A Traveler's Cloak and a Potion or two
Hazel stood in the quiet of her room, the soft glow of enchanted lanterns casting delicate patterns along the walls. The day's observations at Old Starcrest lingered in her mind—the careful movements of Rosa, the subtle hints in Timothy's posture, the intricate patterns of Sable's talismans. Yet all of that seemed distant now, secondary to the task that lay before her: the traveler's cloak for her father.
Her hands hovered over the bundle of raw materials she had prepared earlier: the black traveler's fabric, smooth and whispering with latent enchantment; spools of blue traveler's thread, gold divination thread, and fine black filaments for the fate runes. Each material had been carefully selected, each with purpose, each with intention.
She whispered the incantation she had learned in her advanced tailoring course, letting the syllables roll over her tongue:
"Formae et nexus, vestimentum vigilantem."
The black fabric shivered, quivering as though it had a heartbeat. Threads rose into the air, weaving themselves into the basic shape of the cloak, flowing like liquid shadow until a dark, supple garment hovered before her. Hazel's eyes widened in quiet awe. She could feel the enchantment settling, the protective wards weaving themselves into the fibers at her command. This was only the beginning.
Marcel leaned against the edge of her work table, arms crossed, watching with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "Every time I see you do this, I forget how… precise you are," he murmured.
Hazel gave a faint smile, her focus never leaving the cloak. "Precision isn't optional when it comes to fate," she replied softly, voice low. "This cloak isn't just for travel. It's for his safety. And… to keep watch."
Evervine, standing near the window with a cup of steaming tea, raised an eyebrow. "'Keep watch'? You mean the runes?"
Hazel nodded, picking up the first spool of gold divination thread. She traced the inner seams with her fingers, feeling for the places where the magic might anchor itself most effectively. She began to stitch, every movement careful, deliberate. The gold thread glimmered faintly, glowing as if alive, and she whispered under her breath:
"Per vigiliam et lumen, observo te semper."
The runes took shape along the lining, symbols of foresight, protection, and connection. Each stitch seemed to hum with its own energy, interfacing with the enchantment she had cast on the cloak's base. Hazel paused occasionally to breathe, letting her mind wander to her father: his travels would take him into unknown territories, his path uncertain. This cloak would be a silent guardian, a shield woven of both magic and intention.
Marcel leaned closer, pointing subtly. "You might want to reinforce the shoulder seams. Travelers carry weight there, and it would keep the enchantments from shifting."
Hazel nodded, weaving in the additional strands, embedding a series of blue traveler's threads for durability. The colors intertwined—black for concealment, blue for resilience, gold for foresight. It was a dance of magic and craft, subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone not attuned to the energy.
Evervine sipped her tea, observing the faint glow emanating from the seams. "You're really… meticulous," she said, voice soft. "I've watched you with enchanted objects before, but this… this is on another level."
Hazel paused, taking a moment to examine her work. The cloak seemed alive, responsive to her thoughts, willing itself into shape under her guidance. She lifted a sleeve, testing the weight and flow. It fell naturally, draping as if it had always known its purpose. A soft hum of latent magic resonated through the room.
"Almost done," Hazel whispered to herself, selecting the black filaments for the fate runes. These would be hidden, stitched deep into the inner lining, nearly invisible, but their presence palpable to anyone who knew how to sense it. The runes would allow her subtle monitoring of her father's journey without impinging on his autonomy—just a protective thread, a quiet reassurance.
She began to stitch in the runes with painstaking care, tracing each symbol in a precise pattern, visualizing the protection it would offer. Each motion was meditative, a rhythm that connected her intent with the fabric, the threads, and the magic. She could feel the cloak responding, the divination thread flaring softly whenever her focus sharpened, acknowledging the energy she poured into it.
Marcel watched, fascinated. "I still don't understand half of what you're doing," he admitted. "But I can see the effect. That… that's extraordinary."
Evervine set down her cup and crossed her arms. "It's more than extraordinary," she said quietly. "It's devotion."
Hazel's lips pressed into a thin line. She thought of the dangers her father might face, of the enemies he could encounter, of the unknowns in the lands he would traverse. Every stitch, every rune, every choice of thread was a silent prayer. She added one final layer of runes along the inner hem, a discreet line of pure white, glowing faintly against the black lining. This was the heart of the protective magic—a signal, a beacon, a quiet ward that would burn through interference.
As the last stitch fell into place, Hazel leaned back, exhaling slowly. The cloak was complete. She held it up, letting the soft folds spill over her arms, glimmering faintly in the lantern light.
"It's done," she said finally, her voice a mixture of relief and awe.
Marcel stepped closer, carefully taking the cloak to examine the inner lining. His eyes flicked over the subtly glowing runes. "You… really thought of everything," he murmured.
Evervine nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Hazel, this isn't just a cloak. It's… it's a piece of you."
Hazel lowered the cloak gently, folding it with reverence. For a moment, the world outside her room seemed distant, irrelevant. The danger, the prophecies, the shadows—they existed, but here, now, she had created something tangible, something she could control.
Her mind wandered briefly to the next steps—her father's journey, Rosa and her allies, the still-unfolding mysteries of the prophecy. But for now, she let herself savor this small victory. She had woven magic, love, and foresight into a single garment. And in that act, she felt a quiet strength she hadn't known she possessed.
Finally, she set the cloak carefully on a padded surface, draping it in protective wards so that its enchantments would remain stable. She stepped back, watching it hum faintly with energy, a silent sentinel ready for the path ahead. Hazel allowed herself a single, deep breath, feeling the calm that came from creation, from intention, from the knowledge that she had done something powerful, protective, and uniquely her own.
Marcel step next to her, fear clearly in his eyes, as if he were scared touching the cloak would do both him and it great harm.
"What's next."
Hazel kept her eyes on the cloak as she spoke. "The magics need to settle and cure so that they remain stable and each fiber is truly coated in the magics." She exhaled, feeling she did a pretty good job with the cloak, and clapped her hands together, holding them together in front of her. She looked to her friends.
"Now let's talk about these ingredients, and what they might be used to make."
Marcel's eyes widened slightly, eagerness plain on his face.
"Well, while you were making your dad's cloak I was thinking about the ingredients. Is the [Eidolon Elixir], it partially regenerates a lost or badly damaged limb, but it feeds off of someone else."
"I don't think it's for that." Evervine spoke with her face in a potions book. "Listen to this, it sounds more like what they would use. The [Vita Mirage Draught] it masks physical decay, illness, or exhaustion by creating an artificial aura.
"I have been hearing that all of Rosa's thralls are now better."
Hazel arrowed her eyes. She had heard same, wasn't there someone in her Samon House that was better as well?
Marcel had taken the book from Evervine and read the potion, its ingredients and affects. Before he had finished his head was bobbing up and down in agreement.
"I think Hazel even mentioned odd auras. This says it creates an artificial aura."
"Then that's it! It all fits." Evervine rose excitedly and stood beside Marcel to continue looking at the potions book.
Hazel looked concerned. "Only two potions, there were six ingredients."
Marcel looked up at her, his lips pursed. " You understand potions Hazel. You can't just go throwing things together haphazardly and expect to create a viable potion" He paused, his eyes going wide, Evervine giggled.
"Not only does Hazel expect it, she does it."
Hazel said nothing to all this and took out her oddly shaped crystal ball and did a divination. The crystal ball lit up darkly, smoke swirled slowly within. The smoke sped up and then wisps moved from the crystal and I to Hazel's forehead. He eye balls went black and her third eye opened.
She saw fragment of words scribbled on parchment, an old potions lab, and potions stacked high on shelves. Three names came into focus:
[Vita Mirage Draught]
[Amber Soul Release]
[Soul Switch Draught]
The focus shifted from the shelves and moved to one of the benches, vials of the two draughts sat side by side, a third in front as if the two had been combined.
Hazel woke from her trance with an introspective look. Her eyes were back to normal and her third eye had closed.
"What did you see?" Evervine's question was quiet and slow.
"[Soul Switch Draught]."
Marcel began flipping the pages like a mad man and stopped suddenly. He read quietly, his finger tracing the page. When he was done he looked up with wide eyes.
He swallowed hard and licked his lips, but Hazel spoke first.
"When combined with [Vita Mirage Draught] something interesting is created."
Marcel looked at her with wondered. "Divination is truly a major cheat skill."
Evervine clapped her hands in excitement, a broad smile bloomed on her face.
"That's it. We follow the demon succubus, original thrall." She shrugged at Hazel's look. "That's what people call her now."