The room remained still, each of the thirteen Elders of the Grand Magic Academy watching Argolaith with eyes sharpened by centuries of judgment. Magic glimmered softly around their robes, their crests pulsing like embers.
The Elder of Astral Theory broke the silence first, her voice curious but steady.
"You said your tree's name is… the Galaxy Maker?"
Argolaith nodded once. "Yes."
The elder frowned, exchanging a glance with the Elder of Dreamlogic. "That's not one of the Sacred Trees. Or even a Noted Lesser."
"Because it doesn't exist in this world," Argolaith said. "The Galaxy Maker exists in the void realm—outside Morgoth entirely. A tree that holds stars in place. That grows in space. It gave me its lifeblood. That's the only one I carry."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber again—this time less confused, and more intrigued… and uneasy.
The Elder of Rune Weaving leaned forward.
"Let's begin the evaluations, then."
And so it began.
Potion making?
