The doors of the Aetherium closed behind them with a soft, chiming hush, as though the building itself were exhaling.
Aurélle paused on the steps, the pale shimmer of the shop's stone still reflected faintly in her vision. For a moment, the world felt quieter—muted after the hum and pulse of enchanted air. She adjusted the parcel tucked carefully beneath her arm: her Inkweave Quill, wrapped in tissue as fine as spider silk, and the velvet-lined case that held—
She stopped the thought before it fully formed.
Dahlia bumped her shoulder playfully. "You look like someone who's just swallowed a star."
Aurélle let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. "It feels like one swallowed me."
The late afternoon sun washed Erindor in molten gold. The cobblestones gleamed, and the ivy creeping up the old stone buildings cast long, delicate shadows across the street. Around them, other students moved with equal parts pride and nervous anticipation, parcels tucked under arms, book spines peeking from satchels, voices buzzing with speculation about Aurélith Academy.
Aurélle unfolded the supply list once more, though she already knew every line by heart. The parchment had softened from being handled so often, the edges curling slightly.
"Books," Dahlia began, peering over her shoulder.
"Purchased."
"Inkweave Quill."
Aurélle's fingers brushed the slim parcel wrapped in silver tissue. "Yes."
Dahlia lowered her voice theatrically. "Conduit."
Aurélle's breath caught almost imperceptibly. She gave a small nod.
"Then that leaves…" Dahlia traced the final line. "High-Grade Alchemical Kit."
Aurélle welcomed the solidity of it. "The Verdant Crucible," she said. "It's in the apothecary quarter."
They descended the steps and joined the flow of Erindor's late afternoon crowd. The city shimmered beneath a sky beginning its slow surrender to evening. Golden light stretched long across cobblestones, clung to wrought-iron balconies, tangled itself in ivy vines that climbed centuries-old stone.
As they turned down a narrower street, the atmosphere shifted subtly.
The air thickened with layered fragrance — crushed lavender, dried thyme, camphor smoke, sharp citrus oils, something metallic beneath it all. Windows grew narrower, cluttered with jars of preserved roots and coiled dried vines. Hand-painted signs creaked softly overhead.
They passed The Copper Cauldron, its front window displaying bubbling tonics in glass spheres suspended by brass chains.
Across the lane stood Moonmere Elixirs, where delicate silver script promised restorative draughts "for body, spirit, and fractured fate."
Further along, a crooked wooden placard marked Thistle & Tonic, its doorway draped in strings of drying star-anise and bundles of sage tied with crimson thread.
A delivery boy hurried past them carrying a crate stamped with the sigil of Aurum & Ash Distillations, and from somewhere unseen came the rhythmic clink of glass against glass.
Dahlia inhaled deeply. "It smells like secrets."
"It smells like something that stains," Aurélle replied, though she smiled.
The Verdant Crucible stood near the bend of the street, wedged between a narrow apothecary and a clockmaker's shop whose brass gears ticked audibly even through the walls. Its windows were rounded and slightly fogged, condensation catching the last amber rays of sunlight. Hanging above the door was a carved wooden sign: a mortar and pestle encircled by curling vines, their leaves painted in faded emerald.
A small brass bell chimed as they entered.
Warmth enveloped them instantly — not just heat, but the dense comfort of a place steeped in steady work. Shelves climbed the walls from floor to ceiling, each lined with labeled jars. Powders shimmered faintly in hues of violet, copper, and pale blue. Bundles of dried herbs hung upside down from dark wooden beams, their shadows weaving intricate patterns across the ceiling.
Glass vessels of every shape imaginable rested on polished counters — long-necked flasks, round-bellied beakers, spiral condensers. Some contained liquids that glowed faintly from within; others held sediments that shifted slowly as if breathing.
Copper instruments gleamed beneath suspended lanterns whose flames burned steady and low. Mortars of marble, granite, and even what looked like onyx sat beside neatly arranged pestles worn smooth from years of use.
At the center of the shop stood a wide circular table displaying High-Grade Alchemical Kits.
These were not the simple starter cases Aurélle had expected.
Each dark green leather case bore a refined embossed sigil — a stylized leaf intertwined with flame and a thin crescent arc. The leather looked thicker, more durable. The brass clasps were heavier, etched with delicate markings that suggested reinforcement enchantments.
Behind the table stood the shopkeeper.
She was tall, her presence composed and unhurried. Her skin was deep umber, luminous in the warm lamplight, and faint silvery scars traced delicate lines across her forearms — alchemy burns worn without apology. Her dark curls were pinned high, though several strands had escaped to frame her face. Her eyes were sharp and assessing, a rich amber that seemed to miss nothing.
"First years," she said, not as a question but as a gentle certainty.
Aurélle nodded.
"Aurélith Academy," the woman continued. "I can always tell. There's a particular mixture of nerves and wonder."
Dahlia stepped forward eagerly. "We're nearly finished with our list."
"Nearly?" The woman arched one elegant brow.
"High-grade alchemical kit," Aurélle clarified.
"Ah." A faint smile curved the shopkeeper's lips. "You've chosen well. The Academy's standard issue is sufficient. These are… better."
She gestured to the display.
Aurélle lifted one case carefully.
It was heavier than she anticipated — solid. Intentional.
Inside, each compartment was precisely fitted. The glass beakers were thicker, rimmed subtly with reinforcing sigils. The brass scale gleamed with immaculate calibration marks etched along its arm. The reagent pouches were sealed with wax stamped in green.
Powdered moonstone. Refined iron filings. Dried feverfew petals. A small vial labeled Stabilized Ether Distillate — Handle with Care.
Along the spine rested a bound volume titled Foundations of Controlled Transmutation, its pages edged in faint green.
Dahlia opened another kit, eyes widening. "This one has double-lined glass."
"Reinforced for volatility," the shopkeeper replied calmly. "You'll want that."
Aurélle closed the lid slowly, feeling that quiet, steady satisfaction again.
"I'll take this one," she said.
The shopkeeper wrapped the case in thick brown paper and secured it with deep green twine.
"That completes your list," she said, handing it over.
Aurélle glanced down at the parchment once more.
Books. Quill. Conduit. High-Grade Alchemical Kit.
Complete.
They stepped back outside just as twilight fully settled over Erindor. The sky had deepened into a velvety indigo, and the lanterns now glowed steadily, casting halos along the cobbled road.
Dahlia exhaled dramatically. "That's everything."
Aurélle opened her mouth to agree.
"But," Dahlia interrupted, lifting one finger thoughtfully, "that's not everything."
Aurélle blinked. "It isn't?"
Dahlia tilted her head, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "I think we need one more thing."
Aurélle tightened her grip on the neatly wrapped parcels. "Dahlia."
"What?" she said innocently. "It doesn't feel finished yet."
Aurélle narrowed her eyes slightly. "What are you thinking?"
Dahlia's gaze drifted down the lantern-lit street, her smile widening just a fraction.
"I'll show you."