Elias, now a lean, watchful seven-year-old, felt the palpable tension within Duke Theron's Keep. Months had passed since his last venture into the northern forests, months spent refining his Deistic Bible, consolidating his internal strength, and observing the relentless tightening of Montala's economic noose. The completion of his sacred text had imbued him with a profound sense of purpose, a quiet conviction that demanded action. He held within his small mind the blueprint for a rational, just society, and the northern communities, particularly the elusive Weaver Clan, represented the foundational stones upon which such a structure might be built. He needed to understand them more intimately, to gauge their full potential as allies, and to assess the true nature of the threats that lurked beyond the Duke's more controlled lands.
The decision had hardened within him: he would return to the north. But this time, his journey would be more than a veiled scouting mission; it would be a critical intelligence-gathering expedition, a test of his own resourcefulness, and a prelude to the wider dissemination of his truth. For such an undertaking, he needed to be prepared, armed with more than just a sharp mind and subtle magic. He needed supplies, carefully chosen and even more carefully acquired.
His initial request to Duke Theron, framed with an innocent, youthful eagerness to "learn more about the distant lands and brave people," had been met with predictable hesitation. Valerius, ever present, had scoffed, citing the dangers of the wilds for a child of Elias's station. But Elias, having perfected his art of subtle manipulation, had woven his arguments with delicate precision. He spoke of the Duke's growing concern for resources, of the need to understand all of the Duke's people, even those "beyond Montala's direct blessings." He subtly referenced the success of the recent, limited trade missions, implying his presence had brought a unique "luck" to their success. Lord Arlen, seeing the strategic benefit of Elias's presence as a seemingly harmless observer, had lent his cautious support. Eventually, the Duke, weary of Montala's incessant demands and desperate for any reliable intelligence, had relented. The expedition, nominally a more extensive timber survey and a minor trade mission, was set to depart in a fortnight. A contingent of six guards, led by a seasoned captain, and a new, more obsequious acolyte chosen by Valerius, Brother Gareth, would accompany them.
Elias knew the true preparation began long before the Duke's guards polished their armor. His focus immediately shifted to his private stores. The Bible, meticulously wrapped in treated leather and a layer of waterproofed linen, was the first and most critical item. He planned to carry it in a specially modified satchel he had been preparing in secret – a simple leather bag gifted to him by Seraphina, whose seams he had painstakingly reinforced using threads pilfered from the sewing room, and into which he had sewn a cleverly disguised, waterproof inner pocket. This pocket, accessible only by a small, hidden flap, would hold his most precious cargo.
Next came personal survival. A small, yet impossibly sharp, steel knife was paramount. He had observed the guards, their utility knives, and knew their immense value. He acquired one not by theft, but by patient observation. A grizzled guard, often napping in the barracks after night duty, possessed a small whetstone. Elias, under the guise of polishing a discarded piece of metal, had "accidentally" slipped the guard's rarely used spare knife into a loose floorboard near the guard's cot. Days later, he "found" it and, with feigned awe, presented it to the guard, who dismissed it as a misplaced item. Elias then "discovered" the exact same knife, weeks later, tucked into a pile of discarded rags near the armory. It was too small for the guards, worn but serviceable, and easily overlooked. He used his passive aetheric manipulation to make it seem less appealing, slightly duller, just enough for it to be set aside and eventually forgotten until he could retrieve it discreetly.
Flint and steel were obtained with similar stealth. He learned the stable master kept a set for lighting lanterns. Over several days, Elias, under the pretense of "helping" clean the stables, would subtly shift a small pile of hay, gradually revealing a worn, forgotten set. Once exposed, he let it sit for a day, observing. Then, in the pre-dawn hours, using his aetheric manipulation to dampen the creak of floorboards, he slipped in and retrieved it. He practiced with it in his room, meticulously, silently, until he could spark a flame with almost no sound.
Basic medical supplies were vital. He frequented the Keep's small infirmary, feigning minor scrapes and sniffles. While the healer, an elderly, short-sighted woman, bustled about, Elias would use precise, subtle air currents to dislodge small vials of dried herbs – potent pain-relievers, antiseptics – from high shelves, letting them "fall" silently into his waiting, concealed pouch. Bandages were "found" among discarded linens. He stored these in a small, oiled leather pouch, also sewn into a hidden pocket of his travel tunic.
For clothing, he sought durability and warmth. He knew the uniform of a noble ward would make him a target in the wild. He began "borrowing" discarded servants' clothes from the laundry, particularly those of boys slightly older but of similar build. These coarse woolen tunics and thick breeches were sturdy, less conspicuous, and layered well. He hid them in a loose section of his bedroom wall. He also ensured his own noble clothes were thick and practical for the journey.
Water purification was a key concern. He couldn't carry enough clean water. He needed a way to make local water potable. Through careful observation, he learned of the scullery maid's methods for purifying wash water with crushed charcoal and fine sand. Using his subtle magic, he "discovered" a small, fine mesh cloth and painstakingly (and silently) crushed charcoal into a fine powder from the kitchen hearth, storing it in another small, sealed pouch. This, combined with boiled water (if a fire could be made), would suffice.
Concentrated food was a challenge. He couldn't steal large amounts. His solution was patience. During communal meals, he would subtly tuck small portions of dried meat, hard cheese, and dense bread into his pockets, attributing it to a child's absentmindedness or "saving it for a snack later." Over weeks, this accumulated into a small but potent supply, carefully dried and wrapped in beeswax-coated cloth.
Tools and items for stealth were next. A coil of thin, strong cord (used for hanging laundry), a small, fine needle (from the sewing basket, disguised as a misplaced hair ornament), and a fishing hook (found by the stables, overlooked). These were miniature pieces of his survival puzzle. He also crafted a crude, small whistle from a hollowed piece of bone he found, knowing it could serve as a distraction or a signal.
His most ingenious acquisition was a simple, yet sturdy, small wooden flute. He had seen a stable boy playing one, and later, the boy had carelessly left it on a windowsill. Elias, with a subtle waft of aether, made it roll off the sill and disappear into a nearby bush, where he retrieved it later. This wasn't for play; he planned to use it for subtle, coded signals, or as a distraction tool, or even to create white noise to mask other sounds.
The entire process was an immense mental burden. Every acquired item, every subtle magical manipulation, every casual conversation designed to misdirect attention, added layers of paranoia. He was constantly vigilant, his senses stretched thin, listening for footsteps, analyzing shadows, calculating angles of sight. Valerius's silent presence loomed like a storm cloud, a reminder that one slip, one careless act, could unravel everything. The boy's innocent demeanor was a fragile mask, a performance maintained through sheer force of will, fueled by the conviction that his mission was paramount.
As the day of departure approached, Elias felt a strange mix of apprehension and exhilaration. His satchel, deceptively light and innocent-looking on the outside, was a compact arsenal of survival and strategy on the inside. His body, small for his age, felt honed by his daily exercises and the constant, minute application of his aether. He had prepared for every foreseeable contingency, and even for the unexpected. He knew the journey ahead would be difficult, dangerous even. But Elias was not simply a child embarking on an adventure; he was the Architect's unwitting emissary, carrying a new truth into a world desperate for it, ready to face whatever came. The stage was set, the hidden inventory complete. He was ready to leave the safety of the Keep, ready to step into the untamed wilderness, and ready for whatever trials awaited a seven-year-old boy carrying the weight of a world.