Chapter 38 – Dividing Paths
The tavern lights burned low, their glass chimneys fogged with desert dust. Outside, the city murmured with life — a thousand unseen conversations weaving through the night. The sound of distant bells rolled across the rooftops, marking the end of the merchants' shift and the beginning of the mercenaries'.
John sat by the window, a plate half-eaten in front of him, the smell of spice and smoke hanging in the air. Two vials sat beside his drink: one glowing faint gold, the other deep blue. The light from them flickered across his face, catching the sharp lines that hadn't been there weeks ago.
Tamara arrived first. She moved like she always did — quiet but deliberate, her cloak slipping off her shoulders as she sat across from him. Frost clung to her cuffs; she'd been practicing again.
Blake came next, slapping sand off his boots, a dagger tucked into his belt and a grin that didn't quite hide the fatigue in his eyes.
He dropped into the seat beside her and waved for a drink. "Place is packed tonight," he muttered. "Half the city's hunting contracts, the other half celebrating surviving them."
For a while they ate in silence, listening to the hum of voices and the faint hum of music somewhere upstairs.
It was Blake who broke it first. "We met a group today," he said, tearing off a piece of bread. "They're called Lion's Mane. Big reputation here. Five-man team led by some Step Five E-rank. They're taking a high-risk job tomorrow — thought we might tag along."
John looked up from his food. "You're planning to join them?"
Blake shrugged. "They offered. Said they could use extra hands for something big out in the dunes."
Tamara's gaze was steady. "It's not just something big," she said quietly. "They're going after the Scorpion Queen."
The table went still. The only sound was the hiss of the lantern.
John's eyes narrowed slightly. "Didn't someone almost kill her?"
Tamara nodded once. "Reports say she fled deeper into the desert. Regrouped. She's wounded but not dead. If that's true, she'll rebuild her hive — stronger, smarter."
Blake leaned back, forcing a smile. "Which is why we should help finish the job."
John's expression stayed unreadable. "Step Three E-rank… You're sure about this?"
"That's why we're joining Lion's Mane," Tamara said. "Their leader's Step Five. We'll follow his command, and we won't go alone."
He studied them both for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine. Just don't let your guard down. Queens don't die easy."
He reached into his cloak and set two small vials on the table. They shimmered faintly — one amber, one blue.
"Take these," John said. "One's a Healing Potion, the other's for meditation."
Tamara lifted the blue vial, holding it to the light. "You made these?"
"Yeah," he said. "Tier Two quality now. The amber one stops bleeding and restores part of your vitality. Only once per day — it leaves residue in your veins. The blue one strengthens your flow of Light while you cultivate. It should help you both reach the next step faster."
Blake turned the potion in his hand. "You're getting good at this, man."
John's mouth curved slightly. "I've had time."
He didn't mention the endless nights at the cauldron, the burns, or the voice that taught him patience. They didn't need to know.
Tamara tucked both vials into her pouch. "We'll use them well."
"You'd better," John said. "I nearly poisoned myself testing those."
Blake laughed. "Explosive side effects?"
"Explosive everything."
The laughter faded, replaced by an easy quiet.
Outside, desert wind rattled the tavern shutters. The scent of incense drifted through the doorway — sharp, metallic, the smell of spirit dust burning in lamps.
John stared out the window for a moment, watching merchants pack up their stalls. For the first time since Revenak, he felt the faint pulse of normal life. People buying, arguing, living.
"You've Both made it to E rank," he said finally. " you should be fine going after the scorpion queen at the very least Getting away, shouldn't be a problem."
Blake smirked. "Don't get soft on us."
"Not in my nature," John replied.
Tamara smiled faintly at the exchange. But her voice softened when she spoke. "What about you? What will you do while we're gone?"
"I'll be working," he said simply. "The cauldron's fixed now. I need to build stock — potion batches, reagents. There's a merchant fair in three days. If I can get enough ready, I can set up a stand."
Blake blinked. "You? Selling potions in the street?"
"It's coin," John said. "And practice."
Tamara tilted her head. "And if it works?"
"Then I go to the Alchemist Association next," he said. "Register properly. Start trading in bulk."
The pride in his tone was subtle, but it was there. Tamara noticed. She didn't say anything — only gave a small nod.
They finished eating as the tavern emptied.
Blake stood first, stretching until his joints cracked. "Alright, I'm off. Got to rest if I'm going to stab a queen tomorrow."
"Try not to die doing it," John said.
"No promises."
He grinned and headed upstairs.
Tamara lingered a little longer. She watched John gather the vials and parchment scattered over the table — measurements, notes, half-finished formulas written in tight, precise strokes.
"You're changing," she said softly.
He looked up, eyebrow raised. "For better or worse?"
"I haven't decided yet," she said, smiling just enough to make it not sting.
He returned it with a faint one of his own. "Then I'll make it worth deciding."
She turned to go, pausing halfway up the stairs. "Don't stay up all night again."
"Alchemy doesn't sleep," he replied.
"Then dream anyway," she said, and disappeared into the upper hall.
John stayed until the lanterns burned low. When the last patron left, he climbed the narrow stair to his rented room.
The cauldron waited, its metal surface etched with faint lines of light — the same ones he and Alaric had restored the day before. The sight steadied him.
He laid out the ingredients: Spirit Daisies, Light Aloe, crystal powder. The air filled with the dry sweetness of herbs and the ozone scent of condensed Light.
"Slow your hand, boy," Alaric's voice murmured within his mind. "Alchemy isn't a race. Feel the Light breathe."
John obeyed. He stirred clockwise, letting his own aura merge with the reaction. The liquid glowed, deepened, then calmed — obedient, alive.
"Good. Again."
Hours passed unnoticed. The window dimmed to gray, then to silver as dawn crept in. Bottles lined the table — dozens of them, each filled with liquid that pulsed like captured stars.
John leaned back, exhaustion finally settling in. "Two successes," he whispered. "And one batch that didn't explode. Progress."
"Progress," Alaric echoed, amused. "Rest now. Tomorrow, your companions begin their hunt. You begin your craft."
John's eyes drifted shut.