Why Potion Smoke Spirals — Under the tower roof, where rain tapped like fingernails on glass, Tavian sanded the handle of his chipped wooden spoon until it fit his hoof just right. Read the full story →
Under the tower roof, where rain tapped like fingernails on glass, Tavian sanded the handle of his chipped wooden spoon until it fit his hoof just right. He wanted one jar of moon-ink made by his own work, not bought from the silver shop below. The old recipe smelled of mint, iron dust, and cold stone, but its last line had been rubbed away.
Tavian stirred anyway. Round and round went the spoon he had carved from a storm-fallen branch. The liquid hissed green, then blue, then clear as breath. On the spoon’s handle, under his thumb, a tiny star he had cut for luck warmed and glowed. A whisper rose from the pot: “Not faster. Truer.”
So Tavian stirred in the shape of his little star—point, dip, point, dip—until the smoke climbed in curls instead of clouds. Each curl held the path of his handmade spoon, keeping the secret shape in the air. Ever since, potion smoke has spiraled, and if you trace one curl near Tavian’s flask, you may find the star that started it.
