The question gnawed at Snow for days: Who am I? Memory or body? If identity stemmed solely from memories, then he was Elijah Stonekeeper, the old man from the dream whose past now resided within him.

Snow Shadoway's sixteen years of life experience were a mere blip compared to the vast ocean of Elijah Stonekeeper's three millennia. As Elijah's memories, knowledge, insights, and wisdom took hold, Snow felt his own thoughts and personality morphing to resemble the old Master.

Resolve hardened into a decision. "You entrusted me with all your memories, Elijah," Snow declared. "I'll honor you by fulfillin’ both our destinies. Your quest for vengeance becomes mine to claim." He narrowed his eyes and gazed out the window, his stare sharp as a striking bolt of lightning.

As expected, momma hadn't returned with the Azure Wellspring. But ruptured saidin? An unbreachable curse for Snow Shadoway, but a trifling inconvenience for Elijah Stonekeeper. He might even owe his attackers a begrudging thanks.

Snow had always believed his talent was hindered by an unimpressive saidin pattern – the network of mana channels within his body that dictated his magical potential. But now that his saidin was fractured, a silver lining appeared. A unique tempering method devised by Elijah could not only repair broken saidin but reshape them into patterns optimal for mana flow. Elijah had once used this very method to forge an exceptionally strong foundation for the legendary Skyfall, allowing him to cast formidable spells at an early stage of his development. Now, Snow inherited this knowledge, a spark of hope igniting within him. Could this be the key to unlocking his own hidden potential, to surpass even the legendary Skyfall himself?

Snow considered himself fortunate. Elijah, in his research on this method, had opted for readily available, inexpensive medicinal ingredients.

Snow meticulously listed the required materials. Though common, the amount was large, total cost was significant. Luckily, his mother had brought back a bone-knitting elixir from the elders. Selling it would be enough to cover everything.

"Momma," Snow handing her a list, "don't you worry. Sellin’ the elder's elixir will allow me to obtain the ingredients to heal my injury."

Seeing Snow diligently record the materials calmed Zoe's nerves. It was clear he wasn't simply offering empty comfort; he possessed genuine knowledge. Yet, a question lingered: where had her son acquired this expertise?

Zoe's brow furrowed over the list, landing on the iron sheet. "Iron sheet?" she echoed, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"I need it to build a boiler for refinin’ the materials," he explained.

"He’s gonna design a special boiler!" Zoe marveled under her breath!

With hope in her heart, and Dreamy by her side, Zoe set off to procure everything Snow needed, leaving Snow resting at home.

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“Third level forger.” Pathetic. It was a far cry from the power Snow craved. "But not for much longer," he muttered, a steely glint entering his eyes.

The Shadoway clan defied tradition. Unlike other magic schools that focused solely on channeling mana, they believed in building a strong foundation first. Their children underwent the grueling "Forging Stage," a brutal training regimen that honed their bodies into weapons and strengthened their saidin or saidar network - the pathways for channeling magic. This unique approach allowed them to tap into their innate mana reserves with greater ease and control once they began formal magical studies.

This demanding process required extensive resources, the most crucial of which was an elixir known as the Ironhard Draught, which helped weaving mana into the very fabric of their muscles and bones. The Shadoway clan's approach thrived in their region due to the availability of Ironweed, a key ingredient of the Ironhard Draught.

The children in Shadoway clan received monthly resources: three doses of Ironhard Draughts until adulthood at eighteen. This explained why Larry beat Snow so badly before – it likely had something to do with the elixir.

The next day, Zoe and Dreamy returned with the supplies. Following Snow's instructions, they hired a blacksmith to build a peculiar boiler right at home. Its size necessitated on-site construction; transporting it would be an impossible feat.

The contraption was a marvel of alchemical engineering – a cascading apparatus resembling a dragon with its central pot, the belly, surrounded by several smaller ones like writhing limbs. Each pot bubbled with a concoction of vibrant hues, their hisses and pops a rhythmic counterpoint to the crackling fire licking at their bases. Snow meticulously monitored the process, despite his injuries. Gauges and dials adorned the apparatus, and with practiced ease, he adjusted knobs and valves, ensuring the temperature remained constant, pressure didn't build to dangerous levels, and the specific ingredients within each pot reached their optimal state.

Dreamy and Zoe took over the physical tasks. Dreamy tended the flames, while Zoe added the medicinal ingredients at precise moments.

Three days passed. The concoctions in the sub-pots dwindled, transforming into viscous liquids with remarkable synchronicity. Seizing the opportune moment, Snow instructed his mother and Dreamy to carefully transfer the liquids into the central pot, already brimming with clear water. The temperature there, deliberately kept low, rose to the perfect level upon the combined liquids' touch - a proof of Snow's meticulous planning.

With gentle care, Zoe and Dreamy lowered Snow into the central pot, a small fire flickering beneath to maintain the crucial temperature. Agony unlike anything he'd ever known ripped through him. It was a searing inferno, reshaping him from the inside out, laying the foundation for an unyielding strength. Memories of past hardships, etched into his very being from Elijah's life, surfaced – a torrent of grueling trials that tempered his spirit. Fueled by their echoes, Snow gritted his teeth and steeled his resolve. He would endure.

Five days blurred into a whirlwind of anticipation. The once clear liquid in the main pot had transformed into a grotesque mockery of its former self. Dark and fetid, it reeked of expelled impurities, a clear sign of the agonizing ordeal Snow had endured. As the final fumes dissipated, Snow rose from the pot, reborn in a surge of invigorating power. His body, lean and honed, bore the mark of transformation – a testament to his unwavering will. His saidin, fully repaired and optimized, thrummed with a power that resonated through his very being. The foundation was laid, a limitless horizon stretching before him. Hope, like a phoenix from the ashes, ignited in his eyes.