The return walk was quiet. Kael passed a few senior disciples along the trail—one raised an eyebrow at his limp but said nothing. It seemed no one paid much attention to the newest apprentice hobbling back to his quarters.
By the time he reached his room, the pain in his foot had flared into something fierce. He sat at the edge of his cot and carefully removed his boot and sock.
The swelling was bad.
His toe looked like a red pepper—angry, inflamed, and throbbing. Kael winced and reached under his wooden pillow, pulling out a small vial of salve. Master Elric had mixed it weeks ago, a potent remedy for bruises and sprains. Kael had saved it for Bren's inevitable training disasters. Instead, he'd be the one needing it first.
He sprinkled a small amount of the dark green powder onto the swollen toe. A cool, tingling sensation spread instantly, numbing the ache. The relief was almost magical. He wrapped his foot in clean cloth, tested his weight, and nodded in approval.
Not perfect. But bearable.
With the pain dulled, curiosity returned.
Kael pulled the mysterious green vial from his robe. He had cleaned it earlier, but now he took greater care—wiping it with a fresh cloth until the etched patterns gleamed beneath the lamplight.
The bottle was no larger than his palm, shaped like a teardrop. Faint leaf motifs curled around its base, raised slightly from the surface—as though they had grown into it rather than been carved.
But it wasn't glass.
Nor metal. Nor stone. Nor porcelain.
Its texture was strange—warm, almost organic—and it was heavy. Far heavier than it had any right to be.
Most peculiar of all was the cap.
Kael had tried to open it before, to no avail. Now, with focus and less pain to distract him, he tried again.
One twist.Nothing.
Another.Still no movement.
He gritted his teeth and braced the bottle between his knees, wrenching it with both hands. His arms trembled from the strain, but the cap didn't so much as creak.
Kael slumped back, panting.
He examined the bottle under the light again, hunting for seams, ridges, hidden clasps—anything.
Nothing.
It was seamless. As if the cap and body had been forged from one impossible piece.
That couldn't be right.
No one would make a vessel that couldn't be opened.
Unless… it wasn't meant to be.
Or perhaps it could be—under the right conditions: heat, pressure, a surge of spiritual energy?
He didn't know.
Frustrated, he set the bottle on the table and just stared.
If anyone could open it by force, it was Bren. The boy's strength had grown ridiculous since training under Stoneveil Endurance.
Kael limped to Bren's quarters and waited.
Eventually, the door creaked open. Bren walked in, shirtless and steaming, his skin flushed from waterfall meditation.
"Training again?" Kael asked.
"Always," Bren grinned. "You should see the size of the bruises today. What brings you—oh. What's that?"
Kael held up the bottle.
"Try opening it. I can't get the cap off."
Bren took it, gave it a few solid tugs, and grunted.
"This thing's solid. Whatever's inside—it's not meant to come out easy. Want me to ask one of the Blackforge instructors?"
Kael shook his head.
"Not yet. It… feels personal. Like it's meant for me."
Bren raised an eyebrow but didn't press.
"Fair enough. Let me know if it starts glowing or whispering creepy things."
Kael chuckled, thanked him, and limped back to his quarters.
He sat again at his desk, eyes fixed on the bottle's soft green gleam.
There had to be a way.
Something told him this bottle wasn't just rare.
It was important.It was ancient.It was waiting.
But for what?
Kael didn't know.
Not yet.