Chains of Fate and A Brewing Storm

The icy grip of iron shackles dug into Lyra's wrists, their cold bite a stark reminder of her helplessness. The dull ache from her fall still pulsed through her body, but it was nothing compared to the crushing weight of reality.

She was arrested.

The guild enforcer's grip was unyielding, his calloused fingers pressing into her arm as he dragged her through the dimly lit streets of Verdantia. His uniform—a deep navy-blue tunic embroidered with silver thread—marked him as a high-ranking officer of the Alchemist's Guild, the all-powerful body that governed potion-making across the kingdom. His square jaw was set in stone, and his sharp gray eyes, like shards of flint, remained fixed forward, betraying no emotion. The faint scent of leather and steel clung to him, a reminder of his authority.

The onlookers whispered as she passed, their gazes flickering between curiosity and scorn. The alchemy market, once a vibrant tapestry of colors and tantalizing aromas, now felt like a courtroom filled with silent judges.

"Lyra Faelan…? The girl from the Hollow?"

"A thief? No wonder her potions always fail."

"She should have known better than to play with elixirs beyond her skill."

Each hushed murmur was a dagger to her chest.

Lyra kept her head low, biting the inside of her cheek. The sting of humiliation was worse than the shackles. This wasn't just an accusation. This was a sentence—a public brand of failure.

But how? Who had reported her?

She struggled to recall what had happened before she collapsed. Her vision had blurred, exhaustion had swallowed her whole… and then the guild enforcer had arrived. Had someone been watching her?

A chuckle rang through the air—smooth, taunting, and infuriatingly familiar.

"You look comfortable in chains, Faelan."

Lyra clenched her fists as Riven Caelum stepped into view, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

He stood beneath the warm glow of a lantern, the flickering light casting sharp shadows across his perfectly sculpted features. His platinum-blond hair was styled immaculately, not a single strand out of place, as though he had just stepped out of a noble's gathering rather than the chaotic streets of Verdantia. He wore a dark velvet coat lined with silver embroidery, its cuffs pristine despite the dust and grime of the marketplace. The ruby earring that dangled from his left ear caught the firelight, giving off an eerie crimson glow.

He looked like he belonged to another world entirely—one of wealth, power, and effortless success.

Lyra met his gaze, her green eyes burning with defiance. "You did this."

Riven smirked. "You overestimate my interest in your little… experiments." He folded his arms, his silver-threaded sleeves barely shifting as he leaned against the wooden stall beside him. "You brewed something unstable, collapsed, and a guild enforcer just happened to be nearby. Not my fault you lack control."

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Liar.

He had been there. He had watched her struggle. And now, he was reveling in her downfall.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "I bet you reported me."

Riven laughed—low and mocking. "Oh, please. If I wanted to ruin you, I wouldn't need to involve the Guild. I'd just let your potions do the job for me."

Her teeth clenched.

The enforcer yanked on the chain attached to her cuffs. "Move."

Lyra staggered forward, her heart pounding. She had no idea what punishment awaited her. Alchemy was strictly regulated in Verdantia—selling or crafting potions without guild approval was a crime. But the accusation of theft? That was far worse.

And if the Guild branded her a criminal…

She would never be able to brew again.

---

### **The Trial Hall of the Alchemist's Guild**

The grand chamber of the Alchemist's Guild was nothing like the crumbling alleys of the Hollow. It was a place of wealth and power, a fortress of knowledge where only the most skilled alchemists were allowed to tread.

Massive stained-glass windows lined the walls, depicting legendary potion masters surrounded by swirling elixirs of gold and silver. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, supported by towering marble pillars engraved with ancient alchemical symbols. A deep red carpet led to an imposing circular table at the front of the chamber, where the Guild Masters sat in judgment.

Lyra stood at the center, her wrists still bound. Her boots sank slightly into the velvet carpet, a stark contrast to the ragged edges of her cloak.

She felt small. Insignificant.

At the head of the table sat Master Aldric Voss, the highest-ranking member of the Guild. His long silver beard flowed down his chest, and his piercing blue eyes held the weight of centuries of wisdom. He wore deep indigo robes trimmed with gold, and his gnarled hands rested atop a polished staff adorned with a glowing sapphire.

He was not a man who tolerated failure.

To his left sat Lady Seraphina Vale, her dark emerald dress flowing like liquid silk. Her raven-black hair was pinned in an intricate braid, and her cold amber eyes bore into Lyra with quiet calculation.

To his right, Master Gregor Helwin, a heavyset man with thick arms and a fur-lined coat, scowled at her, his bushy brows furrowing in disapproval.

The room was silent.

Until Aldric Voss spoke.

"Lyra Faelan. You stand accused of unauthorized potion crafting and the theft of an elixir formula. Do you deny these charges?"

Lyra swallowed hard.

"I never stole anything."

Lady Seraphina arched a delicate brow. "Then why were you found with an unstable elixir?"

"I made it myself," Lyra said, lifting her chin.

Master Helwin scoffed. "Impossible. A girl from the Hollow, brewing an elixir of that level?"

A flicker of anger flared inside her. They didn't even think I was capable.

Aldric Voss tapped his staff against the floor. "Then prove it."

Lyra froze. "What?"

The Guild Master's eyes locked onto hers. "If you truly brewed this elixir yourself, then you will do so again. Here. Now."

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She had one chance. One chance to prove her innocence.

One chance to keep her dream alive.

And Riven…

She caught sight of him leaning against a far pillar, watching with a smirk. Mocking. Waiting.

He wanted to see her fail.

She couldn't give him that satisfaction.

Taking a slow breath, Lyra stepped toward the Trial Cauldron at the center of the room. The polished metal gleamed under the golden chandeliers. A collection of rare ingredients had already been laid out beside it—moonstone dust, phoenix ash, starroot powder.

Everything she needed.

She clenched her fists.

No mistakes. No hesitation.

She would brew the elixir again.

She would prove them all wrong.

Even if it killed her.