This might be the most peculiar alchemy forge in existence. Its strangeness went beyond mere appearance. Unlike traditional furnaces, this athanor defied the limitations of magic. With its assistance, even those unable to manipulate mana could, in theory, refine peerless elixirs - elixirs rivalling the creations of master healers - provided they possessed the necessary knowledge and skill.

The man sitting before the furnace embodied this very concept. His white hair and beard flowed like a snowy cascade, framing a face embossed with concentration. His entire focus was on the furnace, meticulously controlling the flames as they danced around a bubbling concoction - Balsam of Rejuvenation. A sweet, resinous aroma, hinting at both decay and renewal, wafted from the athanor, filling the chamber with a sense of anticipation.

The elixir held a peculiar power - it could only mend the frailties of mortals, and only at death's very doorstep, when age, not violence, claimed its due. The old man, his once-vigorous frame now a map of wrinkles, could feel the relentless tug of time. It was almost... comforting.

A delicate chime resonated through the room. The final drop of amber liquid fell from the athanor's spout, landing with a gentle plink into a crystal vial. The Balsam of Rejuvenation was complete, its surface shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow that promised life renewed. With a sigh, the old man's thoughts turned to his only disciple.

Walter Skyfall, his life’s work, was a testament to his genius. Few believed a mere mortal, armed only with elixirs and medical prowess, could cultivate a disciple of such caliber. Yet, Walter, now known throughout the land as Skyfall the Divine, had ascended to become one of the world's most formidable mages.

Now attuned to the One Power, Walter no longer needed his elixirs to improve his abilities. It was time to impart his true legacy. With Walter's intellect, he could become the most potent healer the world had ever known, defying mortality itself.

The old man, his heart warmed by his disciple's success, retrieved a medical tome – a culmination of three millennia of experience, a treasure beyond measure. This would be Walter's reward, a gift for his ascension.

Squeak!

The door swung open and a hulking figure filled the doorway - Skyfall the Divine, the old man's disciple.

A faint smile touched the old man's lips as he reached for the elixir, his movements betraying his age. "Walter, my boy," he croaked, his voice raspy with age. "Come witness your master's transformation?"

Skyfall the Divine remained silent, his expression unreadable. A large hand shot out, the fingers closing firmly around the crystal vial before the old man could react.

"Walter, you are naughty again. Please return the Balsam to your master. Your master is dying." The old man was breathing heavily. His voice hitched, each word a struggle against the suffocating grip of mortality.

Skyfall remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the vial in his hand. "Three millennia, Master. A long life, would've you say... for a mortal?" He paused, his voice laced with a chilling disdain.

A tremor ran through the old man's frail body. "What... what are you saying, Walter?" Dread coiled in his gut, a cold serpent squeezing the last vestiges of hope.

Skyfall's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "My dear Master," he purred, his voice dripping with false sympathy, "while even I, with all my power from the One, must one day face the inevitable, you... a mere mortal... hold the key to defying death itself. How... 'fortunate' for you."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But imagine, Master, the possibilities! If your genius could elevate me to such heights, think of what it could do for others. A legion of Weaver's of the One, each more powerful than the last... a force that could reshape the very fabric of existence. Wouldn't that be a legacy worthy of your name?"

With a swift, almost graceful movement, Skyfall snatched the medical tome from the old man's trembling hands. "Consider this my humble offering, Master," he said, his smirk widening. "A small token of appreciation for the power you have unwittingly bestowed upon me. Now, rest assured, your name will echo through the ages... but it will be my voice that carries it."

"Walter..." The old man's voice was barely a whisper, each syllable a struggle against the rising tide of despair. He stared at his apprentice, his eyes wide with disbelief. "All these years... I thought... you were my son." A bitter laugh escaped his lips, tinged with self-mockery. "How blind I've been."

Skyfall's voice dripped with cruel amusement. "How about this for a parting gift. I won't kill you with my own hands. I'll let nature run its course, just as it does to everyone else." Raising the vial, he swallowed the Balsam of Rejuvenation with a grin, completely cutting off the old man's hope of living.

The weight of realization settled on the old man's chest. The book was his death warrant.

"Treacherous wretch! Treacherous wretch!" He cried out! But fury was a fleeting luxury. His life force dwindled, a candle flame flickering in a dying breeze. Skyfall watched the light dim in his master's eyes, a detached observer witnessing the inevitable.

Boom!

As the final spark expired, the alchemy room where the old man lived for most of his life, together with his body, was turned into powder under the terrifying pressure of Skyfall the Divine.

"Treacherous wretch!"

A guttural roar ripped Snow from his sleep. He bolted upright, a jolt of searing pain lancing through his body. His head throbbed as if his skull might split open. Disoriented, he gasped, "I ain't dead!" The dream - so vivid, so real - lingered, leaving a chilling uncertainty in its wake. Could it be a premonition?

Yet in the dream, he wasn't himself. The old man had no saidin. Plus, everyone knew who Skyfall the Divine was, High Priest of the Temple of the One, the most powerful man of the known world. So, Skyfall betrayed his master? A dangerous secret to possess, considering Skyfall's position and power.

A small hand grasped his, concern imprinted on a young face. "Brother? What's wrong?" Dreamy, his fourteen-year-old sister, pleaded with him to calm down, her voice barely a whisper.

"Just a bad dream, is all," Snow mumbled, unsure who he was trying to convince, himself or her. Yet, the unease wouldn't dissipate. Then, a deluge of memories crashed into him - thirty lifetimes worth. Every detail of medical knowledge, every elixir formula, everything the old man had poured into Walter Skyfall - surged through him, crystal clear and undeniable. He felt a melding, a terrifying sense of becoming the old man, inheriting his rage, his sorrow, and a burning desire for vengeance.

But what ability does he have to avenge this old man? Despite his lineage of mages, Snow lacked exceptional talent. Often ostracized and bullied by other children in the clan, he recently endured another humiliation. Larry Shadoway, the grandson of the Fourth Elder, along with his followers, mocked Snow and his sister. Initially calm, Snow flew into a rage upon hearing Dreamy insulted, only to be severely beaten by Larry's group. The attack left him with a fractured leg and a damaged saidin network, the delicate pathways crucial for manipulating mana.

Witnessing her brother's distress, Dreamy, with a hopeful face, said, "Don't you worry none, brother. Momma's with the elders, she'll get you the Azure Wellspring for sure."

Snow's heart plummeted. Their family wasn't exactly well-liked within the Shadoway clan. Only the Chieftain, currently in seclusion, treated them with a modicum of respect. All family matters rested on the shoulders of the elders.

Moreover, the Azure Wellspring, a true elixir, was one of the Shadoway clan's most prized possession. Crafted by the revered Order of Azure Mountain, its power to mend wounds and revitalize the spirit was legendary. Snow knew their family only had a single vial left, a relic passed down through generations. His heart sank as he imagined his mother begging the elders for this precious resource, only to be met with scornful laughter. After all, why would they squander such a treasure on him, the boy they called "Snow the Useless"?

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the house, and Dreamy stood up in excitement. "Momma's back, she musta got the elixir."

Snow looked outside and saw a middle-aged woman with a haggard face walked in.

"Hey Snow, you are up?" Zoe said, her eyes a little dodgy when she saw Snow looking at her.