Before beginning the brewing of Felix Felicis, Sylas journeyed to Lothlórien.
The purification period for the Balrog's heart, entrusted to Lady Galadriel three years earlier, had finally come to an end.
When Sylas arrived, Galadriel awaited him amid the silver light of her garden. Without a word, she presented him with the purified heart.
Sylas's eyes widened in astonishment.
The once-charred and corrupted organ had shrunk to nearly half its original size. Its crystalline surface gleamed clear as amber, and within it burned a flame of gold and rose, the Balrog's Fire, cleansed of shadow.
What had once radiated unbearable heat now glowed with gentle warmth, the sacred flame of its true nature revealed.
No longer a relic of torment, it had become a Heart of Maia, a remnant of the divine spirits that once served the Valar.
Balrogs were Maiar of fire, but Morgoth's corruption had twisted their sacred flame into darkness.
Now, through years of purification and the power of Galadriel's Ring of Water, Nenya, the darkness had been lifted at last.
Galadriel regarded the glowing heart, her voice soft and serene."The Balrog's essence was deeply entwined with shadow. Some of its strength was lost during purification, but that is for the best. Were it restored in full, it would consume you, Sylas. As it is now, it is perfect."
Sylas nodded, holding the heart reverently. "Thank you, Lady Galadriel. Without your help, my path would have ended here."
She shook her head, her silver hair shimmering in the golden light. "If you wish to thank me, then cherish Arwen well."
He smiled, his tone gentle but firm. "Please believe me, Lady Galadriel. Arwen is the desire of my heart and the light of my life."
With that, Sylas bowed deeply, then departed from Lothlórien, the Heart of Maia glowing faintly in his grasp.
Upon returning to Weathertop, he placed it beside the Philosopher's Stone in his alchemy chamber. Together, they gleamed like twin suns, the relic of divine flame and the stone of perfect transmutation.
When Felix Felicis was complete and Gandalf had returned, Sylas would finally begin his Animagus evolution: the transformation into a Phoenix.
But before that, he had to face one final trial: The Liquid Luck
Brewing Felix Felicis required precision beyond ordinary skill. Even the slightest error could render the potion deadly; its fumes alone could kill an unwary brewer.
To bridge the gap between himself and a true Potion Master, Sylas donned the Crown of Wisdom. Instantly, his mind sharpened. Every vibration in the air, every faint sound and shimmer of magic, became clear.
He began.
A pure silver cauldron stood at the center of the laboratory, runes faintly glimmering along its rim.
Into it, Sylas poured the ingredients in perfect sequence: two pints of Mandrake extract, one pint of lemon juice, Ashwinder eggshells,and seven drops of Acromantula venom.
Each addition required perfect timing and patience. To add a single ingredient too soon or too late would mean instant failure.
The Ashwinder shells were dropped in one at a time, alternating with single drops of venom, the rhythm guided not by calculation but by instinct.
Only the truly gifted could feel when to stop stirring and when to resume.
Sylas's movements were calm and deliberate. The Crown heightened his awareness to such a degree that he could sense the faint pulse of alchemical harmony within the cauldron.
At last, the mixture shimmered a bright orange.
He lowered the flame and carefully added six Fire Salamander eggs, then began the long vigil: three days and nights of constant supervision.
Each day, he stirred four times clockwise and three times counter-clockwise, maintaining perfect rhythm.
By the third dawn, the potion glowed deep crimson.
He sprinkled twenty-three amaranth petals over the surface. They sank slowly and dissolved one by one.
For the next twenty-five days, the mixture simmered on the faintest flame. Every midnight, Sylas stirred it seven times clockwise and once counter-clockwise, keeping to the ancient pattern.
Not a single ray of sunlight was allowed to touch the cauldron.
When the final night ended, he extinguished the fire and removed the cauldron from the stand. The potion had thickened into an amber-red liquid, pulsing faintly with warmth.
He filtered it three times through a cloth woven of Elven hair, a substitute for unicorn hair long lost to Middle-earth.
The strands came from none other than his brothers-in-law, Elladan and Elrohir.
After Elrond had approved Sylas's proposal to wed Arwen, the twins had tested him relentlessly in mock combat.
They did not know that Sylas, strengthened by alchemy and aided by Legilimency, could read their movements before they struck. Each time they lunged, he dodged with ease, and plucked a strand of hair for his "collection."
By the end of their training, Sylas had gathered more than enough for his work.
Arwen, watching their rivalry unfold, could only smile helplessly.
Returning to his cauldron, Sylas poured the triple-filtered potion into a vessel of pure gold, heating it gently and stirring with a golden rod.
Sylas continued his meticulous work.
He stirred patiently until the liquid in the golden cauldron turned milky white.
Then he retrieved a small crystal vial containing Glorfindel's blood. With a dropper, he drew a single drop and let it fall into the shimmering mixture.
He stirred seven times counter-clockwise with a pure silver rod, then twice clockwise. The potion gradually transformed, glowing with a golden-yellow hue.
He turned off the flame and allowed the mixture to cool before pouring it carefully into an opaque amber flask.
Next, Sylas took out a white horn from an Araw Cattle. With delicate precision, he cut off a one-inch piece and ground it into fine powder.
Since he could not be certain whether the Araw Cattle horn possessed the same alchemical properties as unicorn horn, Sylas added the powder cautiously, sprinkling it a little at a time while stirring continuously with his silver rod.
The Crown of Wisdom atop his head pulsed faintly as it reached its limit. His mind accelerated, processing countless calculations per second, his senses heightened to the faintest ripple of change within the golden liquid.
When two-thirds of the horn powder had been added, Sylas suddenly stopped.
His intuition told him the dosage was perfect.
He trusted that instinct and added no more.
The golden liquid remained steady and unchanging, its surface glimmering softly under torchlight.
At last, the manual phase of brewing Felix Felicis was complete.
Sylas sealed the amber flask and placed it in a specially prepared chamber designed for the potion's maturing phase.
The flask had to rest in complete darkness for six months. During this time, it could be bathed in moonlight, but never touched by sunlight. No sound, vibration, or presence could disturb it.
Only after half a year, when droplets naturally formed upon the surface of the liquid, would the potion reach perfection, the sign that Felix Felicis, the Liquid Luck, had been successfully born.
To ensure these conditions, Sylas converted an entire tower room. During the day, it was pitch dark, sealed against every ray of light. But at night, the walls would grow translucent, allowing silvery moonlight to flow gently over the flask.
When everything was finally in place, Sylas felt his body lighten, though his mind throbbed with exhaustion.
Felix Felicis was unlike any potion he had ever brewed. Every step had demanded precision beyond reason; each reaction balanced on a razor's edge. Even the slightest misstep could have caused catastrophic failure.
Many of the stages relied not on measured timing but on intuition, the kind of instinct only a Potion Master possessed.
Throughout the entire process, Sylas had kept the Crown of Wisdom on his head, maintaining superhuman focus. The strain was immense.
Now that it was over, his body was not tired, but his mind felt drained to the core.
He removed the Crown, locked it away, and spent three days resting in silence. Only after this period of complete mental rest did the fatigue of overuse fade away.
For the next six months, aside from occasionally checking on the potion, Sylas had little to do but wait.
He decided to use the time to resume his magical transformation experiments, specifically, developing a Thunderbird magic circulation system for the giant eagle Thorondor.
Yet one matter was even more important.
The time for the formal proposal to Rivendell was near.
This ceremony required the presence of a respected elder to serve as his representative and present the betrothal gifts to Lord Elrond. After Elrond's consent, the marriage contract would be signed.
For that, Sylas needed Gandalf.
He waited patiently, wondering when the old wizard would return.
And, as if the Valar themselves had heard his thoughts, Gandalf appeared a few days later in the fireplace of Hogwarts Castle, surrounded by sparks and a swirl of ash.
"Gandalf!" Sylas exclaimed with delight. "Where have you come from?"
The grey wizard stepped out, dusting soot from his robe, his face breaking into a familiar, wry smile.
"Ah, my impatient friend," he said with a chuckle. "I take it you're eager to marry Arwen?"
He leaned his staff against the wall and collapsed onto the nearest sofa, exhaling deeply.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I was tied up in Gondor. The Mordor army had emerged from Minas Morgul, and there were pirate raids and Haradrim attacks in the south."
He waved a weary hand as he spoke. "We recaptured Osgiliath, then crossed the river and drove the enemy from the eastern city. After that, we sailed south to crush the raiders. Only now have I had a moment's peace."
"I turned down the Regent's invitation to the celebration feast, rode Shadowfax to Lothlórien, left him to rest there, and came straight to you."
Hearing that Gandalf had come without pause, Sylas felt a swell of warmth and gratitude.
"Then rest here for now," he said kindly.
"Oh, that reminds me," Gandalf added, reaching into his spatial pouch. "I have a gift for you."
He handed the pouch over, his eyes glinting with amusement. "In Gondor, I ran into a pack of wingless Cold Dragons bred by Mordor. I slew three and swept the rest into the sea with a flood. I remembered your fondness for alchemy, so I brought these along."
Sylas peeked inside and found three Cold Dragon corpses neatly preserved within. His eyes widened slightly.
He already had more than enough winged dragons, but he accepted Gandalf's offering with a grateful smile.
"In that case," Sylas said with a grin, "you've earned yourself a proper meal. You haven't tasted dragon meat yet, have you?"
Gandalf's eyes immediately brightened.
"Then I'm in for a rare treat! Fengel once told me about his feast here in Isengard and how he ate dragon steak. This time, I'll see what the fuss is about!"
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