The jungle hummed with color.
Above the canopy, the sky cracked open with streaks of violet lightning, but not a single drop of rain fell. Only a thick golden mist curled between the leaves, glowing softly with the breath of magic.
In this jungle, the trees didn't whisper—they sang. Every few seconds, a vine would uncurl with a melodic sigh, or a bulbous flower would thrum like a heart. This was Verdara, the first of the Nine Ingredient Realms, and it was very much alive.
Somewhere deep within, a boy crouched beside a glowing mushroom.
He wore robes of faded green, patched at the knees, and a belt overflowing with flasks, herbs, dried scales, and tiny scrolls. His messy silver hair was leaf-dusted, his hands were dirt-caked, and he had the soft, fragile look of someone who belonged in a library, not a jungle.
But his eyes—wide, grey, and glinting with wonder—were listening.
"She's humming," Nilo whispered.
He pressed a small crystal vial to the mushroom's glowing cap. Slowly, a single dewdrop swelled at the edge of the fungus like a tear. It pulsed in rhythm with the jungle's breath.
Plink.
One drop. The first drop.
A few paces away, Cael exhaled sharply. He was older—lean, wild-eyed, and dressed like a mercenary who'd stolen an alchemist's wardrobe. A thick leather coat, potion gauntlet strapped to his right hand, goggles over his head, and a satchel clinking with ingredients. He leaned against a moss-covered tree, one leg trembling faintly.
"You sure that's the real one?" he asked. "Last time, your mushroom sang us straight into a gas trap."
Nilo stood, careful with the vial. "This one said thank you first. It's rare."
"I'm rare," Cael muttered, glancing down at his stone-covered shin. "Doesn't mean you should bottle me."
Suddenly, the jungle lurched.
A nearby thicket hissed—and from it rose a vine serpent, thick as a log, coiled with silver thorns and moss armor. Its mouth gaped with dripping pollen. Its eyes shimmered with alchemical symbols.
"Oh no," Nilo whispered. "That's a Verdstone Wyrm."
Cael smirked. "Perfect. I've been itching to test this new brew."
He yanked a flask from his belt, twisted his gauntlet's gears, and poured in three drops of violet nectar, one flick of ash, and a splash of moonwater. The concoction bubbled—green, then red, then a strange deep blue. He spun the flask.
The jungle shook as the serpent lunged.
THWMP.
Cael ducked, kicked off a tree root, and launched the potion straight into the wyrm's mouth. There was a half-second of silence. Then—
BOOM.
Not fire. Not thunder. Mushrooms.
Dozens of glowing fungi burst across the jungle floor, coating everything in luminous blue spores. The serpent froze, dazed, wrapped in fungal chains that hardened into crystal.
Cael landed on one knee, grinning. "Fungic Bomb Prototype #3. I call it Sporepunk."
Nilo didn't respond. He was staring at the serpent, then at his brother's leg—where the stone skin had crept a little farther.
Cael noticed. His smirk faded.
"…It's fine. I've got time."
Nilo looked away, hugging the vial to his chest. "Not much."
Later That Night
The brothers sat beside a makeshift campfire, light refracted through glass shards and potion jars. Cael turned the pages of a weather-worn alchemy journal: The Codex of Elixiron—unfinished, unsolved.
"So…" he began, pointing to the new page. "Drop of Verdara Glowdew—check. That makes five ingredients toward the 'Lesser Flask of Binding.' Think we can try a brew tomorrow?"
Nilo nodded, staring at the stars. "If we find the Heartvine."
"Heartvine grows near predator dens," Cael muttered. "Perfect."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Nilo asked softly, "Do you really think we'll find it? The Dew of Eden?"
Cael didn't answer right away.
He looked at his brother—his quiet, kind, cursed little brother—and at the vial glowing in his hand.
"I think," Cael said finally, "if we don't find it, I'll make it."
Morning in Verdara was never quiet.
Not because of birdsong—those were rare in this jungle—but because the plants themselves chattered.
Leaves rustled without wind. Roots groaned like aching bones. Trees whispered secrets in voices no one should understand. But Nilo did.
He moved barefoot, silent, one hand trailing along the mossy trunk of a spiral-bent tree. The veins in the bark glowed faintly under his touch.
"She's close," he said, glancing back. "The Heartvine... it's afraid."
Cael stomped through the undergrowth behind him, grumbling. His boots were covered in amber sap, and something had bitten his shoulder. Again.
"Well, we all are," Cael muttered. "The more afraid the ingredient, the more potent the brew. Right?"
"Right," Nilo said, voice distant. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a flask of ghostflower nectar. A single drop landed on a nearby fern—and the plant unfurled with a sigh, revealing a twisting red vine nestled underneath.
It pulsed, like a living artery.
Cael's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"
"No," Nilo said, stepping forward. "That's her decoy."
Suddenly the ground shuddered. The red vine shot upward like a whip—missing Nilo by inches—and the earth split open beneath them.
A hollow roar echoed from below.
Roots lashed out, grabbing at Cael's legs. He yanked free, arm glowing as his Alembic Gauntlet hissed with stored reagents.
"Back off, weed," he growled, twisting the dial.
He threw a flask down—a burst of shimmering powder exploded outward, and the grasping roots recoiled with a shriek.
But then the real enemy revealed itself.
From beneath the earth slithered a titanic plant-beast, thorned and coiled like a hydra, made of writhing vines, blooming eyes, and pulsing hearts. At its core grew a single white flower: the Heartvine Blossom, encased in a glassy membrane of sap.
Cael backed up. "You're kidding. That's a Guardian Bloom? In a Tier-2 Zone?!"
"They're supposed to be extinct," Nilo whispered.
The beast hissed—dozens of thorny tendrils rose like spears.
"Okay, stay behind me," Cael said. "I've got a few tricks left."
"No," Nilo said softly. "She's scared. We can't fight her."
Cael blinked. "She's trying to kill us."
"Because we're like the others. Like the Hunters."
Nilo stepped forward, arms wide.
"Nilo—!"
The Guardian Bloom stilled.
Vines hovered inches from his face.
Nilo lowered his voice to a whisper. "You've lost your children, haven't you? One by one, stolen by flasks and fire."
The massive creature let out a low, guttural cry—not rage, but grief.
And then, slowly, it began to retreat.
The vines uncoiled. The earth closed. The flower at its center unfurled—petal by petal—until the Heartvine Blossom floated upward, carried by a breath of wind, and landed in Nilo's waiting hand.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Behind him, Cael stood frozen.
"…Okay," he said at last, rubbing his face. "You just shamed me in front of a walking plant god."
Nilo smiled gently. "You scared her with your bombs."
"They work."
That Evening
Their camp was high in the canopy, suspended on potion-thread hammocks. The jungle below shimmered with firefly spirits. Cael was hunched over the Codex of Elixiron, sketching the Heartvine's profile into the next page.
"Five ingredients down," he muttered. "Tomorrow, we brew the Flask of Binding."
Nilo nodded, watching the stars.
They twinkled strangely tonight.
Cael turned to him. "Hey. That thing you did today... with the Guardian. You understood it. Like, felt it."
Nilo looked down at his hands.
"I don't know how," he said. "But it's getting louder. The voices. Sometimes, they speak in dreams."
Cael frowned. "You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't want to worry you."
Cael snorted. "You're carrying a soul-seed in your chest and speaking jungle. I think we're past the point of worry."
"I'm fine," Nilo said softly. "We have the blossom now."
But Cael wasn't looking at the flower.
He was staring at Nilo's arm—where the veins glowed faintly green, and tiny leaves had begun sprouting just beneath the skin.