The workshop smelled of cloves and old iron. Alaric's hands moved with the patience of someone who had stirred potions before continents drifted apart. The liquid in the beaker swirled violet, then green, then settled into a shade that matched the air around the Shoggoth's core. Shogg hovered in the corner. Its form didn't ripple with anger or hunger. It rippled with confusion—a slow, churning motion like a question without a shape. "You are making a color of me," it said. Not accusatory. Just observing. Like a child watching rain and saying, 'This is wet.' Alaric didn't look up. "I'm making a color of your uncertainty." The Shoggoth's tendrils retracted slightly. "I am not uncertain." "You are everything uncertain. You just don't know the word for it yet." Alaric lifted the beaker and tilted it toward the candlelight. The liquid caught the flame and held it, suspended, like a thought that refused to land. Shogg's eyes dimmed. "I was not made to feel this." "No," Alaric agreed, setting the beaker down. "You were made to help. But help without restraint is just another kind of flood." He reached for a small jar of dried petals—something that smelled like forgiveness and distance. He crushed them between his fingers and let the dust fall into the potion. The violet deepened into something almost black, then cleared. "You will learn," Alaric said, finally meeting Shogg's luminous gaze. "Not because I teach you. But because you are already asking the right questions." Shogg's form stilled. For a moment, the tendrils hung motionless. Then one extended, slow and careful, and hovered over the beaker without touching it. "What color is that?" it asked. Alaric smiled. "That is the color of a boundary you chose not to cross." The Shoggoth pulled its tendril back. The workshop settled into a silence that felt less like absence and more like beginning. Outside, the Okanogan wind stirred the dust. Inside, something was taking shape. Alaric reached for another jar. There was still so much to teach. And for the first time, he thought the Shoggoth might actually be listening.