Ephraim Le Vieux

The donkey advanced heavily, its calloused hooves sinking into the cold sand. The wicker baskets, filled with arcane herbs, exhaled a cloying fragrance that mingled with the stench of burnt flesh and bitter ointments.

Ephraim Le Vieux held the vial with trembling fingers. As he broke the seal, the mercurial elixir rushed onto his cracked skin. It penetrated. It spread.

New muscles sprouted, silver veins traced fresh paths beneath his flesh, twisting like electric serpents. At last, Ephraim knew the glory of the titans.

The donkey, who knew the price, averted its gaze and kept walking.