Leaving

I closed the journal after a sleepless night, deciphering every line of the potion's formula. The worn cover, beneath my fingers, felt as tired as I was.

I discovered that brewing the potion was only the beginning. Many ingredients in the formula were extinct — or nearly impossible to find.

But the greatest obstacle lay in the core ingredients. While the supplementary ones could be replaced with similar reagents, the main ones could not.

The first core ingredient was the blood of an ancient dragon. Ever since Aaron exterminated the evil dragons and sealed peace with their queen, it had become almost impossible to find a powerful dragon outside their kingdom — and crossing their borders was even harder, since the territory is hostile to other races.

Obtaining the blood of an ancient dragon would be, simply, impossible.

The second core ingredient… phoenix ashes. I didn't even know if phoenixes truly existed. Not even Aaron had ever found one. I had always seen them as stories for children. But the legends were real. They existed. Immortal creatures of fire… forgotten by time.

I sighed, frustration building and weighing on my chest like a stone. I had no idea where to begin. But even lost, I was determined. Creating this potion was all I had left. The last chance to save Aaron… and myself.

My first mission was clear: identify substitutes for the legendary potion's ingredients and try — somehow — to obtain the core ones.

Leaving the mansion was the first step. But I knew: I wouldn't get far on my own.

And that's why… I would need protection.

I couldn't trust the family's soldiers — many of them despised me, others were sold to the political interests of the Gracefalls. I needed someone neutral. Someone strong enough to survive what was coming. Someone who would see me as a client, not as a burden.

So I wrote a quick letter. I sealed it with Aaron's crest — the only one that still carried weight among his old allies — and gave it to the house's most trusted messenger, along with the last jewels I still had.

The letter was straightforward:

["I need an experienced mercenary. Not just any brute with a sword. Someone who knows when to fight and when to retreat.

Long-term mission. High risk. Generous payment.

Meet me in Grenthel, at the Church of the Holy Son.

— Elisa Gracefall"]

Then I sent the message to a network of independent mercenaries Aaron used to hire.

I took a deep breath, letting the cold morning air fill my lungs. It was time to leave the house… and my grief… even if only in part.

I stood up with a purpose I barely recognized in myself. There was still pain — a crushing pain — but beneath it, something burned. A spark. Aaron was alive. And even if corrupted, even if distant, he had left a path. A request. And I… I couldn't ignore it.

I took the travel cloak from the wardrobe. It had been there for months, untouched, covered by a light layer of dust. When I touched it, a soft memory came: Aaron giving me that same cloak, saying with that warm smile, "You'll need this... when it's time to change the world."

Back then, I thought he was just being kind. But now… I realized he already knew. He was already expecting this day.

Before leaving the room, I took one last look around. It was a small space, filled with flasks, books, and notes scattered like seeds of hope — and memories. In one corner, Aaron's portrait. He was smiling, as he always did — with that light in his eyes that made everyone believe the impossible was only a matter of time.

I gently touched the frame. "Wait for me, brother. I will bring you back."

The main hall of the Gracefall mansion was silent — more than usual. As if the house itself knew that moment was too important to be interrupted.

My footsteps echoed like hammers on the cold marble. The oldest maid, a gray-haired woman named Mirna, watched me from the stairs with wide eyes. She hurried down, holding a small suitcase.

"Miss Elisa? You're leaving? Wait for me!" Mirna's voice echoed through the walls like an unexpected relief — firm, but full of affection.

I turned, surprised, watching her come down the stairs with the same quiet elegance as always. She carried a small suitcase, simple but practical. Her apron was gone, replaced by a reinforced fabric tunic — discreet, but clearly suited for travel.

"Mirna...?" I asked, blinking as if still half asleep. "What are you doing?"

She reached me, her gray eyes lit with a determination she rarely showed. She stopped just a step away and lightly placed her hand on my shoulder, as if wanting to make sure I was really there.

"I'm coming with you," she said, simply.

"But… you don't have to do this… What if the family finds out? They'll—"

"I don't care about the Gracefall family," she interrupted softly, but firmly. "My loyalty was never to them."

There was a moment of silence. I looked at her, my heart tight, and finally asked:

"But… why? Why would you do this for me, Mirna?"

She smiled — that serene smile that had always given me peace since I was little. But this time, there was something more in it — a hidden pain and sadness.

"Because you've always been like a daughter to me, Elisa… even when no one else saw you." Her voice was gentle, each word filling my chest with warmth. "Since you were little… fragile, forgotten by everyone, full of life. Even when the world turned its back on you… I watched you grow in silence, tend your wounds, hold your tears when no one else held your hand."

She touched my face with the tips of her fingers, wiping away a tear I hadn't even noticed was falling.

"I saw Aaron protect you with tooth and nail. And now... he entrusted this to me. To protect you. To guide you. Not with orders. But with love. And that's what I'm going to do."

My legs gave out slightly, but Mirna held me. My eyes welled up. Words wouldn't come — only the raw emotion filling me.

"You won't make this journey alone," she whispered, squeezing my hand. "As long as I breathe... you will never be alone again."

I hugged her — tightly, gratefully, as if that gesture could carry all the things I couldn't say.

For the first time in days... I didn't feel weak.

For the first time since Aaron left…

I felt loved again.

"Thank you, Mirna..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "I... I really didn't want to go alone."

"And you won't," she replied, stroking my hair the way she used to when I was a child. "So let's go. We have a long road ahead of us."

With those words, we set off toward our destination.

The side gate of the Gracefall mansion closed behind us with a long creak, like the last breath of a place that had never truly welcomed me. The sky was gray and heavy, reflecting what I felt inside. Even so, a light breeze passed through the silent gardens — as if the world outside were trying to tell me that something new was beginning.

We walked to the main road without exchanging words. A discreet carriage, rented by Mirna, was already waiting for us. Reinforced, yet without extravagance. The coachman, a middle-aged man with a neutral expression, gave a respectful nod when he saw us. He probably already knew her — or, like many, simply recognized that she was not just a maid.

Mirna stepped in first. Her movements were calm, almost elegant, and even with the weight of the luggage, she seemed light. I followed, my legs trembling — from a weariness that was not just physical.

The inside of the carriage was padded, but cold. Two benches facing each other. Windows with closed curtains. The space felt narrower and darker than it really was — perhaps because of the thick silence between us.

I sat on one side. She on the other.

The coachman snapped the reins, and the horses started moving. The sound of the wheels on the gravel soon filled the emptiness, but not enough to mask the weight of the silence between the two of us.

I fixed my eyes on the window. The trees, the houses, the gates of the estate… everything began to fade away. But inside, everything in me was still tied to that mansion. To that room. To his memory.

'Say something,' I thought. 'Anything. You can't keep hiding behind silence.'

But my throat felt sewn shut. No words came. No subject seemed right.

Talk about the weather? About Grenthel? About alchemy? Everything sounded forced. Stupid. Useless.

I didn't know how to talk. Not with people. Books don't expect answers. Potion flasks don't ask about your feelings. For years, that was what I had: silence and glass.

And she… she had always been there. Always knew what to say, what to do. And now, sitting there in front of me, she wore the same serene smile — as if she completely understood the battle happening inside me.

Then, as always, Mirna took the first step.

"How are you dealing with... the loss of Aaron?" her voice came out soft, but something in it made me hold my breath.

The question came like a gentle touch on an open wound.

It took me a while to answer. My fingers fidgeted nervously in my lap as I kept my eyes on the floor of the carriage.

"It feels impossible," I confessed. "Sometimes I still expect to see him walk through the door, smiling. Like all of this was just… a bad dream. And other times, it feels like he's been gone for years, like the world has already moved on without him." I swallowed hard. "But… in none of them… does it hurt any less. Maybe even more."

Mirna didn't answer right away. She only gave a slight nod, her eyes drifting to some invisible point, as if reliving the same pain.

"And you?" I ventured, in a whisper. "How are you dealing with it?"

She didn't look at me. Her eyes wandered out the window, and then… to her own belly.

With a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, she placed a hand over her stomach — a gentle, protective, silent touch. Her fingers slid slowly over the fabric of her tunic, and there was something in that gesture… something deep, carrying a secret I could barely understand.

"It also feels impossible," she murmured sadly.

And said nothing more.

I didn't dare ask. Not in that moment.

I didn't understand everything, but I understood what mattered.

Mirna had also lost Aaron. Not in the same way I had, but… still, the same Aaron. The same smile. The same light.

And somehow, that connected us. It made us less alone.

Several hours passed.

The carriage moved through hills and wooded roads toward the Tower of Magic — the only place nearby where public use of arcane teleportation was allowed. A path Aaron had taken countless times. But for me… it was the first true departure.

With every meter, the mansion grew more distant. The pain inside me didn't lessen, but it seemed to change shape. As if, by being shared, it stopped being just a weight… and became a path.

The silence between us was no longer uncomfortable. It was a shared silence. A space where our grief could breathe.

And, for the first time since he was gone, I felt that there was room for something new to be born.

Hope and determination were still there. They seemed to blend with the excitement and thrill of discovering the world.

I shook my head. Feeling could wait. Now… I needed to act.