Sierra drowned herself in work. She did more part of her research that day. Although she was happy with the progress in her ‘Potion Research,’ she still couldn’t shake the feeling of distress with what happened in the morning.

  ‘Slower, finer,’ she murmured, deeply focused on her work. Both hands rested inside the side compartments of a rge bowl as she observed the liquid within.

  The bowl was etched with specialized runes she had crafted herself. Each finger rested on a different rune, triggering specific commands depending on her touch. The bowl itself was imbued with her Bisa, aligned to her water root.

  “That’s it!” she muttered, releasing the bowl with a cng before moving to the other side of the table, where bottles and gsses were arranged.

  Her fingers skimmed over the bottles without hesitation.

  ‘This one.’

  She grasped the cold gss, the smooth chill settling against her palms.

  ‘Here we go.’

  Lifting the gss, she poured its contents slowly into the bowl, watching the liquid ripple and catch the light.

  Her hands returned to the bowl’s side compartments, steadying herself as the next phase of the experiment began.

  The water inside the fsk swirled at her will—gentle at first, then tighter and faster, as if drawn into a whirlpool. Her fingers twitched as she tapped the runes along the bowl’s side, her brow furrowed in focus.

  Then, without warning, a fog crept over her thoughts. The stream of magic snapped. Her mind dulled. Her Bisa fractured and vanished.

  “Ugh!” she grunted, clutching her head.

  She blinked slowly, staring at the fsk as if it had betrayed her. Her limbs felt heavier now; the exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

  With a soft grunt, she stood and stretched, her joints popping like pebbles in a stream-bed. A long breath left her chest as she closed her eyes.

  The faint hum of the sound box echoed nearby—a low, rhythmic tone like distant waves breaking. She always used it to sharpen her focus.

  Now, its lulby that softened the edges of her thoughts.

  Her shoulders eased. Her magic faded.

  And for the first time in hours, she let herself breathe.

  She stared at the window, and it was already dark outside. Her students had already left hours before, when it was twilight.

  Sierra decided to have a drink, so she went down from her room to the first floor of her house, then she heard a knock again. She was beginning to hate the sound of the knock on her door.

  Still, as the only doctor of the vilge, she went and opened the door, and one of the warriors was there, the waft of alcohol on his breath as he spoke, “We need some Relievers!”

  Sierra, the vilge doctor, knew what he meant. “I didn’t make that medicine for you guys to abuse! Deal with it!” she compined, almost closing the door.

  “No! It's not for me! It's for Jeff’s old man!” the warrior answered.

  Sierra understood the situation, and while still feeling sluggish, she rushed to the store room and took a bottle. She returned to the warrior who had already dropped himself on the veranda of her house.

  “Drunkards!” She kicked the warrior out of her way and rushed into the PUB. It was the only pce where the alcoholics would be.

  The PUB was silent, and it broke when the vilge doctor arrived. Jeff and his senior father were in the middle, and a table was formed so that the senior, who intoxicated himself, could lie on it.

  “Jeff! Why would you let him drink?” Sierra approached, stomping her feet, “You all stink!” The warriors and the vilgers alike felt her anger made way for her to approach.

  “It's my fault, I… Argh! I started the drinking… Argh!” It was another veteran in bck garb. He was trying to speak while trying not to barf.

  ‘He needs some medicine too!’ Sierra gred, and she began administering the Reliever Potion that she concocted herself. Jeff’s old man was an alcoholic and had episodes of intoxication even before. As the doctor in the vilge, she prohibited him from drinking too much.

  “Urgh!” the old man muttered, then he barfed a long one.

  “Ugh! Stinks!” Sierra compined, but watching the face of Jeff’s father, she knew that the medicine worked well. “Let him rest for a while, no more alcohol for the night!” Sierra said with a gre at Jeff. The man simply nodded.

  Then she approached the other veteran, who had his head on the table. “Old man, take a sip of this too!” Grabbing an empty cup, she poured a dosage of the Reliever.

  The bck-garbed veteran took the medicine, lifting the small cup with steady hands.

  He swallowed, and a sharp rush spread through his pate—clean and biting, washing away the harsh burn of alcohol lingering there.

  Warmth trickled down his throat, soothing and quick. A slow smile tugged at his lips.

  “This is amazing.” He immediately felt the change settle around his body.

  “Jeff!! Jeff!! Your old man is moving!” one of the vilgers informed.

  “He survives again!” Jeff suddenly decred as his old man regained a bit of his consciousness.

  “YEAH!!!” “And I thought he would die tonight!” “Shit! I haven’t paid my tab yet!” “Let’s go again tomorrow!” “I won my bet!” Different words of celebration and worries came from the men of the vilge.

  Sierra, who heard this, was annoyed. ‘This vilge of alcoholics!’ This was the reason she created the Reliever Potion.

  “Young dy, thank you! My name is Angelo Cuss, by the way, I paid for all the drinks here, want some?” the bck-garbed veteran said, offering the same cup he drank from that was now filled with spirits.

  “Sierra! He even paid for a Yelo Spirit! 2 bottles of it!” Jeff informed their vilge doctor of her favorite drink.

  Sierra gred at Jeff. Though she hated drunkards, she was, by blood, one of the vilgers born in Ahas Vilge. It was in her nature to love alcoholic drinks, just like the rest of them. “Okay, just two gsses!” she relented, needing some relief from the stress.

  “The witch is drinking!” one of the vilgers teased. The others cpped or cheered with their fists, delighted by the rare sight of the vilge doctor drinking.

  “I’m back!” Jeff’s father, as if revived from the dead, stood up from the table and grabbed another cup... of water. “I’ll continue my story!” he decred, and the pub erupted in cheers.

  Jeff sat beside Sierra and spoke. “If he drinks, he dies. If he stops, he is dead inside. Sorry, it was all my fault.”

  “If he were dead inside,” Sierra said ftly, “he’d be quieter.”