Chapter 43: Potion

Makun had already made a choice, and it was the most logical choice possible.

It had only been four days since his half awakening, and in the brief amount of time he had been in the Veil, he understood one thing. Power was capital.

He was powerless when Zack held him by the neck for the book. He watched how he was easily overpowered by the veiled lady. Then after Zack got up, he was beaten to the ground by the silver masked guard.

There was Joe who obtained supernatural power after being controlled by the eerie energy. With that, he pummeled Shane.

Makun was sure scholars, seers, builders, rulers could still defend themselves. They could generate great power. But his goal was survival.

Survive and discover who ruined his life.

Discover who made him like this.

For that, he needed strength.

Strength to defend himself. That was the only way he was sure death would not reach him. Other than that, he had to understand the mechanism of how warriors acted, and how other practitioners acted. They were going to be on his way, and he needed to beat them.

But for now he was going to walk the Route of a warrior. Once his core was stable, he would learn like a scholar.

“I am going to go for the Warrior Route,” Makun said, full of confidence.

“Hmm. Ok.” She nodded. “Now let me make the potion. I should have what is needed.”

She stood and walked to the polished table. The movement was graceful but practical, like she had no reason to waste steps. The small vials sat in neat rows, different shapes, different stoppers, some clear, some dark.

Makun watched her pick twelve vials and separate them from the others.

Then she started speaking.

“The concoction of a potion for initiation is fairly easy as long as you have the formulas,” she said. “There is no need for a special flame. No blue flames. No specific rituals in the making of it, and no need for me to recite an incantation.”

She placed a glass beaker on the table, then another, then a shallow mixing bowl. Her hands did not shake.

“There is no need for one to participate in it spiritually,” she continued. “All one needs to do is go according to the formula’s steps, add the precise amounts, and mix it. That will be all.”

Interesting

Here I thought I was going to have to do some crazy chants and dances.

He saw her pull out a metal scale from under the table and place it beside the bowl. She checked the vials again, then looked at him.

“The content. Since it’s a one time use for you, I am going to let you know what I am using.”

She held up the first vial.

“Base,” she said. “Carrier that spreads the information pattern through the body.”

She poured distilled saltwater into a beaker without hesitation, stopping at a mark like she had done it a thousand times.

“Distilled saltwater. Conductor for the route signal. It helps the formula broadcast from skin.”

She tipped it into the bowl.

Then she took the second vial.

“Bitter alcohol base.” Her eyes stayed on the measurement. “The goal of this is to Force rapid bloodstream penetration. Traditional opening medium.”

She poured a smaller amount, the liquid clear and sharp, and added it to the bowl. She stirred twice with a glass rod, slow like a baker folding something delicate.

Makun did not speak. He watched.

She reached for a third container, darker than the others, and set it on the scale.

“Route core,” she said. “The imprint. Violence. Survival. Impact.”

She did not choose iron. She did not choose stone.

She opened a small packet and poured a fine grey-black powder into the scale tray, careful, controlled.

“Ash from burned animal bone, It should be an animal at the top of the food chain. What I have here is from a tiger.” she said. “It encodes survival, predation, hunger, instinct. It draws the soul toward the raw truth of the food chain.”

She tipped it into the bowl. The powder hit the liquid and vanished into it.

She stirred again. Three turns. Stop. Scrape the sides once.

Then she held up a small vial that looked almost harmless.

“Nervous system trigger,” she said. “Turns perception into reflex.”

She squeezed bitter root extract into a measuring dropper, counted, then released it into the bowl.

“Bitter root extract. Wakes the nerves so the body can register the Deep.”

Makun’s stomach tightened at the word Deep.

She took another vial, the resin inside thick, the color of old pepper.

“Capsaicin oil.” She let the dropper hover, then released a controlled thread of it. “Controlled pain. Teaches the soul to read pain as information instead of panic.”

A faint sting rose in Makun’s nostrils just from watching it go in.

Then she set down the dropper and reached for two small containers that looked like they belonged in a jeweler’s box.

“Next is the Anchor,” she said. “This matters because first ignition attracts outer layer entities. You need something to drag you back here”

She poured charcoal-black salt onto the scale, measured grams, then tapped it into the bowl.

“Charcoal-black salt. Grounds excess energy. Reduces route-signal leakage.”

Next, she opened a narrow vial with a shimmer inside. She only needed a trace. She lifted the scale tray, dusted it once, and that was it.

“Silver dust trace,” she said. “Not for purity. For boundary stability. Keeps the signal from tearing open too wide.”

She stirred again, slower now. Fold. Fold. Fold. Like batter.

Makun leaned forward without meaning to.

She took the last vial, the smallest. The liquid inside looked like water until light hit it, and then it looked thin in a way water was not.

“Catalyst,” she said. “The door crack to the Deep.”

She did not pour it. She let a single drop fall.

“Veil-thinned water,” she said. “Water left overnight at a spiritually active crossroads. It carries the irritation needed to let the route signal reach the surface current.”

The moment it touched the mix, the bowl breathed out a fog.

Fffffff!

Not steam. Something colder.

A cloud crawled up from the surface and rolled across the table. The liquid in the bowl shifted color in slow waves, like oil trying to pretend it was water. Grey became pale green. Pale green became a bruised purple. Then it flashed clear again, as if it was deciding what it wanted to be.

The smell hit after.

At first it was floral, clean, almost beautiful. Then it turned and rotted. It smelled like a wet shelter corner, like metal, like old blood that had dried wrong. It swung back again to something sweet, then snapped to something that made Makun clamp his nose.

He covered his mouth and breathed through his sleeve.

The veiled lady did not react once. She stirred through it like she had no nose, or like the smell was not the point.

Under her scrutiny, Makun memorised everything she said since she began. He forced it into his head the way he forced rent numbers into his head. The way he forced warnings into his head.

She stopped stirring. The cloud sank back into the bowl like it was tired.

“Repeat it,” she said.

Makun swallowed and spoke fast.

“Distilled saltwater, bitter alcohol base, ash from burned animal bone, bitter root extract, capsaicin oil, charcoal-black salt, silver dust trace, one drop veil-thinned water,” he said. “Base, core, trigger, anchor, catalyst.”

The veiled lady nodded once.

She took an empty vial from the table, poured the potion into it, and sealed it. The moment the stopper went in, the cloud vanished. The smell died. The color stopped moving. The room returned to normal like nothing had happened.

She walked back to him and handed him the vial.

“The breakthrough I had in the market would have created trouble with the guards if I did not have control over everything,” she said. “You cannot afford to drink this here. A connection to the Deep will be created. Search for a quiet place, then drink it.”

Makun held it carefully. The glass felt colder than it should.

“The potion was made for a Warrior,” she said. “As for the sub-route, that is not something I can decide. You will either be given one on the spot, or you will develop one in the future.”

She released the vial into his palm.

Makun stared at it, ready to swallow it at any moment.

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