Deep within the forest near Liones, the moonlight barely filters through the dense canopy. Nasiens is crouched beside a series of glowing vials and peculiar plants arranged on a moss-covered log, surrounded by a quiet that only deep woods offer.

Their eyes shimmer with that familiar, feverish glint of discovery.

Nasiens held the dropper delicately between two fingers, watching the golden liquid swirl as they transferred it into a glass vial containing powdered manticore thorn. The mixture hissed faintly, shifting from gold to a haunting indigo.

They stared, captivated. Yes… just like I predicted.

They bit their lower lip hard—too hard. A sharp sting bloomed and the metallic tang of blood hit their tongue, but they didn’t stop. Instead, they leaned in closer, pupils dilated with thrill. A small dribble of crimson traced the curve of their lip, unnoticed.

“This… this is it. This reaction only happens under moonlight,” they murmured to themselves, voice low and breathless. “I was right."

The potion pulsed once. Then again. A faint tendril of steam rose, coiling upward into the night. Nasiens finally sat back, letting out a shaky breath as their lip bled freely now, the excitement overriding the pain.

Their gloved hand reached for a cloth to wipe it away—pausing halfway. They looked at the blood on their fingers and smiled faintly.

“Worth it."