"In addition to precise astrological signs and intricate rituals, the creation of the Philosopher's Stone also demands certain elements and conditions," Elrond said gravely in the Hall of Fire at Rivendell. The warm glow of the flames lit his ageless features as he spoke.

"I have nearly deciphered the meaning of the runes on your blueprint," he continued. "According to their teaching, the Philosopher's Stone requires three primordial essences and four elemental powers. None of these can be absent, or the work will remain incomplete."

Sylas leaned forward, curiosity sharp in his eyes. "And what are these three essences and four elements, my lord?"

"The three primordial essences," Elrond replied, his tone tinged with admiration, "are the Salt of the Body, the Mercury of the Spirit, and the Sulfur of the Soul. The four elements are those that bind all of Arda: water, fire, air, and earth."

He paused, as though considering the wisdom of the ages. "I do not know which sage first devised the Philosopher's Stone, but it is plain that the one who did sought far more than mere immortality. He wished to use the Stone as a key to unlock the secrets of the universe itself, to achieve spiritual harmony, the sublimation of the soul, the union of matter and spirit. Eternal life, compared to that, is only a byproduct."

Sylas frowned, astonished. In his mind, the Philosopher's Stone was an object of legend: a stone that granted immortality and turned base metals into gold. But Elrond's explanation… this was something far greater, and far stranger.

Wasn't the Philosopher's Stone supposed to grant immortality and transmute everything? How could there be such an explanation? Doubtful, Sylas told Elrond about Nicolas Flamel's situation.

Elrond thought for a moment, then shook his head and said, "I do not believe so. The Stone you describe is likely but a shadow of the true Philosopher's Stone, a half-finished work. For the act of creation itself is as much a spiritual trial as it is a craft. The maker must unify body, soul, and spirit at the precise moment of completion. Only then can the Philosopher's Stone be perfect.

"Your Flamel may indeed have prolonged his life, but if his heart was not wholly at peace, if he had not attained harmony, then his Stone was flawed."

Sylas drew a sharp breath. 'A semi-finished Stone? Even Nicolas Flamel, after centuries, could not perfect it?'

A wave of doubt settled on him, followed by distress. If even Flamel had failed to reach spiritual harmony, what chance did he? He shook the thought away with a wry smile. 'Well, a flawed Stone is better than none. At worst, it will keep me alive long enough to finish the true work later.'

He glanced at Elrond again. "But tell me, lord, these three essences, Salt of the Body, Mercury of the Spirit, and Sulfur of the Soul, what are they truly? Surely not the common substances their names suggest?"

Elrond inclined his head. "Correct. They are not mere salt, quicksilver, or brimstone. Rather, they are manifestations of unity, matter fused with spirit. The Salt of the Body is the distillation of physical life, Mercury of the Spirit is the flow of memory and thought, and Sulfur of the Soul is the fire that burns within all living things."

Sylas's brow furrowed. "And where might one find such things?"

"The Mercury of the Spirit," Elrond explained, "may be sought at the Grey Havens, upon the western shore. There, where Elves begin their final journey into the West, the air is heavy with farewells. It carries the weight of centuries, the ache of memory, and the release of longing. That is the essence of Mercury. Círdan the Shipwright will understand, and perhaps grant you aid. Of the three, this is the easiest to obtain."

He paused, then his tone darkened. "The Sulfur of the Soul, however, is another matter. It represents the fire of the spirit, and can only be found where souls linger in unrest. The most accursed place in Arda is such a place, he Paths of the Dead beneath the White Mountains. There dwell the Oathbreakers, cursed by Isildur when they betrayed Gondor and refused to stand against Sauron. Their spirits, bound by that broken oath, can never find rest."

Elrond's eyes grew grave. "To seek Soul Sulfur there, you must walk the Road of the Dead. Even I would not dare enter lightly. Should you go, you must be prepared in heart and mind."

Sylas nodded slowly. Of course he had heard of the legend. The Men of the Mountains had sworn upon the Black Stone of Erech to aid Gondor in its hour of need. But when the Dark Lord rose, they faltered, fearing his wrath more than the wrath of men. For their treachery, Isildur cursed them: no rest, no peace, until the oath was fulfilled. And so their shades haunted the White Mountains, guarding the road, barring the living from entry.

Many had dared the path. None had returned. Among them, even Baldor, son of Brego, second King of Rohan. He had sworn boldly that he would walk the Paths of the Dead, but he vanished into the shadows, never to be seen again.

Until the days leading up to the War of the Ring, when Gondor stood in peril, Aragorn, at Elrond's urging, ventured into the Paths of the Dead. Bearing Andúril, the reforged sword of Narsil, and invoking the authority of Isildur's line, he summoned the Oathbreakers to fulfill their ancient vow and fight against Sauron.

"Where can I find the Salt of the Body?" Sylas asked, unease flickering in his eyes. Elrond had saved this essence for last, and that worried him.

Elrond's expression grew solemn. "Salt of the Body represents stability and vitality. It is most likely to be found where life itself first began.

"The birthplace of the Elves, Cuiviénen, was drowned long ago in the War of Wrath at the end of the First Age. The birthplace of the Dwarves is known only to the Valar who shaped them, and they were later placed in the deep mountains until the Elves awoke.

"The only place left where it may still be found is Hildórien, the cradle of Men."

At this, Elrond's tone became grave. "But Hildórien lies far to the East, and its location has been long forgotten in the shifting tides of mortal history. That land now lies under the shadow of Sauron. If you go there, you must be cautious. You have opposed him more than once already, he will hate you beyond measure. One misstep, and you may be lost."

Sylas inclined his head with equal seriousness. "I understand, Lord Elrond. Thank you. Without your wisdom, I would never have learned these things so swiftly."

'Truly,' Sylas thought, 'having such an elder is like holding a treasure.' Left to his own fumbling, he would have needed decades to grasp what Elrond explained in an evening.

Though he had explained the essences in detail, Elrond still sighed. "To speak plainly, I would rather you waited. When Lady Galadriel completes the purification of the Balrog's Heart, you may use its eternal flame to forge the Fire of Nirvana and claim longevity without venturing into peril.

"The making of the Philosopher's Stone is fraught with danger. The Paths of the Dead and the far East are not places I would wish you to walk. I cannot bear to imagine Arwen's heart broken should you fall."

Sylas raised his head, gaze steady. "Lord Elrond, I promise you, I will never throw myself into reckless peril, nor give Arwen cause for grief."

Elrond studied him for a long moment, then nodded, forcing a faint smile. "Then I will trust your word."

They turned next to the four elements.

"Water, fire, and air are easily gathered," Elrond explained. "Lady Galadriel's ring, Nenya, bears the power of water. Mithrandir's ring, Narya, commands fire. And here," he lifted his hand, revealing Vilya, the sapphire Ring of Air, "is the power of wind."

At his gesture, the hall stirred as a swirl of air coalesced in his palm, forming a tiny storm of shimmering light.

"But the Earth element," Elrond continued, "that you must find for yourself."

"The Earth element?" Sylas frowned. "How is it to be found? When Celebrimbor forged the Three, why did he not make a Ring of Earth as well?"

Elrond shook his head. "I cannot answer that. Only this I know: the Earth element must be a treasure born of the earth itself, extraordinary by nature, not by craft."

Sylas thought for a moment, then drew from his satchel the mithril mother-stone. "Does mithril count? It was wrought from the deep places of the world."

Elrond's brows rose in surprise, though he quickly shook his head. "I did not expect you to carry such a treasure. Yet mithril, for all its worth, is the product of a unique mingling of powers, shaped by divine fire and shadow, not born purely of the earth."

Sylas considered, then reached into his cloak and drew forth another jewel. It shone with a pure white light, brilliant as starlight caught in stone.

Elrond's eyes widened. "The Arkenstone…"

Sylas nodded. "The Heart of the Mountain. A gem born of the earth's depths. Will this serve?"

Elrond did not ask how the Arkenstone, symbol of Durin's kingship, had come into Sylas's possession. Instead, he took the gem into his hands and studied it carefully. The light of the stone shimmered across his ageless face, until at last he smiled faintly.

"It seems fate favors you, Sylas. The Heart of the Mountain truly carries the essence of the earth. With it, the four elements are complete."

Sylas felt his heart lift at Elrond's words. Though the memory of Thorin's madness weighed on him, he had taken the Arkenstone long ago for safekeeping. He had not expected that today, by strange fortune, it would become the final piece of his alchemical quest.

"What do you intend to do next?" Elrond asked.

"I'll begin with the easier paths, then move toward the harder ones," Sylas replied thoughtfully. "First, I will travel west to the Grey Havens in search of the Mercury of the Spirit. After that, I must walk the Paths of the Dead in the White Mountains to obtain the Sulfur of the Soul. Only then will I journey into the Far East, to Hildórien, in search of the Salt of the Body."

Elrond inclined his head in approval. "A wise order of steps. If you go to the Grey Havens, you should first speak with Lord Círdan. He is the eldest and wisest of our kind, older even than Galadriel, and he once sat upon the White Council. If you face difficulties that cannot be solved by craft or strength, seek him. He will not refuse you."