From the survivor to the vanisher

Aditya's days in Druva's care followed a strict routine. The morning was devoted to tending the alchemy garden, while the afternoons were spent studying the properties of various plants. Evenings, however, were reserved for something far more dangerous—experimentation with poisons.

One evening, Druva placed a cluster of plants on the table before Aditya. "This," he said, pointing to a purple flower with jagged edges, "is Nightshade. Highly toxic. And this," he added, gesturing to a smaller green stem, "is Fevergrass. It acts as a stabilizer. Your task is to extract their properties and create a paralysis toxin."

Aditya hesitated. "What if I make a mistake?"

Druva's eyes sharpened. "Then you die. Or worse, you poison me by accident." He chuckled darkly.

Swallowing his fear, Aditya got to work. He crushed the Fevergrass, using a mortar and pestle until it formed a fine powder. Next, he carefully plucked the petals of the Nightshade, using tweezers to avoid direct contact with its sap. The process was tedious, but he couldn't afford haste. Druva had warned him that even a drop of mishandled Nightshade could paralyze his own hands permanently.

As Aditya worked, he couldn't help but think back to the Hamsa Palace. The stench of blood, the cries of the dying—it all came flooding back. He shook his head, trying to focus. "You must control your mind," Druva had often said. "Alchemy is as much about discipline as it is about knowledge."

After hours of painstaking effort, Aditya produced a small vial of the toxin. It was faintly green, with a subtle shimmer that betrayed its potency. Druva inspected it with a discerning eye. "Not bad for your first attempt," he said. Then, to Aditya's horror, Druva pricked his own finger and allowed a drop of the toxin to touch his skin.

The alchemist's hand trembled for a moment before he pressed another vial—a deep red antidote—against the wound. Moments later, his hand steadied. "Effective," Druva said with a nod. "But remember, creating poison is only half the equation. You must also master the cure."

Aditya realized then that alchemy wasn't just about destruction. It was about balance—understanding the fine line between harm and healing. Over the next few weeks, he practiced tirelessly, refining his technique. He learned to extract sap without wasting a single drop, to mix stabilizers with precision, and to test his concoctions on small animals under Druva's supervision.

Yet, the more Aditya learned, the more questions he had. Why was Druva teaching him such dangerous skills? What purpose did they serve in a world already so full of conflict? He didn't voice these doubts, but they lingered in his mind, growing alongside his newfound knowledge.

By the time he perfected his first antidote, Aditya felt a strange sense of pride. The boy who had once been buried under a hill of corpses was gone. In his place stood someone stronger, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous.