Asher carefully prepared the potion ingredients, his mind returning to Mr. Bolard's advice.

“What is the most important thing to me?” he thought.

“I’m not sure I have anything like that right now, but maybe one day I will. For now, I will try to anchor myself with the ring.”

With determination, Asher ground the four-leaf clovers in the pestle and mortar, and the sweet scent filled the air.

He then heated the witch’s hazel in a small pot over the fire, watching closely as it began to shimmer.

Next, he placed the goblin heart into the cauldron, pouring the boiling witch’s hazel over it.

Before the mixture could cool, he quickly added the ground clovers, watching as the heart melted like ice under the sun.

A blue smoke rose from the cauldron, and Asher knew it was time to add the anglerfish’s brain and eyes.

He carefully mixed in the last ingredients, and the liquid bubbled over with bright colors, sending out clouds of smoke like a sulfur pit. A rainbow of colors filled the room, swirling around like a living painting.

Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, the liquid within the cauldron began to spin, drawing the escaping smoke back in. The boiling stopped, and the potion settled, looking like a slick of oil on a puddle of mercury.

Asher took his teacup and a wooden ladle, gently spooning the colorful liquid into the cup.

He crumpled the recipe paper and tossed it into the fire, the flames eagerly consuming it.

Sitting back in his chair, he leaned his head back and drank the entire potion in one swift motion.

It felt as if he had swallowed a pufferfish; the liquid expanded in his throat, resisting him. It fought its way down to his stomach, where it finally settled.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Before he could recover from the assault, the potion began to spread through his body. His field of vision widened, and he felt like he could see more than he ever had before.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw countless tiny strings connecting him to everything around him, disappearing through the walls of the office.

But then, his mind became a battlefield.

Asher thrashed in response to the strange invasion in his head, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Desperate to avoid biting his tongue, he covered his ears and closed his eyes, letting out a cry of pain. It felt like needles were being forced into his brain for some cruel reason. In the midst of his agony, a new kind of suffering joined in. His heart felt like it was stopping, and Asher feared he was having a heart attack.

Grabbing his chest, he held on, listening to the pounding in his head.

Suddenly, everything went silent. For a brief moment, he welcomed the absence of sharp throbbing .

But he soon realized that the quiet was more terrifying. His heart had completely stopped. He felt his body grow cold, and he knew his lips had turned purple. He sensed his life slipping away.

Then, without warning, his heart crumpled in on itself before swelling larger and larger, beating strongly once more. It felt as though he had undergone a heart transplant, a strange but very real possibility.

Then, hesitantly, he opened his eyes—what a dreadful mistake that was.

The threads he had seen earlier returned, some black and others shining like gold. He could see them moving through the walls, all connected to him. One of these threads linked him to Henry. Although Asher had only opened his eyes for a moment, he felt a wave of pain rush through him.

It was as if the climax of a tragic play had come to pass, and he no longer wanted anything. He didn’t even know who he was anymore; all he desired was for the pain to end. He would have done anything to escape the torment.

In the midst of this chaos, a soft voice echoed deep within him, whispering comforting words that it was okay to let go—that everything would be alright.

Asher felt himself start to fall, unsure of where he was going, but the warmth surrounding him was inviting. Here, there was no pain. No more pain...

Meanwhile, Henry watched Asher with a mix of fear and sadness. He had seen many people take potions before, and although he often complained, this was part of his job. He had witnessed many lose their way, often being the one to see them off afterward.

But even with his experience, he was horrified by Asher’s reaction. He had never seen such an intense response before; if anyone had come close to that level of suffering, they wouldn’t last long—maybe only a few seconds—before their bodies changed and they gave in.

Asher didn’t seem to be losing control, but Henry was still shocked. He gripped his revolver, summoning fire into the barrel, ready to shoot Asher if he began to transform. His hand shook slightly, but there was no time for embarrassment.

Then Henry saw Asher’s skin begin to change. Scars rose on his face like ugly bumps, and his teeth started to protrude, darkening to a deep black.

Henry raised his revolver, his finger resting on the trigger.

Asher was lost in a deep sleep; he didn’t know how long he had been in this state, but he woke up suddenly. Looking around, he found himself in a beautiful world. The ground was made of shimmering water, yet he could walk on it easily. As far as he could see, the clouds were fluffy and white against a bright blue sky.

Nearby, he noticed a woman—perhaps the most beautiful person he had ever seen. This was no small feat, considering the existence of Renee Duval, but to outshine the public safety hazard was truly impressive.

Her bright blue eyes sparkled like precious sapphires, deep as the ocean and twinkling like stars. Long black hair cascaded to her waist, tied in a ponytail with three delicate bangs framing the left side of her face.

She turned her gaze toward Asher, and her voice, soft as velvet and respledant as the stars, struck him to his very core.

“Return, young one ; if you linger here, we will both fade away.”