Lost Apothecary Novels & Stories

I didn’t expect the patch to come so soon. In the second month after the battle, the rooftop radio suddenly crackled to life with a crisp broadcast voice. "The Atlas Geothermal Initiative is now active. Surface temperatures will gradually recover. Rescue is on the way." Rhys and I just stared at each other. So this wasn’t a solo survival game after all. It was online, and the admins had finally logged in. A week later, a military helicopter landed in the open lot. Registration and verification went quickly. The officer in charge clapped me on the shoulder. "Turning the apocalypse into a warehouse operation! You’re one of a kind."

Zlata I moved through the hospital hallways with a purpose I hadn't felt in years. It was hard to believe I'd first walked through the doors of the Apex Obsidian hospital only a year ago — a ghost then, an invisible janitor scrubbing floors. Every spare moment since, I'd buried myself in books, studying medicine and the ancient properties of herbs. Many nights I fell asleep at my little desk, pages scattered around me. On weekends I went into the wilderness to gather rare plants, mixing tinctures and testing remedies. The loss of my pup and my wolf had never fully healed — I knew it never would — but the pain had cooled, settling into a quiet engine that drove me forward.

He lit the candle he was holding with a small flame from one of the lamps outside, and he began to look through the stacks and shelves of scrolls and records. As Derek walked through the apothecary's door, a strong aroma of herbs and spices engulfed him. The air was thick with the fragrance of lavender, thyme, and rosemary, mixed with the sharp, acrid scent of vinegar and alcohol. The room was dimly lit, with candles placed around the shelves of potions and jars. A small fire burned in a hearth at the far end of the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Despite the lively atmosphere, time seemed to pass differently within the tavern's walls, as if the outside world held its breath in anticipation of the next moment. For the past four years, Shaun had called this tavern home, finding solace in its familiar routines and the camaraderie of its patrons. He remembered the day he first stumbled in, weary and malnourished, seeking refuge from a world that had turned its back on him. The tavern owner had taken pity on him, offering food and shelter in exchange for his labor. Nobody had questioned the presence of a new wolf in the tavern; as if nobody actually noticed him aside from being another worker. Since then, Shaun had become a fixture in the

The Apothecary Society had laid claim to the east wing, and it showed — delicate glass vials and pestle bowls were scattered across tables, herbs hung in bunches from hooks near the windows, and the smell of lavender, damp soil, clung to the air like memory. I lingered near a patch of nightbloom ivy, watching its petals unfurl toward the sunlight like it was some ancient ritual. A distraction — welcome, fleeting — from the low hum of voices behind me. Ingrid had vanished down one of the aisles, in search of what she so optimistically called “viable options,” leaving me momentarily alone, a guest at a gathering I hadn’t been invited to, and yet couldn’t seem to escape.

I couldn't believe that the young man who once refused to let me shed a single tear was now breaking my heart and making me cry over and over again. The last bit of my love for him completely faded away. I went back inside my room. Just as I'd lie down, I suddenly saw that Jasper had just received a message on his communication device. "Dr. Curran, another base camp has already located the person who first invented the water detection device. They're on their way to bring the inventor back. Please find the new water source and return before they bring the inventor to their base."

Somehow, the sight of the shop, the things outside them, the Wielders bobbing in and out of any establishment, a transparent bag filled with various equipment hanging on their wrist, distracted Z from any thoughts she just had earlier. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was swinging a silver necklace as she passed, saying, “Necklace, oh, enchanted necklace! Charming as it looks, powerful to use.” Z bit her lips to hide her snigger. “Hey, Z! I’ll withdraw first,” said George who just managed to catch up. “My shadow’s energy was compromised earlier by that bastard of a driver.” “Whatever you like.”

The herbalist's eyes briefly shifted to a shadowy area of his store, suggesting a more specialized source. He mentioned a name, a mysterious person known only as "The Alchemist," who is said to work out of a hidden, unmarked store in the oldest part of the city and specializes in antiquated, nearly forgotten poisons and remedies. She proceeded to a small, disorganized pharmacy, where the strong aroma of different tinctures and powdered herbs filled the air. She heard the proprietor and a nervous-looking man talking in a low voice, barely above the street noise. The man described a sudden, unexplained sickness that had taken over his employer's household.

Louis’s POV… The healer’s den smelled strange. Not of crushed leaves and warm resin, not of comfort and certainty—but of absence. I knew it the moment I stepped inside. The shelves were bare in places they should never be bare. Clay jars sat open, empty. Mortar bowls were clean when they should’ve been stained dark with recent use. My jaw tightened. “Tell me this is a mistake,” I said flatly. The old healer didn’t meet my eyes. Her hands twisted together, fingers stained green from whatever substitute she’d been trying to brew. “Alpha… the last batch is gone.”