The attendant appeared at the edge of the balcony, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, with mousy brown hair tied back in a simple bun and a plain gray dress that reached her ankles. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet but clear.
"The Pharmacist will see you now."
Master Theo turned from the railing, brushing invisible dust from his coat. Nero followed, casting one last glance at the sprawling slums below before stepping back inside. The contrast was rather imdiate, with the noisy din of the streets dulled to a muffled hum, replaced by the cool silence of the apothecary’s interior.
The shift was as stark, but what was most obvious was the heat washing over his face was now gone, replaced with the coolth that pervaded through the walls of the building. There was a slight scent of herbs and dicine.
’Citrus, perhaps...’
They followed the attendant down a narrow hallway lined with shelves. Glass bottles and ceramic jars crowded every available surface, each labeled in tight, precise script. So contained dried herbs, others held liquids that ranged from clear to muddy brown to deep, unsettling green. The air slled of mint, sulfur, and sothing faintly bitter that clung to the back of Nero’s throat.
The attendant stopped at a door near the end of the hall and knocked twice before pushing it open. She gestured for them to enter, then stepped aside.
The room was modest but well-kept. A large desk dominated the space, its surface covered in scattered papers, an open ledger, and several small vials arranged in neat rows. Behind the desk sat a man who looked up as they entered, and Nero felt his breath catch.
The resemblance was undeniable.
The man had the sa dark skin as Lyon, the sa sword-like brows that angled sharply over deep-set eyes. Those eyes were the color of still water, cool and penetrating, and they studied Nero with an intensity that made him feel as though he were being weighed and asured in a single glance. But where Lyon’s expression was often clinical, detached in a way that made him feel more like an object than a person, this man’s face held sothing warr. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes and softening the sharpness of his features.
Nero glanced at Master Theo, searching for so reaction, but the older man’s face remained carefully neutral. He gave a small bow, which the Pharmacist returned with a slight nod.
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and asured, carrying a hint of amusent.
"Good day, young man. You can call Mister Bishop. The Doctor and I share kinship. He is my brother."
Nero’s shock lasted only a mont before he schooled his features and offered a slight bow. "Good day. My na is Nero. I’m a trainee candidate for the Templar’s Trials."
Bishop’s smile widened. "I know who you are, Nero. Lyon is a bit of a loudmouth."
A nervous chuckle escaped Nero’s lips before he could stop it. The idea of Lyon—cold, thodical Lyon—being described as a loudmouth was almost absurd. Yet the way Bishop said it, with such easy familiarity, made it feel oddly believable. Still, the discomfort of being known by soone he’d never t settled over him like a weight.
He cleared his throat and turned to Master Theo, who stepped forward without a word and handed him the package. Nero accepted it, feeling the familiar weight of the cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands. He turned back to Bishop and held it out.
Bishop took the package with both hands, his fingers moving carefully over the green fabric. He set it on the desk and began unwrapping it, his movents deliberate and unhurried. Nero watched, curiosity gnawing at him despite his efforts to remain detached.
The cloth fell away to reveal two items. The first was a letter, sealed with dark red wax that bore the imprint of a rune Nero didn’t recognize. The second was a small wooden box, plain and unadorned, with a simple latch holding it closed.
Nero’s eyes lingered on the box. Bishop noticed, glancing up with a knowing smile.
"You really want to see it that much, don’t you?"
Nero hesitated, then nodded. "If it has sothing to do with , then I’d like to know what it is."
Bishop’s smile deepened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this ti. "You are indeed a curious soul, aren’t you, Nero."
He reached for the box and flipped the latch open. The lid creaked softly as it swung back, revealing a small vial nestled in dark velvet. The liquid inside was red, but not the deep crimson of blood. Instead, it shimred in the light, catching and refracting it like cut rubies. The effect was srizing, almost hypnotic.
Nero leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "What is that?"
Bishop tilted the vial, watching the liquid swirl lazily inside. "I have an idea, but I’m not quite sure." He set the vial back in the box and looked up, his expression shifting into sothing more serious. "Follow ."
He turned to the attendant, who had remained silent by the door. "Keep Master Theo entertained, would you?"
The attendant nodded, and Bishop rose from his chair, gesturing for Nero to follow. Nero glanced back at Theo, who gave him a reassuring nod, then followed Bishop out of the room and down another hallway.
This one was narrower, the shelves closer together and more densely packed. The sll here was stronger—sharper, almost acidic—and Nero had to resist the urge to cover his nose. Bishop moved with the ease of soone who had walked this path a thousand tis, his footsteps confident and sure.
They stopped at a door near the end of the hall. Bishop pushed it open and stepped inside, holding it for Nero to follow.
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