He decided to make a rash choice and left his horse at the nearest stable, paying handsomely so it would be clear that Astrum was to be their priority and nothing should happen to him. He then returned to the place where his instinct had warned him of the presence of magic.

He did not know where to go from there, so he simply began walking, trusting he would arrive where he was meant to, just as with every other magic he had tried so far. Soon he found himself in a side alley, and now he could see the destination of his side quest.

The house to which his instinct had led him bore a peculiar air. At a glance, it seemed a common apothecary, yet Quincey’s eyes did not miss how the air rippled about the threshold. 

Whenever the wind stirred the chimes hanging by the door, their song held something… magical.

Quincey walked on instinct until he crossed the threshold and stepped inside. There was no doubt then that whoever owned this apothecary was not an ordinary Valerionian.

Although the man who appeared behind the counter looked like an ordinary human at first glance, his aura suggested otherwise. The knight therefore automatically concluded that the man before him was like Edris, a half-mage, yet this realization unsettled him. How many mages were truly hiding in the kingdom that he had not known about until now?

“Welcome, traveler.” He was pulled from his thoughts as the man offered a kindly smile, unaware of the knight's revelation.

“Master Herbalist.” Quincey offered a nod of greeting and approached the counter, his eyes roaming over shelves filled with vials and boxes. Right in front of the mage were bronze mortars, brass scales, and glass flasks used for making different preparations, which he clearly crafted by hand.

“Please, call me Sito.” The older man, with gray, almost white hair, kept his kind gaze and smile as he looked at the knight as though he were just another customer.

“Master Sito,” Quincey tried how the name felt on his tongue. “You truly have an extensive assortment here.”

“Everything the folk require,” the herbalist replied readily. “Should you suffer from poor sleep or troubled digestion, I have a tea for it. Should you require something to dull pain or bolster the immune system, I have tinctures for that as well.” He gestured to the shelves in turn. “I also have healing salves made with beeswax and resin. Those are especially popular among men of your station.”

Though Quincey still wore his traveling cloak, his attire—most notably the vambraces upon his forearms and the sword at his hip—betrayed that he was no merchant, but a warrior. He had no fear of his true identity being unmasked, for only his profession was visible, and even then, not in its full detail.

“What about potions?” the knight asked, shifting his gaze toward the bottles that most closely resembled magical elixirs.

The elder shopkeeper let out a soft laugh. “Alas, I keep no such stock. Only tinctures and elixirs wrought from herbs; nothing of the magical sort.”

“Is there a difference?” Quincey asked curiously.

“Of course.” Master Sito nodded, his smile never fading. He did not seem disturbed by the knight’s questions. “I use only herbs and their natural properties. I must steep and process them, boil them with water or honey. Moreover, they are often found in places I must travel to reach. I believe mages have an advantage in this regard, and that their liquid spells are far easier to prepare.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about it,” the knight could not resist commenting. His tone carried no accusation, only curiosity.

“Only what I gather from those who pass through my doors,” the herbalist assured him.

Quincey shifted his gaze from the shelves back to the man, and since his friendly expression was still accompanied by that aura that so sharply contradicted his words, he decided to take a risk. He needed answers, and it seemed that, however evasively, this man was not unwilling to share them.

“Have you ever heard of something called Aethel-Solaer?”

For the first time, the man’s expression changed. It faltered, if only for a few seconds, before returning to its usual practiced smile.

“The same legends known to all,” he replied.

“I know very few of them,” Quincey admitted, pressing further. “Will you recount some for me?”

The aura around the man rippled, as if betraying his unease, and the Messenger-at-Arms had to do everything he could not to focus on it.

“Is there a particular reason why this piques your interest?”

“Curiosity,” Quincey answered without hesitation. “On my travels I heard something, but it seems my sources were not as well informed as you, since they could not tell me much.”

“Ah,” the man let out an understanding sound. “In that case, I can tell you more. But I must warn you, these are only myths, and it would be unwise to go looking for Aethel-Solaer,” he cautioned.

Something in his gaze gave Quincey the sense that this was no idle warning. Having his own inkling of what the potion was capable of, he surmised that obtaining it was no easy feat. He could not, however, ask Leander how he had achieved it, as in this reality it might not even have happened yet.

“I had no such intention,” he assured him.

“Good.” The herbalist nodded in satisfaction, and then finally began to speak. “Aethel-Solaer was created during a time of war. Some legends say it was made by ten men, others by fifty, and some even claim a hundred. It is always a combination of mages and Light-Weavers from Caelestia. It is said the House of Solari, who sit upon the throne to this day, were the architects of its creation.”

That was the first piece of information Quincey did not know, and he made a silent vow to investigate this house further when the opportunity arose.

“The Light-Weavers infused the potion with their essence, giving it the color of sunlight. The mages gave it power. Together, they created something that held not only the power of the future, but of life itself, combining magical force so vast that no one could truly comprehend it. However, all who took part in its creation paid the ultimate price, surrendering their lives in the process.”

That was another thing that was certainly not in the records in the castle library.

“Why would they sacrifice so much? To what end?” Quincey asked before he could stop himself. Yet Master Sito seemed to expect the question.

“To end the war, naturally. But for that, the potion had to fall into the right hands. Where it ultimately vanished is a matter of much debate; in time, folk began to whisper that it was lost, and later even doubts arose whether it had ever truly existed at all.”

“What would happen if someone found it?” the knight asked with interest.

The elder man arched a brow, likely recalling that but a moment ago, Quincey had claimed he was not planning to seek it.

“I am merely curious why anyone would search for it. What kind of power they would be trying to attain. There must be a reason it is still spoken of, even after a thousand years,” the knight explained earnestly, trying to calm him and still obtain the answer he sought.

For a heartbeat, it seemed the herbalist would withhold his speech, his stern gaze weighing Quincey as if judging whether a knight was worthy of such lore. Then, he spoke: “It is said that Aethel-Solaer possesses the power to grant a second chance. Whatever sins or follies you have committed, the potion allows you to rewrite history and bestows the strength to seize all you have ever desired. Naturally, such claims are exaggerated to ensure the tale endures.”

The Messenger-at-Arms automatically nodded, judging it to be the expected response, while in his mind echoed the words “rewrite history”. It was far too suggestive that this potion could grant a second chance in the form of rebirth, and thus be the answer to all his questions.

“Is there anything else you wish to know?” Master Sito pulled him from his thoughts again, his tone returning to what it had been at the beginning. As if Quincey were merely another customer asking about herbs rather than a secret elixir lost to history.

“That will be all,” the brown-haired knight assured him. “Now, I would like to learn more about your own wares.” He also shifted his tone, making it seem as though he had learned nothing of consequence. “What might you recommend for the closing of blade-wounds?”

Their interaction changed, and a few moments later Quincey left the shop with a healing salve in his pocket and a mind full of confusion. Master Sito was yet another soul he was duty-bound to report to the crown, yet since it was not part of his assigned duties for the day, he saw no reason to do so.

He could only pray it was not a mistake.