Kael let out a sharp breath of triumph. He had done it.
The bottle had opened.
It hadn't shattered, exploded, or cursed him as he half-expected. No, after nights of strange lights and elusive whispers, it had simply… yielded. The cap had twisted off with a soft click, as if it had been waiting for him to stop fighting it.
And inside?
A single drop.
Barely the size of a lentil, it rolled sluggishly around the bottom of the emerald-green vessel—thick, gleaming, and impossibly bright. The color shimmered between green and gold, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his own heartbeat.
Kael stared.
That was it?
After all the strange lights, the silent humming, the ritual-like gatherings of glowing motes under moonlight… just one drop?
His initial awe curdled into disappointment. Was this all the bottle had to offer?
He resealed the vessel carefully and tucked it back into his pouch. Maybe Elric would know more. Maybe not. Either way, his curiosity was drained for the moment. All that remained was fatigue.
Kael limped back to his quarters, his injured foot still sore from his previous excursions. The excitement faded, leaving a numb sort of emptiness behind. His mind buzzed with questions, but his body screamed for sleep.
That night, he slept deeply—for the first time in a week.
The days that followed were… ordinary.
No glowing lights. No dreams. No whispers.
Just herbs, salves, lectures, and drills.
Master Elric was relentless in his teachings. Every mistake Kael made was corrected without hesitation, every success met with quiet nods and more assignments. There were no praises, but there were no punishments either—just work.
But it was Elric's offhand comment that changed everything.
"Every time you advance a level in the Heart Method," he said one morning, almost casually, "your monthly stipend doubles."
Kael blinked.
Silver.
He hadn't forgotten the promise. But hearing it again lit something in his chest. Hunger. Not for food or power. For progress. For something he could send back home. Something that would make his family proud.
So he trained.
Fiercely. Obsessively. Every dawn and dusk. Meditation, breathing techniques, incantation cycles—again and again until his vision blurred and his muscles ached.
The bottle was forgotten.
Elric noticed the change. He said nothing. But he cleared Kael's duties, closed the valley to outsiders, and ensured his disciple had all he needed.
Kael's world became stone and silence.
Weeks bled into months. Seasons changed. Leaves fell and grew again. Time melted away, leaving behind only discipline.
Four years passed.
Kael turned fourteen.
The scrawny boy from Ashvale was gone. In his place stood a lean, dark-skinned youth with quiet eyes and a voice that rarely rose above a murmur. His robes were plain. His posture rigid. His strength subtle, but undeniable.
He had mastered the first three levels of the Nameless Heart Method. Each breakthrough carved something new into his bones. Endurance. Clarity. Control.
He still wasn't a warrior. But he was no longer a child.
And the bottle?
It lay forgotten beneath his bed.
Silent.
Still sealed tight—though its cap was loose.
Waiting.
(The mysterious liquid inside the vial will be explained in later chapters.)