Chapter 3: The Mysterious Potion Seller

Five years had passed since Amia's banishment, and in a bustling city far from the pack's territory, whispers circulated about a mysterious potion seller. This enigmatic figure, always clad in a hooded robe that concealed their identity, had become renowned for their potent and effective remedies.

People from all walks of life flocked to the small apothecary shop, drawn by the promise of cures for their ailments. The potion seller's remedies were said to work wonders for everything from burns to cuts, and even more mysterious ailments that plagued the citizens.

"Have you tried the healing salve from the new potion seller?" one person would ask, their voice filled with awe. "My burns healed in half the time, and the scars are barely visible."

"I heard it's an old man," another would speculate. "He must have decades of experience to create potions of such caliber. His knowledge of herbs and their properties is unmatched."

The shop itself was a nondescript affair, tucked away in a quiet alley. The only indication of its presence was a small, hand-painted sign above the door, simply reading "Potions and Remedies."

Customers would enter, their eyes wide with curiosity, only to be greeted by the mysterious figure behind the counter. The potion seller's voice, soft and soothing, would guide them through the array of bottles and vials, offering personalized remedies for their specific needs.

"A sleep aid, you say?" the potion seller would inquire, their voice carrying a hint of otherworldly wisdom. "Try this tincture made from valerian root and lavender. It will soothe your mind and body, lulling you into a peaceful slumber."

The patrons would leave, their faith in the potion seller's abilities unwavering. Word spread, and soon, the little shop became a haven for those seeking relief from their physical and emotional woes.

As the sun set each day, the potion seller would close the shop, their hood pulled low, concealing their identity from the curious eyes of the city dwellers. Speculation ran rampant, but no one could confirm the true nature of the enigmatic figure.

"It must be an old man," some would insist, citing the potion seller's extensive knowledge and the gentle, raspy tone of their voice. "Only a lifetime of experience could produce such remarkable cures."

And so, the legend of the mysterious potion seller grew, shrouded in secrecy and wonder. The citizens of the city cherished their resident healer, unaware of the true identity hidden beneath the hood—that of a woman with a past, a survivor, whose name was once Amia.

**

On a crisp morning, a handsome stranger with jet-black hair and a dashing smile wandered into the city, his curiosity piqued by the rumors he had heard about the mysterious potion seller. Thorne, a wanderer with a penchant for intrigue, found himself drawn to the little apothecary shop tucked away in the alley.

He joined the queue of patrons waiting patiently to consult with the enigmatic figure. The line was unusually long that day, a testament to the potion seller's growing reputation. Thorne listened to the whispered conversations around him, his interest piqued by the varied ailments the people sought to remedy.

"I hear the potion seller has a cure for my aching joints," an elderly woman said, her voice hopeful. "My granddaughter swears by the tonic she bought last month."

"I'm here for a love potion," a young man whispered to his companion, his cheeks flushing. "I want to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land."

Thorne found himself intrigued by the diverse needs of the townspeople. As he inched closer to the shop, his eyes scanned the interior, trying to catch a glimpse of the potion seller. The figure behind the counter kept their hood pulled low, their features carefully concealed.

Thorne's gaze rested on the potion seller's shoulders, noticing the slight curve of their posture. A theory began to form in his mind, and he wondered if perhaps the potion seller was a woman. He had heard tales of powerful female healers, their magic woven into the very potions they crafted.

Finally, it was Thorne's turn to step inside. The bell above the door chimed, announcing his entrance. The potion seller looked up, their eyes, a vivid shade of green, meeting his. Thorne felt a jolt of recognition, but he couldn't place why.

"How may I assist you today?" the potion seller asked, their voice soft and melodic.

Thorne cleared his throat, his gaze holding steady. "I seek a strengthening potion, something to enhance my endurance."

The potion seller nodded, their hands moving gracefully as they prepared the requested remedy. Thorne's eyes followed their movements, his curiosity growing. There was something familiar about the way they handled the herbs and vials, but he couldn't quite place it.

After receiving his potion, Thorne thanked the potion seller and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I believe you are a woman," he said, his voice carrying a hint of certainty. "Your shoulders bear the weight of the world, and your hands move with a grace that only a woman could possess."

The potion seller said nothing, their eyes hooded, but Thorne sensed a flicker of surprise in their gaze. With a slight bow, he exited the shop, leaving the potion seller to their secrets.

Thorne's mind raced as he walked away, his curiosity now fully ignited. Who was this mysterious woman, and what had brought her to this city? Little did he know that his path was about to intertwine with hers in ways he could never have imagined.