The emerald-cloaked woman led them through a maze of colorful tents and marble walkways, each turn revealing a new spectacle—levitating fruit stands, musicians whose instruments played themselves, and quiet corners where competitors meditated beneath drifting orbs of light.
They passed through a tall archway made of flowering vines that whispered in ancient tongues, and soon the festival square gave way to a wide stone path leading toward a massive circular building. Its outer walls resembled weathered ivory, etched with spiraling symbols that shimmered faintly as they walked past.
Lira's breath caught as they stepped through the entrance.
Inside, the structure opened like a colossal amphitheater—part arena, part sacred temple. Sunlight spilled in through the open top, casting golden beams onto dozens of circular tables neatly arranged around a central stage. Each table bore a different elemental mark—fire, water, earth, air, and even rarer sigils Lira didn't yet recognize.
Participants were already arriving—some setting out their tools, others meditating or stretching. Elemental auras flickered around many of them, casting subtle glows or breezes in their wake.
Therin stopped and gently placed a hand on Lira's shoulder. "This is the Arena of Convergence. Only the top potion-makers and elementalists are invited to brew here. Your table is over there—earth and alchemy combined. You'll be tested on your balance between potion knowledge and your affinity to your element."
Lira swallowed hard, then exhaled slowly. "I understand."
The emerald-cloaked woman handed her a wooden badge carved with her name and an intricate sigil of twisting vines. "This will mark your place. Do not lose it."
As she walked toward her designated table, Lira glanced around and recognized the fierce energy in her fellow competitors—some much older, many more confident. At the earth-and-alchemy section, a few other students were already unpacking their tools. One, a tall girl with braids woven with dried flowers, looked up and gave Lira a nod. Another—a boy with stone dust on his sleeves—barely acknowledged her.
She set her potion pouch down on the table, taking a deep breath as she placed the badge into the carved groove at its edge. The table hummed softly in response, vines curling slightly toward her hands in recognition. She smiled.
Therin joined her for a moment more, whispering near her ear. "Don't rush. Let your instincts guide you. Remember the grove. And don't let their noise drown out your quiet."
With that, he stepped away to the master's gallery, where mentors and judges would observe from above.
Just as Lira began laying out her herbs, a voice boomed from the center platform—a tall figure in deep crimson robes stood with arms raised. His voice echoed through the chamber with magical clarity.
"Welcome, honored competitors, to the Forty-Seventh Convergence of Craft! Today, your skills, instincts, and elemental harmony will be tested. May your minds be steady and your spirits bright. You may now begin preparations. The first challenge shall be announced soon."
A low hum of excitement spread through the arena. Lira's heart pounded.
This was it.
She rolled up her sleeves, reached into her pouch, and felt the soft, familiar brush of her oldest herb—a sprig of silverleaf, harvested with her own hands in the grove.
Whatever the challenge, she was ready to meet it head-on.
hush fell over the Arena as the crimson-robed announcer raised his hand. A scroll unfurled midair before him, held aloft by a faint, swirling breeze of magic. His voice rang out, firm and resonant:
"The first challenge is hereby revealed: a classic test of balance, knowledge, and instinct. You are to craft a Standard Healing Draught—nothing more, nothing less. Simplicity in form, perfection in function."
Murmurs stirred among the competitors.
"Judges will watch closely," the announcer continued. "Not merely for technique—but for how you interact with your ingredients. When your potion is complete, present it to the judging gallery. Those who pass the scent test will proceed to creature application. Injured beasts await—your potion must soothe, knit, and restore. You may begin."
With a wave of his hand, a resonant chime echoed through the Arena, deep and clear, like the toll of a temple bell.
And then—motion erupted everywhere. Corks popped, herbs were unfurled, pestles struck mortars with rhythmic intensity. Small flames flickered to life, bowls steamed, and a hundred potions began to take form.
Lira hesitated for a heartbeat.
This was her first true test—and she felt every eye in the gallery burning into her skin. Her hands trembled as she opened her pouch. The rustle of herbs, the clang of metal, the murmurs and rush of elemental energy—it all pressed around her like a storm.
But then her fingers brushed the silverleaf again.
She closed her eyes. Breathed in.
And the world dropped away.
No noise. No pressure. Just the feel of the craft.
Her hands moved with memory and instinct—laying out yarrow, goldenmoss, and crushed dewfern. She measured with care, the way Therin taught her in the grove. Heated springwater over a soft green flame. Stirred clockwise with a branch of hollow elm. Every motion guided not by fear—but by trust. In the plants. In herself.
The scent of warm, sweet herbs filled the air around her, calming her heartbeat. Her nerves softened as she worked. She didn't notice the boy beside her watching with curiosity. Didn't hear the soft footfalls of a judge passing behind.
She was inside the potion—lost to the world, yet utterly grounded in it.
Vines curled lazily at the base of her table, as if encouraged by her focus.
This was her magic. And it was beginning to bloom.
As the minutes passed, potion flasks began to appear at the gallery—some steaming, some glowing faintly, others still cooling in intricately carved bowls. Lira remained still, focused entirely on her brew.
A final stir, three clockwise swirls and one counter.
She lifted the flask.
The liquid inside shimmered softly—a translucent green with a silvery sheen, as though sunlight had been trapped inside. The scent rose up, rich with warmth, pine, and crushed blossoms. It was strong, but not overwhelming—like stepping into a forest after rain. She knew the healing properties were intact. Maybe more than that.
Carefully, she walked it to the gallery, where rows of potions had been placed on smooth stone pedestals—each marked with a competitor's name and sigil. Lira found hers and gently set the flask down.
The moment she stepped back, a soft ring pulsed through the air again.
"Stop."
The announcer's voice echoed across the Arena.
"Those who did not finish in time—leave the competition now. You have failed this round."
A few hesitant figures stepped away from their tables, faces tight with frustration or shame. Lira exhaled, her heart thudding. She had made it.
"Those who did finish, return to your potions. Stand behind them. Judges will now begin their evaluations."
Lira walked back across the marble floor, each footstep light and slow. She took her place behind her potion, hands at her sides, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
From the gallery above, the judges descended. Five of them, robed in different elemental hues—earth brown, air white, fire red, water blue, and a cloaked elder in green and gold whose presence made the air hum.
Each judge carried a slender glass wand, and as they moved from potion to potion, they would dip the tip into the liquid, then bring it to their nose—not to smell it, but to feel it. Their senses were trained to detect even the faintest imbalance in energy, toxicity, or intent.
One by one, they came closer.
Lira could feel the tension rising around her as competitors beside her were tested. A nod. A frown. A whispered comment between judges.
And then they stood before her table.
The elder in green took the wand, dipped it into the glowing potion, and held it aloft. He did not speak. He simply closed his eyes.
Then inhaled.
The air shifted.
The vines around her pedestal stirred slightly, leaves tilting upward like they too were listening.
When the elder opened his eyes, they flicked to Lira's for a moment—not stern, not surprised.
But calm. Almost curious.
Without a word, he nodded to the next judge, and the group moved on.
Lira stood still, not daring to smile, not daring to relax yet.
The hardest part might be over.
But the test was only half done.
Once the final potion had been examined, the judges returned to the center platform. A hush fell across the Arena as the elder in green stepped forward.
He raised his wand, and his voice rang out—calm, yet undeniable in its authority.
"The first trial is complete. We have assessed each potion's quality, stability, and elemental harmony. Some have met the standard. Others have not."
A flick of his wand, and glowing symbols lit up above each table—green for those who passed, red for those who did not.
Lira looked up, breath held.
Her mark shone green.
A small, stunned breath escaped her lips before she covered her mouth. She had done it. Her first real test—and she had passed.
Around her, quiet sighs of relief mingled with the shuffling of disappointed competitors gathering their things. A few gave bitter glances, others just stared at the ground. Lira remained still, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the table. The vines curled gently again as if offering silent congratulations.
The judge continued.
"Those who remain—follow us. Your potions will now be tested in the Healing Chambers. The wounded await."
A collective ripple of movement stirred across the room. Competitors gathered their flasks and followed the judges through an arched passage at the rear of the Arena. The walls here were lined with pale stone etched with soft golden lines—pulsing slowly, like veins of light.
As they walked, Lira felt a shift inside herself—not fear, not exactly, but a quiet gravity. Her potion had passed the first test, yes… but would it truly heal?
The corridor opened into a circular chamber bathed in gentle sunlight. Cushioned mats and low cots were arranged in a ring. On each rested a creature in quiet pain—some no larger than a rabbit, others dog-sized or scaled. A few had bandaged limbs, others shallow cuts or dull eyes.
A healer stood beside each one, murmuring softly and stroking fur, feather, or scale.
The elder judge raised his wand once more.
"Step forward one by one. Offer your potion. The healers will administer it. We will watch."
The room felt sacred. Silent.
Lira held the potion tight to her chest. The moment was near. Her breath steadied. Whatever came next—she would face it fully.