In a dimly lit room steeped in a gloomy air, the faint flicker of candlelight cast long shadows against stone walls. The heavy scent of alchemical reagents lingered in the air. Kaisel and Anton stood side by side near a wooden table cluttered with open books, glass containers, and various alchemical tools. Kaisel, with steady hands, was mixing a thick liquid in a small vial.
"Hmm... that should do it," he murmured to himself, his sharp eyes analyzing the solution.
He placed the vial carefully on a bronze stand crafted to hold such delicate instruments. Then he reached for a glass container filled with a translucent, water-like liquid that emitted a peculiar, earthy scent. Anton, his curiosity piqued, leaned forward slightly.
"What is that?" he asked.
Kaisel replied while examining the container. "It's a decoction made from boiling dried dark wood fungus mixed with small blood vines."
Anton blinked in surprise. "Isn't blood vine a rare and expensive alchemy material? Used in healing potions?"
Kaisel nodded. "Yes, blood vines are expensive. They're one of the key ingredients in making potent healing elixirs. They're usually dark red, long, and thick. But these—" he lifted a strand with a pair of tongs—"are pale red and much smaller. They're called small blood vines. Thinner, shorter, and not nearly as valuable."
He glanced at Anton with a faint smirk. "You're quite knowledgeable yourself."
Anton gave a sheepish smile. "I've read a bit."
Kaisel turned and ignited a small stove used for alchemical brewing. The stove had a unique golden-copper finish, its etched sigils glowing softly as the flames kindled. He placed the glass container over the flame, and the liquid inside began to heat up, thin wisps of steam curling from its surface.
Anton watched, captivated. It was his first time witnessing an actual alchemical process.
As the liquid reached a simmer, Kaisel retrieved the vial with the dark blue solution and poured it into the boiling mixture. Instantly, the reaction began—the liquid darkened to a deep indigo, and small tendrils of blue smoke rose from its surface. The smoke did not spread but appeared and vanished like mist caught in shifting wind. A moment later, the color shifted again, settling into a vibrant blue.
Satisfied, Kaisel extinguished the flame and used a pair of tongs to lift the hot container. He poured the mixture into a shallow bowl, allowing it to cool.
"Now, it needs to settle," he said.
Anton, still watching the glowing bowl, remarked, "I never imagined rune ink was made like this. I thought people just threw a few things into a pot and stirred."
Kaisel gave a brief chuckle. "That's how most do it."
"Then... what was all that for?"
"I have my own ways," Kaisel replied, cutting off the question with a firm tone.
Anton sighed. As expected.
...
Outside the Ravengard mansion, nestled in the thick woods near the base of a northern mountain, lay the collapsed mine of the Duchy. Its entrance had been sealed with massive boulders and reinforced with timber supports that had long since rotted.
The north was a harsh land—cold, mountainous, and cloaked in forests. Unsuitable for agriculture, it was instead rich in minerals like iron and copper, which had long been the lifeblood of Ravengard's economy.
Before the blocked entrance, Kaisel stood with Anton, Ezra, and a handful of mages dressed in dark robes with silver trimmings. Kaisel held a small glass bottle sealed with a wooden stopper. He poured a portion into a wooden bowl and dipped two fingers into the ink.
He began drawing intricate rune symbols around the mine's entrance, each stroke filled with precision. After completing the sequence, he stepped back and called, "Jennet."
A woman with neatly tied purple hair stepped forward. She was poised and calm.
"Yes, my lord?" she responded.
Kaisel gestured toward the runes. She nodded, extended her palm toward the entrance, and inhaled slowly. Her voice became layered with power as she chanted in Myrrenthal—the ancient language used exclusively by mages.
While Varnel was the common tongue across the continent, Myrrenthal was preserved only within the mage community. Its syllables were harsh and arcane, vibrating with an unnatural resonance.
As Jennet chanted, the rune symbols etched by Kaisel began to glow a pulsating blue. The air around them shimmered. After ten seconds, she raised her voice and shouted, "Thyren!"
The runes surged with blinding light. Jennet stepped back, slightly winded. "It is done, my lord."
Kaisel nodded and walked forward. He raised his hand and waved it once through the air. A sudden surge of magic pulsed outward. The rune circle activated again, its glow intensifying.
Anton and the others shielded their eyes as the light became blinding. When their vision cleared, the boulders that once sealed the mine were gone—the entrance stood wide open.
"What just happened?" Anton asked in awe.
Jennet turned to him. "The rune sequence stored the spell within it. I used a Grade 2 Earth spell—meant for clearing terrain and stabilizing ground. Since the mine runs deep and I lack the mana to sustain it over such a long area, the lord intervened, channeling his power through the runes."
How could a second-grade spell be strong enough to clear more than two kilometers of rubble...? Anton frowned, puzzled. It had to be because of brother. His large mana capacity and precise control—yes, that must be it. That's the only way it could work, Anton thought, still trying to wrap his head around it.
Magic spells were classified into ten grades, with grade 1 being the lowest. Spells from grade 1 to 3 were considered good—effective and reliable, forming the foundation of most magical practices. Grades 4 to 6 marked a shift in power; these spells were dangerous, often requiring caution, experience, and precise control. Grades 7 and 8 were far more powerful, each level a significant leap that could shift the outcome of battles and devastate entire forces. Grade 9 stood as a peak few ever reached, a realm of mastery attained only by the most exceptional of mages. Grade 10 was shrouded in mystery, a legendary echelon spoken of in whispers and old texts, its existence uncertain, its power beyond comprehension.
Kaisel went on to inscribe another sequence of runes. Jennet cast another earth attribute spell, reinforcing the inner structures of the mine to prevent future collapses.
Kaisel looked toward the mountain path. "Now, it's time to let the people know."
...
Later, in the heart of the Dukedom, Kaisel rode into the town square on horseback. His presence stirred a crowd of vassals and townspeople who gathered to see why their elusive duke had appeared in person.
Kaisel dismounted and stood tall before them.
"Vassals of Ravengard," he began, his voice carrying with practiced authority. "I have come to deliver an announcement."
One man from the crowd called out, "If it's just news, why come here yourself, my lord?"
Kaisel smiled faintly. "True, I could have sent word through another. But this is good news—and I wanted to deliver it myself."
The townspeople leaned in, eager.
"The mines," Kaisel declared. "The mines have been reopened. The collapsed sections have been cleared, and the passage has been reinforced with magic. There will be no more accidents."
The square erupted in cheers. The mine was the economic backbone of Ravengard. Many had lost their livelihoods when it collapsed, and some had lost family. News of its restoration brought relief and joy.
With the mines restored and hope rekindled, the Dukedom of Ravengard began to stir once more with life.
To be continued...