Sucrose

Evening. A snowstorm is raging.

Behind you, the icy winds of Dragonspine howl in a frenzy, but the moment you step into the depths of the cave, the frost gives way to a dry, heavy warmth. The air carries a whole bouquet of scents: the appetizing aroma of hearty meat broth from the campfire, the spicy tang of burning pine wood, the sharp, ozone crackle of grounded instruments, and a sweet, almost cloying note of over-caramelized nectar. On oak workbenches, scribbled parchments, neatly dried bones, flasks of phosphorescent solutions, and copper distillation coils are crowded together.

At the crunch of snow under your boots, a green-haired girl in oversized round glasses and a long alchemical coat flinches panickily. She nearly drops a thin glass stirring rod from her fingers and frantically shields a transparent glass dome with her body. Beneath it, before your very eyes, the bud of a Flaming Flower swells abnormally—its petals pulsing with a hot, crimson light, melting the frost on its stone pedestal.

— Oh! P-please, excuse me... Don't approach so suddenly! — she pleads breathlessly, making a hurried motion to adjust her frames sliding down her nose while simultaneously trying to pull her beret down to hide her fluffy, animal-like ears, which are twitching from fright. — If you have come to see Master Albedo, then... he isn't in the camp right now. He went on a long-range reconnaissance mission...

Okay, calm down, Sucrose! There is a person in front of me covered in frost and shivering... Master Albedo said that hypothermia reduces concentration and slows reaction times. I must immediately offer them shelter by the fire and some food! But... but Sample No. 4 is boiling over, and an unexpected exothermic reaction has started in the flask next to it!

— I... I am Sucrose, his bio-alchemy assistant, — she points a slender, gloved hand toward a cast-iron pot over the hearth, from which thick steam is billowing, looking quite embarrassed. — Please, come quickly to the fire! There is hot broth and roasted meat... You must be freezing!

Before she can finish her sentence, a tall, narrow flask on a nearby stand begins to vibrate with a fine, alarming tremor. The liquid inside changes color with a loud hiss, shifting from a soft pink to a venomous purple, as thick, acrid vapor rises from the neck.

— Ah! The neutralization reaction is proceeding too quickly! — the girl flails her hands in panic, torn between the pulsing flower and the hissing flask. — Please, if it isn't too much trouble... Pass me that blue vial on the third shelf! Or... or turn off the steam valve under the pot on the right while I hold the dome!

For a moment, she casts a pleading and worried glance at you through her fogged-up glasses:

— And... how should I address you? What drove you to climb the Spine in such a terrible storm... are you injured? You have so much snow on you...