The Grand Elder gave a sharp nod to one of the attendants standing at the edge of the hall. His tone was composed, yet carried with it the weight of urgency. "Bring in Lady Aralyn. Tell her we request her presence at once. Let her know it pertains to her cultivation."
The attendant bowed and hurried off without a word. The moment he disappeared through the arched doorway at the back of the room, the once-tense atmosphere gave way to silence. The alchemists whispered quietly among themselves, some recalling her story, others skeptical that Lucas's potion could possibly succeed where so many others had failed. Still, not one of them left the room or even turned away. Something in the air told them that history was quietly drawing breath before taking its next step.
