing primer. When Lucael finds out about this." Zosimael said.

"So, how did you learn the secret of the gods?" I asked.

Her eyes glazed over, and after a while, she blinked a few times before getting back to normal. "I'm sorry; what was your question?" Zosimael asked.