Morning light poured through the arched window of Oliver's workroom, soft and golden, touching the rows of crimson glass that lined his shelves. The faint hum of old magic still clung to the air—leftovers from the previous day's work—and the sweet, faintly herbal scent of berries lingered like the memory of summer rain.
Oliver sat at the bench again, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the notebook spread open before him. Lines of half-formed theories scrawled across the parchment, arrows and circles tangled like the inside of his mind. The words stabilization curve and resonance retention ratio were underlined three times.
He tapped his quill against the table.
"Okay," he murmured. "Base: solid. Taste: terrible. Magical binding: excellent. So what's missing?"
Nyx answered with a sleepy chirp from her perch on the lamp chain, fluffing her half-grown feathers. She had taken to sleeping above the workstation as if she were a watchful guardian of his experiments—or a silent critic of his failures.
Oliver grinned faintly. "Yeah, I know. You think I'm overdoing it again."
He sighed and flipped to a clean page. The ink from his quill bled faintly as he wrote:
Goal: Achieve balance between flavor and function without compromising magical integrity.
That was the problem. Every time he strengthened the magic, the flavor soured. Every time he focused on the flavor, the magic vanished. He could taste success right at the edge of his tongue, but the pieces refused to click.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers rubbing at his temples. He could almost hear Penny's voice reminding him to rest—but resting wasn't an option. He was close. He felt it.
By mid-morning, the gentle hum of the castle above them had begun: footsteps echoing faintly, distant laughter, the rhythm of ordinary life filtering into the quiet world inside the suitcase. The familiar noise grounded him.
He reached for a bunch of Sunberries freshly picked that morning. Their skins glistened, translucent red with faint silver streaks threading through the flesh. They had grown plumper here than any outside the suitcase—something about the magical soil and filtered sunlight. Oliver plucked one and bit into it. Juice burst across his tongue: sweet, rich, slightly tart. Perfect raw, but ruinous once processed.
"Maybe the juice doesn't like being heated," he mused aloud. "Maybe it wants to stay alive."
He pulled another berry apart and examined the shimmering pulp. Each droplet refracted light like a gemstone. There was so much raw life packed inside that tiny fruit. It wasn't just food—it was bottled sunlight.
He smiled. "Alright, let's keep you alive, then."
He decided on a cold-infusion process, a method he had read about in one of Penny's older potion manuals. No boiling, no cauldron. Just time, magic, and patience.
He filled a crystal basin with HoneyWater—thick and luminous gold under the lamplight—and began to crush the berries by hand. Juice dripped between his fingers, pink merging into amber, the mixture swirling like dawn meeting daybreak.
"Nyx," he said, glancing up. "Warm it for me. Gently. No flames, just your aura."
The phoenix chick let out a soft note, spreading her wings. Pale starlight rippled from her feathers, warming the surface of the basin without scorching it. The mixture brightened, glowing faintly as if reacting to her touch.
Oliver's eyes widened. "That's… actually working."
He pulled his notebook closer, scribbling: Infusion stabilized by ambient phoenix aura – low heat preserves essence.
He couldn't stop smiling. Every step forward felt like a miracle stitched out of common sense.
Penny arrived a few hours later carrying a small breakfast tray. "I had a feeling you'd forget to eat," she said, setting it down beside him.
Oliver blinked, then smiled sheepishly. "I was just about to take a break."
"Of course you were." She gave him a look halfway between affection and exasperation. "How's the flavor disaster coming along?"
He gestured at the basin. "Better. I'm trying a cold infusion this time. No boiling, less bitterness."
She peered inside. "It's beautiful."
"It's promising," he said. "But I still need to strengthen the healing properties. The HoneyWater carries the magic, but it's not enough."
She handed him a slice of toast. "And what do you plan to do about that?"
"Experiment," he said simply. "I've been reviewing old alchemical references. Dittany might work as an enhancer if I keep the concentration low."
Penny's brows rose. "Ambitious."
"I won't overdo it. Just enough to amplify without turning it into a potion."
Her lips curved into a smile. "You've been learning restraint. That's progress."
He chuckled. "Trial and error, mostly error."
"Which is how mastery begins," she said softly. "Just promise me one thing—don't push yourself until your magic runs dry."
He nodded. "I promise."
Satisfied, she touched his shoulder briefly before heading toward the door. "When you think you've got something, bring it to me. I'll be your first taste-tester."
Her footsteps faded up the stairway, leaving the faint scent of tea and parchment behind.
Oliver exhaled and turned back to his work.
Adding Dittany changed everything.
He sliced the green leaves finely, ground them into powder, and folded them into the mixture with slow circular motions. The infusion brightened, the gold deepening to molten amber threaded with red veins.
The aroma shifted—fresher, cooler, almost mint-sweet beneath the honeyed warmth. Magic pulsed faintly from the surface. When he touched it with his fingertip, energy tingled through his hand.
"Now that's alive," he whispered.
He filled a vial and sealed it with wax before shaking it gently. The glow stayed stable. Good. He allowed himself a grin.
Testing flavor was the next step.
He poured a small sip into a glass and took a cautious taste. The sweetness rolled across his tongue, followed by the same sharp berry note—but this time the bitterness was gone, replaced by a crisp freshness that reminded him of clear mornings.
He laughed out loud. "We're close! We're really close!"
Nyx flared her wings in agreement, a spark of starlight scattering across the table.
But he wasn't done yet. The healing reaction still needed a boost. If the goal was to make something that revitalized, not merely tasted nice, he needed a catalyst.
He scanned the shelf, eyes falling on the small bottle labeled Unicorn Powder. A gift from the herd—shaved fragments from naturally shed horns. Potent, pure, harmless.
Oliver hesitated only briefly. "Just a touch," he murmured.
He measured a precise spoonful and sprinkled it into the infusion. The liquid hissed softly, not with heat but with energy. The glow shifted again—red fading into translucent rose shot through with streaks of white light.
Nyx chirped curiously, watching as the lines of light spiraled through the liquid like constellations.
Then came the resonance. The entire basin thrummed with faint harmony, a song of quiet power. He could feel it in his bones—the signature of balance.
But balance was delicate. A single mistake could ruin it.
Oliver steadied his breathing, his hands, his magic.
"All right," he whispered. "Last test for today."
He dipped a ladle, filled a cup, and drank.
Warmth blossomed instantly—not burning, not overwhelming, but spreading like sunlight through his veins. His fatigue ebbed away. The tightness behind his eyes vanished. His skin tingled faintly, refreshed.
He gasped. "It works. It really—" He laughed. "It works!"
He scribbled frantically: Formula stable. Effects: mild healing + energy renewal. Taste excellent. Duration to be tested.
Then he paused, staring into the basin.
It wasn't done yet. He could tell. It still needed one last thing—the signature touch that would make it his. Something that tied the flavor and magic together completely.
He looked up at Nyx, whose feathers shimmered with soft silver light. The phoenix chick tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully, and in that moment he understood.
Not now. Not yet. But soon.
That evening Penny returned to check on him and found Oliver asleep at his desk, head resting on crossed arms beside a row of bottles filled with glowing red-gold liquid. His notes sprawled across the table, detailing every step of his progress.
She smiled tenderly, picking up one bottle to examine it. The fluid inside caught the lamplight and scattered it in hundreds of tiny stars. A faint pulse of magic resonated from within, gentle and warm—healing, hopeful.
"You've nearly done it," she whispered.
She conjured a soft blanket and draped it over his shoulders before leaving the workshop quietly, Nyx following her with a questioning chirp before fluttering back to her perch.
The room settled into peace. Bottles gleamed like captured sunsets. The faint hum of magic wrapped the air in gentle stillness.
Outside, unseen through the windows, the night sky shimmered with distant constellations—each star reflecting faintly in the polished surface of the newest bottle, as though the heavens themselves approved.
Oliver shifted in his sleep, murmuring words half-formed:
"Almost there… just one more step…"
When dawn returned, he woke with renewed energy. His dreams had been full of color and warmth, and the moment he opened his eyes he knew exactly what he needed.
He reviewed his last note: Still missing one harmonizing agent.
Then he drew a small symbol beside it—an abstract curve of light he had seen in his dreams. It looked remarkably like the trail of Nyx's fire when she flew at night.
A grin spread across his face. "Phoenix essence," he murmured. "That's what's missing."
He looked at Nyx, who chirped innocently, eyes glimmering with curiosity.
"Don't worry," he said quickly, "I'm not taking anything from you without permission. Just… a single tear, maybe?"
She blinked, then fluffed her wings proudly and hopped closer as if to say of course.
He laughed. "You're too good for me."
That would be tomorrow's work—the final test, the defining addition. But tonight, he allowed himself the rare luxury of satisfaction. He'd built the foundation of something beautiful—something new that tasted like light itself.
He stretched, took one last look at the shining bottles, and whispered to the empty lab, "Tomorrow, we finish this."
Nyx's soft trill echoed the promise.
The next morning rose inside the enchanted sky of the suitcase—a soft golden light pouring through the skylights above the alchemy hall. The air smelled faintly of honey, herbs, and something citrusy, leftover from the night's experiments. Oliver stood amid it all, his sleeves rolled up, determination already set in his expression.
Nyx was perched on the table near the main cauldron, preening the faint constellation pattern beginning to return to her feathers. She chirped softly, as if asking whether he was really going to start again after nearly collapsing the night before. He grinned tiredly.
"Of course I am. You don't stop just because it's hard, you stop when it's right," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "Today, we finish it."
Nyx gave a single approving trill, hopping to his shoulder as he lit the room's lamps with a flick of his wand. Light spilled across glass and metal, and every surface shimmered with a quiet energy. His notes were spread across one long table, pages filled with overlapping equations, measurements, and little doodles where he'd gone cross-eyed from fatigue. The final entry on the last page read in quick, smudged ink:
Add Phoenix essence at the end—only one tear.
He tapped the edge of the page, exhaled, and nodded to himself. "One tear, and that should do it."
First, he purified the space. A quick wave of his wand cleared the residual magic, replaced by the scent of fresh air. Then he drew a stabilizing circle around his workspace—chalk, salt, and faint blue runes pulsing once before fading. When it was done, he flexed his fingers and began to measure.
The crystal basin gleamed in the center of the table. Into it, he poured his base: HoneyWater, golden and luminous, catching every flicker of light. Then came the star ingredient—seventy-five Sunberries, each plump and glowing faintly like tiny suns trapped in translucent skin. As he sliced them, their juice dripped like molten rubies, swirling into the basin until the water turned a soft pink-gold. The scent was so bright it made the air taste sweet.
"Step one," he muttered, stirring slowly. "Harmony through motion."
He stirred clockwise seven times, then counterclockwise thrice, watching the colors merge and thicken. The surface shimmered like liquid sunlight, pulsing gently under his hand. He added powdered Dittany next—a pinch at first, then another, until delicate green ribbons wound through the mixture and vanished. The liquid deepened, glowing warmer now, alive with faint ripples of light.
From the corner of the table, a jar caught the lamplight. Inside, fine silver powder glowed faintly—the ground remnants of the unicorn horns the herd had willingly given him. Oliver picked up the jar reverently. "You're all part of this, too," he said softly, tipping a measured spoonful into the mix.
As soon as the silver dust touched the surface, the potion flared. Tiny sparks danced like stars before sinking beneath the surface. The color changed once more—redder, deeper, richer, laced through with threads of white light that drifted lazily, as if the drink itself breathed.
Nyx hopped closer, staring at the glow with wide eyes. Oliver wiped his hands and smiled at her. "Almost there, partner. But this next part… it's up to you."
He crouched to her level, tone softer. "I need one of your tears. Just one, for the heart of it."
Nyx blinked slowly. For a long moment she did nothing, only studying him with those uncanny star-speckled eyes. Then she turned to the potion, leaned over the rim of the basin, and let a single tear fall.
The world exploded into light.
A sound like a distant choir filled the air as the liquid ignited—brilliant gold and scarlet flames whirling upward in a column of energy. The resonance shook the room, rattling bottles and making Oliver stagger backward, shielding his face. The light spread across every inch of the lab before slowly dimming back down to a gentle, steady glow.
When he dared to look again, his breath caught.
The mixture was no longer red, nor gold. It was something between—clear, deep amber threaded with liquid silver veins, the surface alive with drifting lights like constellations. It pulsed faintly, in rhythm with his heartbeat. Even standing near it felt like standing in a sunbeam after a storm—warm, steady, peaceful.
Oliver pressed a hand to his chest, then leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's alive… in its own way."
Nyx gave a proud chirp, fluttering up onto his shoulder again. The light reflected in her tiny form until her feathers shimmered like the potion itself. He laughed under his breath, dazed and ecstatic.
He ladled a small amount into a glass vial, swirling it carefully. The scent was unmistakable—sweet, with a faint sharp note of citrus and something floral. He hesitated, then took a cautious sip.
Coolness spread across his tongue first, followed by warmth that unfurled through his chest like dawn breaking. The taste was exquisite—sweet, but not cloying, fresh, and bright with a tang that made him want another sip immediately. He laughed outright, eyes wide. "That's it! That's it, Nyx!"
He turned in a quick circle, practically dancing on the spot. "Oh, Penny's going to love this—no, she's going to name this!"
He took another sip, just to confirm it wasn't a fluke. The same rush filled him, clear-headed and calm all at once. His cuts and bruises from the long week of training throbbed once, then faded entirely. "Healing and refreshing," he said in disbelief. "It's both."
He started bottling the rest at once. The basin had yielded nearly a hundred kilograms of liquid, and after filtering out the pulp, he filled sleek glass bottles—each one a liter—until the table was a field of glowing red-gold. The faint white sparkles drifting in each bottle made them look alive, as if holding sunlight in physical form.
When the last cork was sealed, Oliver leaned back and surveyed his work, chest swelling with pride. This—this was his first true creation. The guitar, the speakers, even the phones—all of them had been feats of ingenuity and craft. But this? This was magic distilled into joy. It was something he could give to others without worry, something that could make people smile and heal them at the same time.
He looked over at Nyx, who was perched on one of the corked bottles, looking smug. "You know," he said softly, "this wouldn't have worked without you."
Nyx tilted her head and trilled, a proud, almost smug sound that made Oliver chuckle. "Yeah, yeah—you'll get your share."
He wiped the sweat from his brow, still grinning. "Now the only thing left is showing Penny and Nick. They'll probably make me write twenty pages on the process, but I don't care. I actually did it."
He took one last look at the shimmering bottles, each one faintly humming with vitality. The air was full of warmth, and the reflection of all that light painted gold across the walls. For the first time in months, Oliver didn't feel like the boy who was simply running to catch up with the world. He felt like someone shaping it.
He sank into the nearest chair, exhaustion finally hitting him, but his smile didn't fade. Nyx hopped down onto his shoulder, nestling into the curve of his neck, and for a long while, the lab was filled only with the soft sound of their breathing and the gentle hum of bottled sunlight.
Somewhere in the upper reaches of the suitcase, a faint artificial dawn began to rise, blending with the glow from his creation until the entire space felt like morning incarnate. Oliver's eyelids drooped. His last coherent thought before sleep claimed him was a contented murmur, half-laugh, half-dream.
"Sunshine's Tears," he whispered, already hearing Penny's delighted voice in his mind. "That's what you'll be called."
And in the quiet of his lab, surrounded by the fruits of his genius and a Phoenix's grace, Oliver drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep—smiling still, the golden light of his newest creation dancing gently across the air.