Elara Stonefield stood beside the pine forest path in Quietstream Valley, her grey eyes watching Rory Stormblade's figure gradually disappear into the depths of the woods. The cool night wind carried the mixed fragrance of damp earth and pine resin, and the stream murmured softly in the silence, as if recounting the valley's hidden secrets.
They had agreed to meet here at noon tomorrow for her to deliver the pain-easing draught she had promised to prepare. Rory, with his usual curt nod as farewell, claimed he needed to return to his dwelling to recuperate his exhausted body. Elara didn't press him for the specific reasons why he took the "Bone-Gnawing Pill." She knew well that even if she asked, she couldn't change his already sealed fate. If Rory was willing to sacrifice his future merely for the glory of being "Lightning Rory" in the present, then he must be carrying some unspeakably heavy burden. No one would willingly walk towards a slow death, even if that death was cloaked in the splendid guise of transient power. Forcing him to lay bare his inner pain would only tear open the scars he had managed to barely seal.
Her restraint was wise. As Rory departed, his gaze lingered on her for a moment, and his stormy grey eyes conveyed an unspoken gratitude. Elara knew in her heart that she had incurred another debt of gratitude, an invisible bond connecting his destiny with her own.
She secretly resolved to honor her agreement with Rory, not only to strictly keep his secret but also to immediately begin preparing the potion that could alleviate his suffering. Her motives were simple yet well-considered. Rory was not a wicked person; he had previously had the chance to harm her but had ultimately chosen to let her go. Helping him would make him owe her an even greater debt, thereby ensuring that his increasingly exquisite martial skills could be used by her in the future. Even if she didn't need his help in the future, assisting someone who hadn't completely fallen into depravity could also stir a faint ripple in her heart. After today's events, Rory posed no further threat to her, and that was enough.
Mulling this over, Elara slowly walked back towards Quietstream Valley along the gravel-paved path. The starry sky above twinkled with a cold, clear light, indifferent to the various calculations in her heart. By the time she stepped into the granite-encircled valley, her plan had already taken shape in her mind, detailed without a single flaw.
Upon entering the valley, she immediately set to work. The pain-easing draught Rory needed wasn't particularly complex to prepare, and the necessary ingredients were readily available in Physician Morus's medicinal herb garden: Moonglimmer Petals, Silverthorn Root, and Duskfern Leaf. However, the entire concoction process required extreme precision; the slightest error could lead to all previous efforts being wasted. She lit an oil lamp, arranged a bronze mortar and a glass alembic on the stone table, and carefully ground various herbs, simultaneously employing a minor stabilizing cantrip to ensure the medicinal properties fused perfectly. Throughout the afternoon, she was constantly engaged in grinding, soaking, and filtering, her hands steady and nimble, calmly handling each tedious step. By dusk, she had successfully prepared enough potion for Rory to use for an entire year. She could have prepared more, but she deliberately controlled the quantity, hoping Rory would return to the valley each year to request a new supply from her, thereby maintaining his debt of gratitude to her.
After nightfall, Elara, contrary to her usual routine, did not retreat into her meditation chamber. Instead, she dragged out a wooden chair and sat before her stone hut, gazing up at the inky black starry sky. The bright moonlight poured down unreservedly, its soft silver glow casting long shadows in the valley and illuminating her calm, beautiful face. Her thoughts, at this moment, involuntarily drifted to her distant family, a rare indulgence for her.
Four years had passed in a flash since she had left her mother, her sister Lina, and the small village of her hometown. Physician Morus's incredibly strict teachings—endless meditation, abstruse herbology, and complex potion brewing—had nearly drained all her time and energy, leaving her no leisure to miss her distant home. She had never returned to the village, merely sending most of her monthly silver coins home. In exchange, she would receive brief letters, penned by Old Tom, informing her that all was well at home. The letters mentioned that her eldest brother had married, her second brother was engaged, and their family's life had significantly improved thanks to the silver coins she sent back. However, between the lines, she keenly sensed a faint, almost imperceptible estrangement. Her mother's voice, once so warm and spring-like, now seemed like a stranger's greeting in the letters' descriptions. Each letter felt polite and reserved, as if written to a generous benefactor rather than to her own flesh-and-blood daughter.
This sense of alienation had once terrified her, creating a void deep within her that she didn't know how to face. But the passage of time gradually diluted that unease, and the images of her family members in her mind also slowly blurred. Only at moments like tonight, when the cool moonlight inadvertently touched the softest string in her heart, did she allow herself to briefly immerse in the warm memories of her childhood—memories filled with cheerful laughter, a warm hearth, and her mother's reassuring embrace. These fragmented memories were like rare treasures, which she always carefully savored, over and over, fearing they might inadvertently vanish completely.
Elara's fingers slid to her chest, gently caressing the leather amulet pouch hanging around her neck. Inside, it held the protective charm her mother had given her back then—a small trinket meticulously carved from a wild boar's tusk. In the past, whenever she touched this charm, she could always draw a sliver of comfort from it, as if the bond connecting her to her family was still intact. However, tonight, something was amiss. The amulet pouch seemed heavier than usual, and the moment her fingertips touched the pouch, a faint ripple of magical power unexpectedly emanated from within, stirring an inexplicable agitation in her heart. This ripple, far from calming her, instead caused her heartbeat to involuntarily accelerate.
An unsettling energy began to swirl within her. Her arcane conduits—the pathways she used to guide the energy flow within her body during her arduous cultivation of the "Nameless Incantation"—were now beginning to pulsate erratically and violently. Her mana core, the very source of all energy within her, was like an ocean in a raging tempest, churning tumultuously, without a moment's peace. A terrifying word abruptly surfaced in her mind: Arcane Dissonance.
Elara shot up from her chair, taking a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. Physician Morus was currently deep in the mountains searching for rare and precious herbs; there was no one else around to help her through this sudden crisis. Arcane Dissonance—the complete collapse of a spellcaster's internal magical equilibrium—was an extremely perilous condition she had read about in Physician Morus's hidden books. If not promptly contained, it could completely destroy the spellcaster's mind, even incinerating the arcane conduits within their body. But why had all this happened so suddenly? She hadn't overexerted herself casting any spells recently, nor had she ever attempted to study those strictly forbidden incantations.
She looked up, her gaze warily scanning her surroundings, trying to find any clue that might have triggered this anomaly. The night scene in the valley was as tranquil and peaceful as ever: the gurgling of the stream, the shadows of the pine trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the faint light emanating from the distant medicinal herb garden—everything appeared normal. Her right hand subconsciously stroked her chin, but her elbow accidentally bumped the amulet pouch around her neck. The faint magical ripple from within the pouch once again pricked her senses sharply.
"The protective charm..." The name flashed through her mind.
"Could it be... could it be that which triggered this anomaly?" Elara couldn't be entirely certain, but the situation within her body was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The pulsation of her arcane conduits had become so violent it was on the verge of losing control; she had no more time for hesitation.
She acted decisively, yanking the amulet pouch from her neck and, with all her strength, flinging it far away. The amulet pouch described a graceful arc under the cool moonlight, finally landing in the grass by the stream bank, merely stirring a few innocent blades of grass.
However, the situation within her body did not improve in the slightest. Her mind, instead, became even more agitated, and the churning of her mana core grew increasingly fierce and violent, as if it would completely tear her body apart in the next moment. Elara clenched her jaw tightly, desperately trying to suppress the surging anomaly within her. Her bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the amulet pouch in the distant grass, desperately trying to find the true root cause that had sent everything spiraling downwards.