The alchemist kneeled down before the grave of his most loyal apprentice. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered the great memories he and his apprentice had.
"Why?," he muttered, "In all the people to die it had to be you... Fate is cruel, but I will find a new apprentice". He got off his knees and brushed his tears away. He picked up his book of potion mixtures and rushed through the dark and foggy streets of Whistlebrook, bumping into a few strangers. He finally reached his workshop, damp from all the condensation of the mist. He ignored his maids efforts of taking his cloak off and sat at his work desk, studying throughout the night untill his spell was ready.
