Michael wasn't particularly familiar with cauldrons.
One couldn't blame him.
Even in Aurora, they were considered ancient tool of the past.
Fortunately, he had seen them enough times before to recognize one.
The red cauldron in his soul stood on four legs and had no handles.
However, its legs were positioned oddly—rather than being evenly spaced or symmetrically arranged, each one seemed to point in a different direction, as if they had chosen north, south, east, and west for themselves.
Despite its strange design, what drew Michael's attention the most were the intricate patterns carved into its surface.
They were familiar.
At first glance, they looked small, but at the same time, they seemed large enough to be clearly visible.
Michael focused on the two largest patterns—one depicting a human, the other a wolf.
The wolf figure gave him a strong sense of familiarity.
"Is this Lucky? And this human…?"
His gaze flickered across the patterns.
