DEADALUS author of AETHERBORN
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CHAPTER 215
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 18:03:20 +0000 UTC“Excuse me,” Elías was saying cheerfully, halfway across the narrow street, “could you point us toward Vellin’s Atelier? Fancy tailor, probably smells like incense and self-importance?”
Thorne waited a few paces back, half in the shadow of a shop’s overhang. The plaza they’d escaped from was still visible in the distance, a swirl of noise and color and movement. But here, in this winding side alley of Evermist, the pace slowed.
And Thorne, finally, had a moment to study the man who’d dragged him out of the chaos.
Elías was an elf. Thorne had known that the moment he saw him, anyone would. The ears made it obvious. But it was the first time he’d seen an elf this close, without armor, without distance, without a ship’s deck or patrol line between them.
He’d seen a few at the Alvar docks over the years, merchants from far-off lands, draped in silks and silver, their ships sleek and quiet. And once, a brief encounter with elven soldiers at the border, sharp-eyed, silent, and terrifying. Their eyes had looked like cut gems, reflecting light like polished glass, and their hair had shimmered like sunlight on water.
But Elías didn’t look like that.
He had ordinary brown hair, slightly messy. Eyes that were just... eyes, warm and light brown, unpolished and unremarkable. He was lean, yes, and graceful in that natural way elves always seemed to be, but there was no ethereal glow. No uncanny stillness.
Other than the slightly pointed ears and the delicate sharpness of his jawline, he looked...
Normal.
Mundane, even.
Between the two of them, Thorne was the one who stood out.
With his unnatural height. His aetheric eyes, silver-lined and unsettling. The weight of the medallion resting against his chest, dulling his true presence. It was a strange feeling, being the oddity in the room next to an elf.
Elías turned back just then, weaving his way around a small group of floating delivery crates.
He paused when he caught Thorne watching him.
“What?” he asked, cocking his head, still walking backward. “Do I have something on my face? Pastry crumbs? Charm ink?”
“No,” Thorne said simply.
“Staring, though.”
“I don’t usually see elves this close.”
Elías blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “Oh, is that what this is? Astonishment at my exotic elven beauty? Don’t worry, it fades after a few minutes.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow. “I’m not astonished.”
“Well, no. You look like someone trying to calculate the wind resistance of my skull. You always look like that?”
“I’m just used to elves looking different.”
Elías grinned. “You expected the hair, right? The glittering golden stuff. And the eyes like sapphires stuck in marble?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, those are the fancy court elves. I’m from... not that.”
Thorne didn’t reply.
Elías narrowed his eyes, mock-suspicious. “Wait. Are you disappointed?”
“Not especially.”
“Because I can try harder if you want. Say a cryptic prophecy. Gaze into the distance like I hear the voice of the forest.”
“You’re doing fine.”
Elías snorted. “And you must be a joy at parties.”
Thorne’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile. Not quite. But it was close.
Evermist was chaos. But elegant chaos. Like someone had taken a perfectly reasonable city, enchanted everything that didn’t move fast enough, and then handed it to a flock of eccentric mages with no concern for zoning laws.
Thorne and Elías walked side by side, though “walked” might have been generous. Bridges buckled upward as they approached, reshaping into gentle stairs. A floating kiosk selling sparkling cider drifted lazily across their path, its proprietor snoring on a pile of cushions.
Around them, people went about their day with a casual mastery of magic that felt almost unsettling. A girl sat at a canal-side café, sipping tea while her wand stirred the cup for her. An elderly man used a miniature storm cloud attached to the end of his staff to water the plants lining his window. A pair of students argued over the best rune for rapid hair drying, each gesturing wildly with ornate silver wands that made their words literally echo with sparkles.
Elías was loving every second of it.
“Did you see that bench?” he said, gesturing behind them. “It rearranged itself while that couple was arguing, split right between them and then drifted apart. That’s incredible. Relationship-saving furniture.”
Thorne grunted. “Or relationship-ending.”
They passed a wall where paintings changed every few minutes, cycling through portraits of people who didn’t quite look like anyone. One blinked as Thorne passed. Another rolled its eyes at Elías.
“Okay, that one was rude,” Elías muttered.
Elías pointed out an herbalist shop that used tiny floating dragons to light candles.
Thorne pointed out that they’d passed the same enchanted mailbox three times, his patience already wearing thin.
They turned a corner and nearly collided with a goat wearing spectacles and a sash that read “Department of Arcane Deliveries, DO NOT DISTRACT.”
Elías watched it pass, eyes wide. “Okay. I’m not gonna lie. I kinda love this place.”
They kept walking, at least, Elías did confidently, and Thorne followed with growing suspicion.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Thorne asked after the third bridge that led to nowhere.
“Positive,” Elías replied. “The guy said, take the stairs near the levitating garden, follow the scent of sage, and listen for the bells.”
Thorne glanced around. No bells. No sage. No stairs. They were currently standing beside what looked like a wishing fountain full of blinking eyeballs.
“Elías,” Thorne said flatly, “there is no tailor this way.”
“Okay,” Elías admitted, “but I felt confident about it.”
Thorne crossed his arms. “We’re lost.”
Elías frowned. “No, we’re just exploring with intention.”
“We’re lost with intention.”
“I told you, the guy said follow the scent of sage and listen for bells.”
“There are no bells.”
“Well maybe we scared them off.”
Thorne gave him a look. Elías gave him an unrepentant smile.
Thorne exhaled, scanned the street, and spotted a woman walking toward them. She had an air of precision, middle-aged, wand holstered at her side, carrying a crate of something that hissed and glowed faintly. Her robes bore the sigil of a local artificer’s guild, and her pace said busy but not rushed.
He stepped forward without a word.
The shift was subtle, shoulders straightening, voice warmed, expression just so. Not a performance. Not quite. More like pulling on a well-worn mask. Activating his skill Sculped Persona after so long, felt as natural as always.
“Excuse me,” he said, pitch smooth and manner easy. “We’re looking for Vellin’s Atelier. It’s our first day in the city, and I think we may have taken the scenic route.”
The woman blinked up at him. Then blinked again.
Her entire posture shifted shoulders pulling back, chin lifting slightly, as if she’d just realized she was in the presence of someone very important, or at least very charming.
“Oh, stars, of course! Of course. Vellin’s, you poor things, you’ve been walking in the wrong direction entirely.”
She giggled. Actually giggled. “But I completely understand. Evermist is a maze until you know where to look.”
Thorne gave her a faint, apologetic smile. “It’s more alive than I expected.”
“Oh, that’s well said.” She beamed, then launched into a rapid set of directions, complete with hand gestures and unnecessary commentary. Thorne gave her a polite, understated smile. “Just trying not to look completely lost.”
“Oh, don’t worry, dear, you hide it so well.” She flushed, eyes lingering a little too long. “Vellin’s is absolutely not this way. You want to take the east canal path, across the bridge with the fire lilies, down three stair levels, and it’s in a little courtyard with a marble tree. You can’t miss it!”
Thorne listened patiently. Didn’t interrupt. Nodded at the right moments.
When she finally finished, she reached out and brushed a speck off his cloak.
“You’ll find it in no time,” she said with a wink. “And if you don’t... just ask again. Preferably someone less flustered.”
Thorne inclined his head. “Thank you.”
She left, crate floating behind her, whistling.
He turned back, shedding the persona and his false smile.
Elías was standing exactly where he’d left him, mouth slightly open, eyebrows high.
“You’re good with your words,” the elf said slowly. “When you want to be.”
Thorne chuckled under his breath, walking past him.
“You have no idea.”
He thought of dinners with scheming nobles. Of playing games of flattery with assassins over poisoned wine. Of lying so well even he almost believed it.
Elías jogged to catch up. “Seriously though. That was like a charm spell without the magic.”
Thorne shrugged. “Practice.”
“You scare me a little.”
“You should.”
They found it exactly where the woman had said it would be, tucked into a quiet courtyard framed by pale marble walls and arched with flowering ivy that shimmered faintly with enchantment. A tree carved entirely of white stone stood at the center, its branches eternally in bloom, each petal a different color of silk fluttering in a wind that wasn’t there.
Above the wide double doors hung a slender, elegant sign in silver script: Vellin’s Atelier – Tailoring the Extraordinary
Thorne stared at it for a beat.
Elías exhaled in mild awe. “This place is either going to change my life or empty my wallet.”
“Both,” Thorne said, and pushed open the door.
They stepped inside and were immediately assaulted by color. The walls were lined with bolts of fabric that rearranged themselves midair. Floating mannequins drifted lazily through the space, half-dressed in robes and uniforms that shimmered like water, glowed like moonlight, or changed pattern when you blinked. Spools of thread zipped overhead, trailing golden aether-thread in looping, abstract glyphs.
A measuring tape slithered past Elías’s ankle like a curious snake. He jumped.
"Okay," he said, "not a fan of sentient tailoring tools."
Behind a long counter, an elegant figure in a high-collared coat raised a hand.
“Hold.” The voice was smooth, commanding, and somehow already disappointed. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Let the atelier see you.”
Before Thorne could even register what that meant, four floating crystals zipped toward them, circling slowly. One projected a shimmer across his shoulders. Another cast a delicate light down the length of his body. The third made a strange hum. The fourth... sniffed.
There was a moment of silence.
A man emerged from behind a rack of robes. He was tall and impeccably dressed in a robe that shifted colors with his mood, currently somewhere between garnet and deep plum. His hair was perfectly silver, tied back in a high, sharp knot, and his eyes glinted like spell-forged glass.
He stopped the moment he saw Thorne.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.”
Thorne instinctively tensed.
“You,” the man said, striding forward like he’d found a priceless artifact in a pile of garden waste. “Where have you been all my professional life?”
Thorne blinked. “I...”
“Tall. Broad. Symmetry that should be illegal. And those eyes.” Vellin stepped in closer, peering at Thorne’s face. “Aether-touched, aren’t they? No enhancement charms?”
“They’re mine,” Thorne said dryly.
“I’m in love. Professionally. Temporarily.” Vellin turned away in a dramatic swirl. “Get him on the platform. Float sketch templates three through seven.”
The tailor swept toward Thorne like a storm given human form, and Thorne caught the glint of enchanted scissors floating in his wake.
“You’ve been wrapped in boat rags. You’re tall, broad, and criminally neglected. What House?”
“Umbra,” Thorne said carefully.
The tailor spun. “Perfect. Cloaks. Shadows. Drama. We can work with that. And your friend?”
Elías waved weakly. “Still emotionally recovering from the magic measuring snake.”
“Aegis,” the tailor declared, not even waiting for confirmation. “Obviously. Height of mischief, shoulders of chaos. This way.”
They were ushered onto platforms before either of them could protest.
Thorne stepped onto the raised circular platform, which immediately lit up beneath his feet. Glowing thread diagrams rose around him, casting his silhouette in multiple styles, rotating different fits and cuts, layering cloaks and belts and subtle threadwork overlays.
“I’ll need a full wardrobe,” Thorne said.
Vellin paused mid-rant. “You don’t have one?”
“I arrived with one outfit.”
Vellin looked personally offended. “Arrest whoever let that happen.”
“I’ll also need Aetherhold uniforms,” Thorne added, voice calm.
“Oh, darling.” Vellin spun dramatically and gestured with both hands. “Dozens of options. Same base, of course. Sky blue, sky rider-cut, high-collar, the formal flap down the front. But fabrics? Accents? Enchantments? Come with me.”
They were led to a wide, curved display wall where a dozen variations of the uniform floated in place, each on a slowly rotating mannequin. All had the same regal, tailored silhouette, but with subtle differences: gold piping, reinforced shoulders, sleeker boots, runic embroidery hidden just under the collar.
Thorne stepped closer.
"This," Vellin gestured to one, "is the base model. Clean. Composed. Wards against basic elemental exposure. Water-resistant, low-flare enchantment. Charming, if you hate charm."
He moved to the next. "This one? Mid-tier. Minor self-repair. Built-in temperature regulation. The collar stiffens when insulted.”
Elías snorted.
“And this,” Vellin said reverently, stopping in front of the final mannequin, “this is the masterpiece. Astral-thread lining. Adaptive sigils. Enchanted threading to sync with your personal core’s rhythm. It can enhance focus, resist moderate spell interference, and even glow on command, but tastefully.”
Thorne stared at it.
Then quietly asked, “How much?”
Vellin rattled off a number that could have purchased a small ship.
Thorne didn’t flinch. But he did do some internal math, and that’s when the shift happened. A slight smile. A tilt of his head. His voice dropped just enough to soften.
“Perhaps,” he said smoothly, “you could help me prioritize. I wouldn’t want to offend your artistry by missing the essentials.”
Vellin turned. “Oh no. Don’t do that. Don’t turn into one of those clients.”
“Those?”
“The charming ones who try to talk me into discounts.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Thorne let his voice warm just slightly. “I just value expertise. Especially yours.”
Vellin narrowed his eyes. “You’re very good at that.”
“At what?”
“That thing you’re doing. It’s subtle. You practice?”
“Only when it matters.”
Elías watched them with open amusement. “I’d buy whatever he sold me. Honestly. I’m not even shopping right now.”
Thorne chuckled under his breath and turned back to the uniform display. “Let’s start with the basics,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about... enhancements.”
Vellin smiled like a wolf and clapped his hands.
“Oh, you’re going to be one of my favorites.”
Comments
Prokopis Manolis
That's a nice change of pace from the constant brooding, calculating characters. If I have to write “he looked with cold, calculated eyes, his face a mask of indifference” one more time… Guh! 😩
Darcyspride
Im officially in love with Elias and Vellin. We needed these humorous characters!!!
Prokopis Manolis
Starting over is definitely the smartest move. There are people out there who know him, who really know what he is. And maybe, just maybe, one of them decides to show up again. Who knows when, or why? Best to bury that past as deep as he can… and hope it doesn’t dig itself back up.
Silver Beard
Got him wearing something other than rags and a cloak again; but it works I suppose. Though I can see the urgency in getting him properly dressed; make picture hunting a lot easier. I am curious what he's going to do with House Mantle as 'his' house was entirely fabricated. It's not that he can't recall it but it was Uncle's...and this seems a prime opportunity to start over. Or will he use his Sponsor's Mantle...assuming he chooses one.
