In his mountaintop workroom, old Belgarath measures droplets from assorted bottles into a silver phial. Alydd listens: “This one brings neighbourliness; this, honesty; and this, courage – be careful; too much causes foolhardiness.” Soon the brew is ready.
Following ancient tradition, Alydd will release the potion into the stream that waters the villages below; but first he gathers up the bottles.
“Master, these are empty!”
“Sadly, yes. And the formulae are lost. This is the last batch.”
Later, beside the stream, as another peaceful evening settles over the valley, Alydd considers, then slips the unopened phial inside his robe. A new era has begun.
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting this weekly flash fiction challenge to write a 100 word story in response to a photo prompt.