IRON MAN: BROTHER DON'T CAUSE TROUBLE

John lay on the wooden bed, staring at the curved ceiling above him. The grain of the timber twisted like ancient roots frozen in time. Soft beams of light filtered through the tiny round window, casting shadow lines across his face. Outside, he could hear the occasional rustle of leaves, the sound of insects, and the distant bubbling of the nearby stream that ran through the grove.

He sighed deeply, folding his hands behind his head.

"A real potion master…" he thought. "I never imagined I'd be learning from one. And not just anyone, but an elder elf."

The image of Elder Elluin sitting serenely beside the cauldron, working with starroots like it was second nature, played again and again in his mind.

John felt a strange mix of nerves and excitement rise in his chest.

"Tomorrow… I'll ask her to teach me. Even if she refuses, I've got to try."

He closed his eyes slowly, letting the soft sounds of the wind lull him into sleep.

---

The next morning arrived with a golden hue, the grove bathed in the gentle light of dawn. Dew sparkled like crystals on the grass as John stepped outside. The cool breeze touched his skin like a blessing, calming his nerves just a little.

He followed the same path Hazal had led them on yesterday, winding around thick patches of overgrown herbs and stones covered in moss. Before long, he reached the small, round hut.

Elder Elluin was already outside in the courtyard, tending to rows of potted plants. She moved gracefully between them, her silver braid swaying with every step. The plants were unlike anything John had seen—some with shimmering leaves, others with faintly glowing buds that responded to her touch.

He paused for a second before approaching.

"Elder Elluin?" he called softly.

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a slow nod. "You came."

"I was hoping…" John hesitated. "Would you teach me? About potion-making, I mean."

She turned fully to face him, her sharp eyes scanning him with a strange kind of weight—like she was measuring not his strength, but his patience, curiosity, and resolve.

"You watched closely yesterday," she said. "That's a good start."

John stood straighter. "I want to learn. I know I'm just a beginner, but—"

She raised a hand gently, silencing him. "Words are like leaves in the wind. Let's see if you have roots."

With that, she turned and walked toward the hut, gesturing for him to follow.

Inside, the warm, earthy scent greeted him again—herbs, dried bark, and the faint sweetness of magic. Elder Elluin motioned toward a low stool near the cauldron.

As he sat, she began to speak.

"Potion-making," she said, "is older than most magic. It began before spells were spoken, before runes were etched into stone. It is a language of heaven and earth. Every leaf, every root, every stem carries a secret."

She walked to a shelf and brought down three bundles of herbs. Laying them before John, she continued, "But before you learn to speak that language, you must know the letters."

"These," she said, pointing to the first bundle, "are white-grade plants. They are the most common. They can be found in most forests, hillsides, and wild plains."

The second bundle had darker leaves with visible veins, and they glowed faintly with a black hue. "These are black-grade. Stronger. Rarer. Usually harvested under specific conditions—moonlight, storms, or other dangerous places."

She tapped the final bundle—which glowed light brown in color. "And these are brown-grade. The rarest among the three. These grow near elemental hotspots or places saturated with world energy. Very tricky to handle, but powerful."

John leaned closer, eyes wide.

"But these aren't the only grades," she added. "There are others above them—plants that don't follow our rules. I've only heard of them, but haven't seen them myself. No name. No clear classification. Just… power that doesn't belong in our hands."

John nodded, but internally, he was being shocked again and again.

"And potion-making itself," she continued, "is not a single path."

She walked to the wall and pointed to three carved symbols.

"The first," she said, "is Elemental Potioniering. This is what warriors often seek—potions that burst into flames, freeze the air, shatter rock, or shield your body like armor. You don't drink these. You throw them. Against the enemy… or on yourself."

John raised an eyebrow. "Wait… like a fireball in a bottle?"

Elluin gave a faint smirk. "Crude description, but yes."

She moved to the next symbol.

"The second is Poisonous Potioniering. Attack-based, yes—but far more subtle. Some act immediately. Others take time, creeping through the body until it fails. Deadly. Difficult. And not just physical—some poisons target the mind, the soul."

John swallowed hard. Just imagining a scenario where his soul got damaged sent a chill down his spine.

"The third," she said, "is Cultivation Potioniering. This path is for those walking the spiritual path. Potions that ease breakthroughs, enhance energy flow, heal internal damage from improper practice, or calm the mind during cultivation."

She paused, then turned to look directly at John. "This is not just mixing things in a bowl. It is understanding."

John sat silently, absorbing every word.

"And lastly," she said, returning to the cauldron, "the levels of potion masters. We divide them into three ranks—Low, Middle, and High."

She poured a thin liquid into a fresh cauldron. The surface shimmered briefly.

"A low-level master can handle white-grade herbs and basic elemental brews. A mid-level master understands the traits of black-grade herbs, balance of energies, and can create both attack and healing potions. But a high-level potion master..." she paused.

"They have full understanding of white to brown-grade herbs or plants. And they have the capability to use herbs to mend a shattered soul. Or destroy a mountain."

John blinked. "...Seriously?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "Yes. But reaching that level takes decades. Maybe longer."

John leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees, excitement and awe blending in his voice. "Then that's what I'll aim for. One step at a time."

Elder Elluin turned back to her work with the faintest smile.

"Good. Then your lessons begin now. Wash your hands. And don't touch anything until I say."

John hesitated. "Yes… But shouldn't you check if I have the aptitude for potioniering?"

"Oh, I will find out soon enough."