Relics from the Alchemist’s Cottage

You have wandered the groves of Mytherra - through the First Bloom’s tender awakening, through the velvet hush of the Harvest, through the fruit-born rites of the Alchemist’s Orchard.

Now you have found where the Alchemist resides

Here, list is a memory. A candle burns where no hand lit it. Bottles glisten with remnants of rain caught in another realm. The spellbook lies open - not to a page, but to a promise.

This is not a gallery - it is a sanctum. A chamber behind the veil, where Mytherra stirs before she speaks. Magic here is steeped, not summoned. It brews in silence, rises in steam, gathers in corners like dust that dreams.

Every object is a relic of the unseen - a vial, a leaf, a whisper pressed between pages. Each painting is not made - it is remembered.

The cottage remembers you. See where it leads.