An entire month passed within the simple walls of Kyrian's isolated courtyard.
The rhythm was relentless and monotonous for anyone else, but for him it was simply normal.
Every morning, even before the sun broke the line of the giant trees, Kyrian was already seated before the cauldron. The gray fire burned low and constant, controlled with surgical precision. The flames did not flicker. They obeyed like an extension of his will.
The Burning Heart Pill had become his main focus. Batch after batch, he refined the same formula, adjusting the temperature in minimal fractions, controlling the fusion time of the main herbs, and the exact order of addition of the secondary essences. The purity rose slowly, but it rose.
On the twenty-third day, he reached eighty-seven percent purity.
On the twenty-eighth day, eighty-nine percent.
And, on the morning of the thirty-first day, when the sun was already high, Kyrian opened the cauldron and removed five almost perfect pills.
