"Jakob, can this tonic be used on anyone?" Zenna asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she held the small glass vial.
Jakob leaned in to inspect it, his brow furrowed. "I'm seeing this for the first time," he admitted, shaking his head. "I can't say for certain what it does."
Zenna turned to him, unconvinced by his answer. "But didn't your mother ever tell you anything about potions or magical tonics?"
He hesitated for a moment, searching his memories. "She did speak of them from time to time," he said slowly. "My late father… he was the son of a witch. He passed down a great deal of knowledge to her—spells, brews, things that weren't written in any book. I believe that's how my mother came to possess this tonic. But…" he paused and met her gaze, "I can't be sure, Lady Zenna. She never explained this particular one to me."
"I understand," Zenna said softly, then turned and began walking ahead. "Come along, Jakob," she called over her shoulder.
