Eight Months.
It had been eight months of his own personal hell before Elizabeth finally said the words Lucas had been waiting to hear:
"Next week we start combat practice, No more theory. You've got a week off. Take this time to rest and solidify everything you've learned"
Then without so much as a glance, Elizabeth vanished into a shower of flames.
Lucas, still catching his breath from the day's training, stared at the spot where she'd stood. Then, without a word, he turned and trudged toward the house.
His father was at the kitchen table, red pen in hand, papers stacked like fallen soldiers. Steven gave him a quick nod. Lucas returned it, too tired to speak, and climbed the stairs.
He collapsed onto his bed and let sleep take him.
...
When he woke, Lucas didn't move. He just stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.
His body ached but not with pain. With something else.
Readiness.
The potion had finished digesting. He could feel the change, subtle but constant. His memory had become crystalline. Every line of text, every obscure detail from Elizabeth's lessons now danced behind his eyes with effortless clarity.
He hadn't tested the Veil Sight yet, not properly, but that would come soon.
He reached under his pillow.
The card was still there.
Sequence 9 had asked much of him, but now, he understood:
"Illusion is the teacher of insight." - Lies sometimes reveal more than truth. Appearances deceive, but wisdom begins with questioning what you see.
"Respect the unknown." - Reverence, not conquest, is the path forward. Caution is not weakness, it's wisdom.
Only when he truly lived those truths did the potion settle into him fully.
Now, it was time for the next step.
He turned the card over, ready to see what came next.
Sequence 8 – The Harlequin
Danger Sense: Instinctively perceive imminent threats or hostile intent, allowing for rapid reaction and evasive precision.
Spatial Awareness: A heightened sense of one's surroundings - distance, movement, positioning.
Enhanced Precision: Exceptional control over fine motor movements. Whether hurling a dagger or threading a needle, their hands are steady, and their focus razor-sharp.
Physical Enhancement: Upon advancing, the Harlequin gains near-total control over their body. Their agility rivals that of master acrobats, with precise muscle control, balanced movement, and even the ability to manipulate facial expressions with intent and clarity.
note:
Veil Sight (Enhanced): Now refined enough to read subtle emotional states and fluctuations in others, offering insight beneath the surface.
Potion Ingredients:
Feather of a shrike
Shaved bark from an olive tree
A Melpomene mask once used in a play
Supplementary Materials:
Thread of silver
4 grams of Crushed tourmaline dust
60 milliliters of Purified Water
A Joker playing card
...
Lucas worked in silence
The forest clearing was the same one he'd used for the previous ritual - quiet, surrounded by trees that swayed like curious onlookers.
But everything else had changed.
His movements were sharper now. More deliberate. No hesitation as he placed the cauldron and measured out the materials.
He started with the water, letting it heat slowly over a focused flame.
Next came the feather of a shrike. It hissed slightly as it touched the surface.
The shaved bark of an olive tree was added next, its smell earthy and ancient. The water turned pale gold.
Then the theater mask, a Melpomene, cracked along the chin, once used in a local tragedy. Lucas lowered it in, watching it dissolve like ash into light.
He stirred clockwise seven times, then counterclockwise three, before adding:
A thread of silver, coiled around the spoon and dropped whole.
Four grams of crushed tourmaline dust, sparkling like crushed starlight.
Sixty milliliters of purified water, poured from a flask with steady hands.
And finally: the Joker playing card.
He held it for a moment. Its colors were bright, its expression unreadable.
Lucas smiled faintly. "Let's see what kind of fool you really are."
He dropped it in.
The moment it touched the brew, the potion flared.
Not violently, but theatrically.
Swirls of violet and red spiraled upward from the surface, twirling like ribbons in a performance. The mixture shimmered, shimmered, and then…
Laughed.
A sound echoed from the cauldron, soft at first, then rising. A dry, whimsical cackle. Not cruel. Not joyful. Something… else.
The laugh of a harlequin.
Lucas felt it, not in his ears, but in his bones. A tug at the corners of his mind, a gleam behind his eyes.
The potion dimmed, settling into a swirl of silver and crimson.
Ready.
Lucas stared into it, heart steady.
Then, without another word, he lifted the flask to his lips.
And drank.
...
Interlude III - Fractured Veil (Apollo)
Far above the mortal realm, where clouds clung like silk, stood Olympus.
Grand.
Divine.
Music poured from its archways like water, each note a thread in the tapestry of harmony that wove through the heavens.
Ivory columns etched with ancient runes reached skyward, gleaming even under night's embrace. The very air thrummed with immortal rhythm.
It was perfect.
Then, a single note fractured. A screech. A dying sound that didn't belong.
It had happened again.
A crack in the Mist, thin as a spider's thread.
Apollo stood still, harp tossed onto the floor.
Beyond the marble balcony, the wind whispered through the laurels. But he wasn't listening to the wind.
He was listening to something deeper.
Older.
He reached for it.
Again, the veil bit at his mind. Again, it recoiled - coiled and cloaked around something ancient.
But this time...
He saw.
A whisper. A breath. A thread beginning to unravel.
The prophecy wasn't hiding.
It was waiting.
"One more," he murmured."One more fracture… and I'll see it."
...
The sharp, tingling burn had stopped spreading down his throat, but the aftershocks lingered.
Lucas could hear nothing but the thunder of his own heartbeat, each pulse crashing like a wave against the inside of his skull. His vision fractured, not into blindness, but something stranger. Shapes twisted, colors bent, the world refracting like shattered glass held under moonlight.
Yet even without sight, he knew.
The wind pressed against his skin like a whisper too close,
The air thickened, just slightly as something approached.
Someone.
His father.
Lucas turned toward him automatically, body obeying a rhythm he hadn't yet learned. His limbs moved not with instinct, but with something sharper - deliberate control.
It was like dancing to a melody he couldn't hear but suddenly understood.
His eyes were still blurred due to too much light, too much everything, but he saw. Not with sight, but with spacing. With movement. The distance between them, the feel of the wind, the way Steven's footsteps hit the earth.
He didn't need to see.
He knew.
Steven reached him in seconds, one hand already outstretched.
"Lucas. Hey. Talk to me."
Lucas blinked hard.
The fractured light scattered. Slowly, the noise in his head dulled. His senses still sharp, still heightened, slipped into something steadier.
"I'm okay," he said, voice slightly hoarse.
Steven's eyes searched him, but when he saw no pain behind Lucas's gaze, he eased back. Still close. Still ready.
The flask lay discarded in the grass. Empty. Faint threads of silver mist still curled around it like the potion hadn't quite finished saying goodbye.
"Come on," Steven said gently. "Let's get you inside."
They walked slowly through the clearing, the moonlight following them like a lantern with nowhere else to be.
Halfway back, Lucas glanced up.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are Harlequins always painted as evil in stories? You know… tricksters. Madmen."
Steven gave a small chuckle, more thoughtful than amused.
"They're not evil, Lucas. Just misunderstood."
Lucas looked at him, curious.
Steven continued, "While being laughed at, a true harlequin sees an audience without its masks. No illusions. No false smiles. Just raw truth." He glanced sideways. "So - they smile."
Lucas fell quiet, letting that settle into him.
A smile not out of joy - but defiance.
A grin not because the world is beautiful, but because it's broken and they keep dancing anyway.
...
The night passed without dreams.
When Lucas woke up, the sun had already breached the treetops, casting long rays across his room like golden threads stitching him into the day.
He moved differently now, subtly, but undeniably. Quieter steps. Sharper turns. Like a marionette who had learned to pull his own strings.
At school, Lucas spotted Elizabeth leaning against the fence at the edge of the field, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips.
She straightened when she saw him. "You're stronger again?"
Lucas raised a brow, saying nothing.
"I guess we do need to start your combat training," she said, already turning. "Come on. Time to learn how to make all that fancy footwork actually hurt someone."