The Brew of Fate( chapter 6)

Akira’s POV

Lyrein’s hand was still holding mine as the old healer motioned for me to step forward. His grip felt like a connection to something warm and steady — but as soon as I entered the healer’s chamber, everything changed. The air here was thick with the ancient scents of dried roots, crushed petals, and a bitter, metallic tang that seemed to cling to the walls like well-kept secrets.

The healer moved ahead, pushing aside heavy curtains to reveal a stone table cluttered with jars — powders, dried leaves, and sparkling crystalline shards that shimmered with an odd light. At the center sat an old iron cauldron, its surface darkened from countless brews made long before.

I focused on what I needed to do, trying to ignore the weight in my chest that felt like it might break my ribs.

From behind me, Lyrein’s voice floated through the tension. “I’ll be right here. I promise.”

He didn’t need to say anything; I could feel him there, his presence anchoring me while the healer pulled out small satchels wrapped in faded cloth.

“You mustn’t rush,” the healer rasped, meeting my gaze with sharp eyes, despite the wrinkles that framed them. “Every grain, every drop must heed your senses — not your fear. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

The healer guided my hands to the first pouch — a pale green powder smelling of mint and iron. Nightshade root, he said. Too much can be deadly, too little makes it useless. My hands were slick as I pinched a measure into the mortar, feeling every tremor echo through my chest.

The healer stepped back. “You know herbs, don’t you? Trust that. Let your instincts speak louder than your fear.”

So, I tried. I really did.

I crushed the root with a steady motion, the pestle rough against my raw palms. I could sense Lyrein behind me — silent and watchful, like a mountain if I needed support.

Next, I moved on to a vial of dark liquid that shimmered like oil, changing colors as it caught the lantern light. Lunar ichor — rare and powerful, the healer whispered. Just one drop too many, and Kaidën’s heart could seize.

I hesitated, breath catching as I uncorked it. One drop. Then another — no, I steadied my hand, willing my pulse to calm. The drop hit the crushed powder in the mortar and hissed, like an angry spirit escaping its confinement.

I flinched — Lyrein’s hand landed on my shoulder, grounding me before I could spill anything more.

“Easy,” he whispered. “You’re doing it.”

It felt like hours had passed. Maybe they had. Herb after herb, mineral after mineral — all guided by the healer’s soft voice and my shaky senses. The cauldron bubbled quietly as I finally poured in the mixture, its swirl dark and glistening like a storm cloud trapped in a bowl.

I stirred clockwise — nine turns, then counterclockwise — three. The scent rose thick and pungent, filling my nose, my lungs, until all I could focus on was this potion, this hope.

Whenever I hesitated — when fear threatened to shake my hands apart — Lyrein was there, his palm warm against my lower back, his voice a lifeline. “Breathe, Akira. Just breathe.”

I did it for him. For myself. Maybe even for Kaidën.

Finally, the healer reached over, dipping a thin silver rod into the brew. It came out slick, coated in the dark sheen — then began to glow faintly, like moonlight on black water.

“It’s ready,” the old man breathed, awe in his voice. He turned to Lyrein. “It must be given now, while the moon is still high.”

Without waiting, Lyrein took my hand again, and together we stepped from the chamber back into Kaidën’s room — the stone halls cold against my bare feet, the potion warm in my trembling grip.

Inside, Kaidën lay small against the vast bed — the king, the beast, the mate who’d stolen my freedom. He looked pale, sweat slicking his temples and his lips cracked.

He seemed so fragile. So human.

Lyrein turned to me, his eyes a mix of gentleness and fierceness. “You can do this.”

I crossed the room, my pulse roaring louder than my footsteps. Kneeling by Kaidën’s bedside, the steam from the potion curled between us like a delicate promise.

Gently, I brushed my fingers against his jaw, feeling — the mate bond, a faint whisper beneath my skin, like something half-asleep and wild.

“Open your mouth, Kaidën,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t wake. But somehow, as I pressed the rim of the cup to his lips, they parted just enough for the liquid to slip inside.

Drop by drop, I fed him the hope I’d created with my own hands — my breath hitching each time his throat twitched, every second I feared it might come back up.

When I finally finished, I sat back on my heels, the empty cup quivering in my grasp.

Beside me, Lyrein’s hand wrapped around my shoulder again, firm and reassuring. “Now we wait,” he spoke softly.

So, we waited.

I didn’t know if Kaidën would pull through.

I didn’t know if I had just saved him or sealed his fate.

But for the first time since my world had been traded away, I felt like my choices really mattered.

And I was ready to face whatever came next.