Loom and Thread & The Bleeding Chalice
The three friends hurried to the Loom and Thread, the day waning and Hazel's mind heavy.
She checked Rosa's location and was sure that the Ambrose was not heading towards the Bleeding Chalice. Then her mind drifted to her father and his departure.
He needed a new traveler's cloak and she was determined to create it for him, with a bit of a surprise
Marcel leaned close, lowering his voice. "Are you worried you can't make a traveler's cloak?." His half-smile carried an unspoken confidence, the sort that reminded Hazel why she trusted him without question.
Hazel rolled her eyes as the reached the shop. "I made my own pretty easy enough. I think I will be okay."
The bell above the door chimed softly, and the scent of fine silk, polished wood, and a faint shimmer of enchantment wrapped around her like a familiar cloak. Spools of golden, silver, and midnight blue thread lined the walls, glimmering faintly in the morning light that spilled through the windows. Mannequins displayed enchanted robes of all types in various cuts, patterns, and Lengths.
Hazel's eyes immediately found the black fabric that she needed. It was smooth and supple, with a subtle, iridescent shimmer that suggested hidden protection. She ran her fingers along the bolt, imagining the fate runes she would sew into the inner lining.
"I would like this bolt of fabric," she said softly, almost to herself. Marcel nodded approvingly, while Evervine raised an eyebrow.
"And the threads?" Evervine prompted, knowing Hazel's methodical attention to detail.
Hazel moved to the spools, selecting blue traveler's thread for durability, gold divination thread for magical resonance, and a fine black filament to integrate the runes. Each choice was deliberate, each color a layer of protection, guidance, and foresight. She thought through the extra set of fate runes she would add to the inner lining—a silent monitoring spell to watch over her father while he traveled.
And to report to her if anything happened.
Marcel leaned in, whispering, "You're really going all out, huh?"
Hazel smiled faintly. "He's going into unknown territory. I want him to be safe, and if I can… I want to know he's safe."
The clerk approached quietly, a wiry man with spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. "Ah, Hazel. I always forget about you and divination," he said, a warm, bemused tone in his voice. "You choose your materials with… insight. It's impressive."
Hazel's cheeks warmed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you."
Evervine observed silently from a few steps back, giving Hazel a brief, knowing glance. She didn't question anything; the trust between them ran deep enough that words weren't necessary. Marcel, standing closer, gave a subtle nod, acknowledging Hazel's plan without interrupting her flow.
Hazel laid out all her materials on the counter: the fabric, the three spools of thread, and a few enchanted needles that hummed faintly with latent magic. She considered her stitching sequence, the order of the runes, the precision needed to balance protection, monitoring, and discretion. This wasn't merely sewing; it was a weaving of foresight, a silent watch over someone she loved.
The clerk smiled as he wrapped her package. He looked up to her. "That will be 1,100 gold pieces young lady."
Marcel sputtered behind her and the shop keeper frowned at him over his spectacles.
Hazel offered a faint smile, as she handed him the coin, completely ignoring Marcel. She turned over the planning in her mind again: the placement of runes near the seams, the reinforcement of magical fibers, the subtle integration of protective sigils. Each decision felt like a thread connecting her concern for her father with her abilities, her love, and her training.
This cloak would not merely be a garment—it would be a silent guardian.
As they left Loom and Thread, Hazel's thoughts lingered on the final design, while Marcel and Evervine walked alongside, their presence a steadying influence.
Hazel, Marcel, and Evervine followed the narrow, shadowed lane at the far end of central street of StarCrest. Hazel had already checked her charm and she could tell that Rosa was already moving in that direction.
She and the others had to get into the Bleeding Chalice before the other three arrived.
The streetlamps flickered faintly, struggling to pierce the mist that curled along the cobblestones. At the lane's end, leaning precariously to one side as if weighed down by decades of secrets, sat the Bleeding Chalice.
The building was crooked, its wooden beams twisted like gnarled fingers and the stonework cracked in jagged lines. Three windows punctuated the front—a round window near the roof, a triangular one below it, and a long, narrow window that ran nearly the height of the crooked door. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the chimney, curling unnaturally as if dancing to a silent tune. The whole structure seemed poised to collapse, yet it had endured—somehow—through centuries.
"It's smaller than I expected," Hazel murmured, adjusting the strap of her satchel. "I hope we can find a place to blend in without standing out."
Evervine smirked. "You always say that, and somehow, you manage. Trust me, Hazel, once we're inside, you won't have to worry about standing out."
Marcel, as usual, offered no reassurance beyond a shrug, already scanning the darkened alley for movement. Hazel took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tingle of anticipation. She touched the small purple staff strapped to her belt, the black runes scrolling subtly along its length. Its power hummed faintly under her fingertips, ready to help her as needed.
They pushed the door open together. The creak of the hinges echoed unnaturally, reverberating through the tavern's surprisingly vast interior. Despite the building's ramshackle exterior, the inside was enormous, stretching wide and high, with low beams overhead and walls that seemed to shimmer with a faint, magical glow. Candles floated along the walls, their flames bending and twisting as if caught in a gentle, invisible wind. Shadows danced across the room, but never in a threatening way—they almost seemed to whisper, as if the building itself were aware of the new visitors.
Patrons hunched over mugs, whispering in low tones, while some hunched figures shuffled in corners, indistinct but alive with motion. Hazel immediately felt the familiar pull of magic—a subtle layer of enchantments wrapped around the room, protective but curious, like the tavern itself was watching them, evaluating their intent.
"This place…" Evervine whispered, "it's alive, isn't it?"
"I'd call it sentient," Hazel replied, her eyes flicking around the room. "Not necessarily aware of itself, but it knows we're here."
Hazel quickly retrieved a small vial of the chameleon potion from her satchel. With careful precision, she uncorked it and drank, feeling the warmth crawl through her veins. Her form shimmered and wavered, the edges of her body blending with the surrounding shadows. She glanced at Marcel and Evervine—they followed suit, their forms paling into transparency, almost ghostlike.
"Too small for all three of us to stay invisible and not bump into someone," Hazel muttered under her breath. They quickly spotted a table in a dark corner, as they moved to it the door swung open and Rosa and the twins entered.
Evervine frowned. "They are going to the opposite side of the room.
Hazel smiled.
She tapped the staff gently against the floor, murmuring the incantation. The runes pulsed with dark light, and a soft hum filled the room only they could perceive.
The staff was clever: by calling out a name, the holder could hear any conversation that person was engaged in, as if the staff itself bent sound around them. Hazel whispered Rosa's name, and suddenly, the tavern's ambient noise faded into the background. She could hear every careful word, every subtle hesitation, even the slight intake of breath as Rosa gestured toward Temperance and Timothy.
"Did you find out about the ingredients," Rosa said, her voice low.
Timothy nodded, "Her name is Sable Fenwick. She is a member of the main branch of the family, the Fenwicks are herbalists, apothecaries, and herbologists. She should be here soon. She will only trade in talismans, no gold."
"I have three," Rosa said, producing them from a small, worn pouch. Hazel's ears picked up the subtle clinking of metal and stones. She looked to Evervine and Marcel with a shrug. It would seem she had not thought of everything. They could not see the talismans but they could feel the three different magical signatures. One was cold and dark, the other vibrant but heavy, and the third reminded her of Shylah's friend Fawkes.
They agreed to meet this member of the Fenwick family at 7 o'clock in an abandoned part of town now called Old StarCrest. This was after hours so the friends would complete their observations from the dreamscape.
They exited the Bleeding Chalice as quietly as they had entered, stepping into the misty alley. The crooked sign swung gently above the doorway, creaking in rhythm with the faint wind. Hazel's eyes lingered on it, almost remembering the magical hum inside, before turning to the next stop on their path, Star Academy's great library.
The Bleeding Chalice had given them enough information—and enough foreboding—to know that the night was far from over.