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After his expulsion, Yves needed to remain hidden from the academy, wherefore he had first concentrated his endeavours on artefacts that could disguise the wearer or conceal his magical or physical presence. The amount of false trails and disappointment with this endeavour were beyond measure.
He first found a hat that was claimed to make the wearer invisible. However, it only worked for the part that actually fit into the hat. So when worn, the hat would turn invisible and make it seem like half of Yves' head had been severed right off. Holding up a mirror, he could then look at his own brain whenever he pleased. It really never pleased him.
Eventually, he stumbled upon his first Cloak of Concealing. It was a dusty old cloak made from moth-eaten wool. When worn, it did make the wearer invisible — to moths. Only to moths. Its singular, somewhat random power was to repel insects attracted to wool. However, it only worked when being activated by channelling energy, so any other time it was as defenceless as any regular coat, and thrice as shabby.
For some reason, Yves could not find it in himself to part with the Socks of Invisibility. They worked, but only on the feet covered by the socks, while the rest of the body remained in plain sight. Unlike the similarly frustrating hat, the socks possessed a remarkably rare attribute — they also concealed the wearer's feet from a wizard's second sight, effectively erasing the hidden wizard’s energies.
The cloth had once been part of an actual cloak with the same rare power. It had belonged to a wizard who had tragically succumbed to a curse while seeking refuge in a secluded human habitat. The villagers, unaware of the dying visitor's true identity and the nature of his ailment, buried him without knowing that a deceased wizard must always be sent off into the void with the Ritual of the Dead.
After the man had been laid to rest and no messages or inquiries came from friends or family, the villagers eventually distributed the few belongings and pieces of clothing he had kept in his backpack. The cloak, now in the hands of a farmer's wife, ended up serving a practical purpose. As her husband was in dire need of socks and several of his pants required mending, she cut the invaluable artefact to pieces. In this way, the powerful cloak met an unexpected fate, its extraordinary abilities going unnoticed by the unsuspecting humans who repurposed its cloth.
Yves, in his search for magical artefacts, arrived much too late. All that remained of the magical cloak was a single pair of seasoned socks. Though the cloak had intricate magic that worked without draining the wearer, it required a specific incantation to activate its unique powers. To his surprise, Yves found that the socks still retained their magical abilities. He bartered these remnants of what was once an invaluable artefact in exchange for three pairs of new winter socks made from the finest wool.
At least that was the official and very, very twisted story.
Despite the fact that the socks were not what he originally sought, Yves was intrigued by the persistent irony that seemed to mock his endeavours to wander the world unnoticed. These comical artefacts only concealed the wearer's feet. When combining them with the long moth cloak, he could pretend to be floating in mid-air, and if he also wore the Hat of Invisibility and pulled it really hard all the way down over his face, he would turn into a floating headless phantom, but that was really all there is to it. This had the opposite effect of what he originally intended, which was to discreetly evade the academy.
Also, if he wanted to genuinely unsettle people, Yves could come up with far more disturbing illusions than such foolish dress up. He was starting to get good at creating monsters and weaving together illusions and shard mirrors to construct entire false landscapes, yes, gruesome settings. He could plunge you into a physical nightmare of unfathomable horror, a place where you would beg to do anything for the peace of mind that a mere floating phantom would bring you.
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Well.
Anyway.
For better or for worse, giving up on concealing artefacts had forced Yves to rely on his glass and light magic and to hone his sealing and illusion abilities to ensure he remained one step ahead of any pursuers or rivals.
With his inventory and maintenance completed, Yves eventually found himself in front of the last small corner shelf. Here lay one of the most intriguing artefacts in his lighthouse collection, a set of enchanted feathers. When waved in the air, the feathers emitted a gentle melody that had the power to soothe even the most restless soul.
When he had first learned to use his ethereal mirrors, or rather, when he had begun to experience the sickening sensations of returning to his plane, he needed these feathers for hours on end. After he had seen and simultaneously been his torn mirror self for the first time, he could not close his eyes or sleep without being overcome by terrible anxiety. He had locked away his mirrors and had not dared to use his second sight or any magic, for that matter, for days. As he got better, he was left with a deep and unreasonable fear of darkness and silence, along with an absurd addiction to the feathery sounds. Nearly three years had passed since then. After a depressing period of self-re-discovery, Yves had learned to control his fears and suppress his urges, reasonably.
Nowadays, whenever Yves approached the leathery case concealing the feathers, Midnight's observant eyes followed his every move a bit too closely for comfort. Today, she did not even attempt subtlety. Regardless of where she rested, she would leap up and trail Yves for every trip to and from the meditation crystal, which inevitably led past the corner shelf. She was not even polite about it, but made it her obvious obligation to walk between him and the shelves, to insert her presence squarely between Yves and the feathers.
Yves really wanted to prove that Midnight was exaggerating, but eventually, after several hours of researching tomes and books, he gave in. He had tried. Since morning, he had conjured a total of ten slumbering ducks, but they did absolutely nothing to calm him down. His mind was racing non-stop, continually returning to his fractured mirror, the transformation he underwent, and the split of consciousness he experienced.
What was beyond comprehension was the fact that since his return, a never-seen storm raged around the lighthouse — and the singular rocky path between the mainland and the promontory on which the lighthouse stood had disappeared, now fully flooded.
He had moved waves.
This was groundbreaking. It shattered everything Yves knew about the fundamentals of reality and magic. He had impacted this world from another dimension.
Yves found no answers, and the incessant waves of tumultuous questions threatened to pull him under. Midnight voiced her disappointment and anger through aggressive whining, but he was perfectly able to tune out her protest in anticipation of the soothing melody from the feathers. Given the recent events, Yves felt he damn well deserved a feather, thank you very much.
He took of his gloves, which were essential for working with arcane tomes and an invaluable habit of any wizard who had made educated experiences with handling artefacts. With care, he plucked the enchanted feather from its leather case. It was a vibrant blue with a soft, velvety texture. Just the sensation of finally touching it made Yves shudder. It had been so long. He had waited for so long. He had waited for much too long. As his fingertips brushed its delicate fluff, a tingling sensation coursed through them. The feather began to absorb his energy, but it was so subtle that he would hardly notice if he were not intensely fixated on the sensation.
He brought the feather to his lips and blew gently, and a beautiful melody filled the air. Yves had stood to keep the feather out of Midnight's imminent reach, but as soon as the melody emerged, he lost all strength in his legs. He did not make it to the alcove but simply melted onto the floor.
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