Master Astrid was nowhere to be seen, likely napping or avoiding the impending arrival of the kingdom’s knights. Rorona wiped a smudge of soot from her forehead. The deadline for the first assignment was tomorrow. If she failed to craft a high-quality Supplement, the workshop—her home—would be shut down forever. "Okay, Rorona, you can do this," she whispered to herself.

Tell me which part of Rorona's journey you want to see next.

Rorona turned back to the cauldron. She added a pinch of seasoned salt and a dash of well-water. The liquid began to glow a soft, rhythmic blue. It wasn't just a simple item; it was a distillation of her effort, her anxiety, and her hope.

As the mixture settled into a perfect, translucent gel, Rorona realized that while the assignments were hard, the friends she met and the secrets she uncovered in Arland were the real gold. She bottled the Supplement, labeled it with her messy handwriting, and smiled. The workshop was safe for another day.

The sun hung low over Arland, casting long, amber shadows across the cobblestone streets. Inside the workshop, the air smelled of dried lavender and bubbling ozone. Rorona Frixell stood over her cauldron, stirring a shimmering mixture with a wooden paddle that felt far too heavy for her tired arms.

A sudden knock at the door made her jump. It was Sterk, his armor clanking softly. He didn't look angry, just expectant. He was the reminder that her alchemy wasn't just about mixing ingredients; it was about proving that her craft had a place in a changing world.