Connor slept till late the next day.

Staying up all night making potions and then sparring with Adelia for so long had left him feeling like a dishrag that had been wrung out and then stomped on for good measure.

Only a few hours of daylight remained, and he decided to make good use of them.

His lean muscle rippled, and sweat ran down his body as he did pull-ups with weighted clothing.

Though he used heavy weights, his muscle remained lean. He was tall and thin, with a strength that belied his size.

He didn’t mind that his body remained lean, rather than bulky and muscular. He had simply adjusted his fighting style to focus more on speed.

Even if Adelia made him look slow and clumsy… he consoled himself with the thought that none of the highly trained palace guards were his match.

Night fell, and he wiped off his sweat with a towel.

He smiled. It was time to make a strength potion.

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but he’d been making such excellent progress so far… it was worth a shot, right?

He hummed softly as he opened his codex, and read it in the magical light of the workshop.

The Potion of Minor Strength was his goal for tonight. His first attempt at a Beginner level potion… it was a lesser strength potion, far less powerful than the potion Victor had given him, but it was a start.

Besides… the Potion of Heightened Senses was only a Novice level potion… and look what that did!

He searched out and gathered the ingredients he needed from among the many shelves.

Troll’s root, ginger, ogre blood…

Alchemy called for some weird stuff.

He laid everything out and drew the focusing circle. It went much smoother now after so many hours of practice, but it was still irritating work that made his back ache.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t need one for much longer.

He stood up and his back cracked. Ah, that felt better. He pulled on his alchemy and the circle at his feet lit up bright red.

He ground up the troll’s root and ginger using a pestle and mortar, red lightning played over his fingers and into the herbs, further refining it.

He gritted his teeth, and a bead of sweat ran down the side of his head. Damn it was hard to refine without heat while also keeping half his attention on grinding up the herbs into the finest powder he could.

If he stopped either the grinding or using his alchemy for just a moment, it would negatively affect the potion, and this was just the first stage.

Thank the gods his alchemy was so much stronger now… but would it be enough?

He finished grinding up the herbs he needed and poured the fine dust into the crucible. The powder glowed slightly red from the energy he’d put into it, and he didn’t want it to dissipate, so he moved as quickly as he could.

He pulled the cork from the vial of ogre blood and tipped it over the crucible. It splattered over the dust and formed a reddish-brown sludge.

Yuck.

Next, he poured water into the mixture and stirred it with a glass rod. None of it dissolved properly, and bits of powder and blood swirled around the solution.

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He activated the magical flame at the base of the crucible, and the concoction started to bubble. He held his hands to either side of the solution, avoiding the rising steam, and pulled hard on his alchemy.

Red lightning snapped and crackled from his hands and into the swirling, bubbling solution like a chaotic, alien storm.

The familiar presence of the focusing circle pressed on his awareness and helped him shape his energy.

He panted like he’d been running for days straight as he tore apart the essences of the ingredients and reconnected them in the form he needed.

The process was slow and exhausting. It took all his focus, and there was no way for him to tell how long it had been as he struggled onward.

His power started to wane, and the circle beneath him flickered, but he gritted his teeth and pulled as hard as he could.

He brought it back up to a healthy glow once more and kept it like that for how long he couldn’t say.

His head felt like a pack of angry goblins were hacking away at it with axes, his bones ached, and his legs wobbled beneath him.

The red lightning and the glow of the circle at his feet faltered and faded away, and his legs buckled.

He caught himself on a stool and panted. Sweat ran down his body in rivulets.

It was too late now. The process couldn’t be interrupted. If he’d failed, he’d have to start all over again.

The potion bubbled in front of him. He wanted to check on it, but he was too tired to move.

He took deep breaths and steadied his shaking hands. How could alchemy be so physically demanding?

When he had the energy to move again, he checked on the potion.

It bubbled with a slightly cloudy orange color.

He frowned. The description just said light orange. Had he succeeded? Would it being slightly cloudy be a problem?

He turned off the flame at the base of the crucible and let it cool before he filled up a few vials with the murky orange liquid.

He stared at it intently. Should he drink it? It must be close at the very least… how else would he know if it had worked? But, if he’d made too large a mistake… if it wasn’t ready… there was no telling what it might do.

He held the vial up to his eyes.

He’d gone through so much effort to make it, and it was only a little cloudy. Hardly something to worry about.

“Only one way to find out,” he muttered.

He poured the liquid down his throat. It tasted tangy and a bit spicy, but otherwise, it wasn’t too bad.

He waited anxiously.

Strength surged through his body. Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to keep standing. Not because he had any new energy, but because it simply required less effort to stand.

He smiled widely. The potion worked!

Now to head to the training room and test just how much stronger it made him!

He headed to the stairs, taking deep breaths. Hmm… he was still shaking. Maybe he’d have to test it with another vial tomorrow…

A knifelike pain pierced his stomach. He stumbled and gasped. Then another spear of pain gouged his stomach… and another and another.

He doubled over and fell to the floor.

He reached out, grasped the edge of the stairs and pulled himself toward them.

He crawled up the stairs. Fire boiled the marrow of his bones, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. The room spun and twisted around him.

He tumbled back down the pitiful distance he’d crawled and threw up violently.

Then, the world went black.

***

Connor awoke in his bed.

For a moment, last night seemed like a bad dream, until he sat up and his stomach clenched. He covered his mouth with his hand and choked back vomit.

The feeling passed quickly, but his throat burned and he still felt woozy.

The door opened, and Victor stepped inside.

“You damn fool boy,” he growled.

“Good morning to you too,” Connor replied weakly.

“I told you! A thousand times I told you that alchemy was to be treated with caution and respect! You’ve barely started, and you nearly got yourself killed!” Victor yelled.

Connor winced. Great. Now he had a headache too.

“So, what happened?” he asked.

“You drank an improperly prepared potion, and you paid the price,” Victor growled.

“I meant… after that,” Connor said.

“I know exactly what you meant,” Victor said, “I came into the workshop to check on you and found you half dead. You’re damn lucky I came in when I did. I gave you one of my own potions to counteract most of the effects.”

“Most of them?” Connor asked.

“I kept you from dying, but I figured you would do well to suffer a bit when you woke up, so you might remember not to do something so stupid in future,” Victor said.

“I’m sorry, uncle,” Connor replied.

“No, Connor, it is I who is sorry. I thought you were ready for this, but clearly, I was wrong. I’ll be taking the key I gave you,” Victor said.

His words cut Connor to the bone. “Please uncle, I promise I won't—” Connor started.

“You already promised me, and you broke that promise. Clearly, your word means less than nothing. The key, Connor. Now,” Victor said.

Connor reached into his bag and pulled out the key to the workshop.

Victor snatched it away. “You’ve disappointed me,” he said. He walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving Connor alone in his room.

Connor didn’t know what hurt more, his uncle's harsh words that he knew he deserved or having the workshop taken from him.

He took out his codex and ran his fingers over the cover…

What should he do now?