The old man led Daron through a creaky wooden door into the back of the shop. A raised platform stood in the center of the cluttered room, surrounded by bolts of fabric, tailoring tools, and half-finished garments. The air smelled of mothballs and old wool.
"Up you go, my boy," Edmond said, gesturing to the platform. "If you would be so kind as to remove your… interesting clothing so I can take your measurements."
Daron hesitated for a moment. He didn't like undressing in front of others, but Edmond regarded him with a grandfatherly patience, his wrinkled face kind behind his spectacles. At last, Daron decided to climb onto the platform.
With mechanical movements, he removed the colorful arrangement of clothing he got from the hospital, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air prickled his bare skin. He avoided the old tailor's eyes, staring straight ahead at a mannequin draped in pinstriped fabric.
"Gods..." Edmond let out a small gasp as he saw Daron's body.
His thin frame was covered in black scars, angry lines crisscrossing his chest and abdomen, arms, back and legs. The unnatural color stood out starkly against his pale skin. Marks of the unspeakable tortures he had endured not long ago.
Daron clenched his fists at his sides, jaw tight. The scars felt still fresh, the memories raw.
He waited for the old man to say something-- express pity or revulsion. But the old man remained silent, sorrow filling his eyes behind the glasses.
After a long moment, Edmond picked up his measuring tape, clearing his throat softly. "Right then. Let's get you measured up."
He didn't ask about the scars as he began taking Daron's measurements with practiced efficiency, calling out numbers which appeared on a small screen in a corner of the room. Daron was grateful for that.
He focused on his breathing, on remaining still despite the vulnerability that threatened to overwhelm him.
Edmund paused, lowering the measuring tape. His eyes met Daron's, filled with a knowing sadness. "You've been through a great deal, haven't you, my boy? More than anyone your age should have to bear."
Daron swallowed. "It's… fine. Nothing I couldn't handle." He forced out a weak smile.
Edmund nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Some wounds need time to heal."
He resumed his measurements, the silence stretching between them, broken only by the soft swoosh of the measuring tape.
Daron's thoughts drifted to Laurence, the enigmatic young man who had seemingly taken him under his wing. "Do you know Laurence well?" he asked.
A smile tugged at the corners of Edmund's mouth. "Ah, young Laurence. I've known that boy since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Used to come in here with his father, eyes wide as saucers, always asking questions."
"His father..." Daron hesitated, unsure if he should ask. "What was he like?"
Edmund's hands stilled for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes. "A great man, Laurence's father. A true hero. He led the Special Magic Force before, you know. Saved countless lives during the Seventh Breach."
Daron fell silent, trying to reconcile the image of the carefree, mischievous Laurence with the hero Edmund described.
Edmund finished his measurements, the final numbers appeared on the small screen in the back of the room. "There we are, lad. I'll have your suit ready in a jiffy. Why don't you wait out front while I work my magic, eh?"
Daron nodded, shrugging back into his shirt. He stepped back into the main shop, the door closing softly behind him.
He sat down on one of the wooden chairs, his gaze roaming over the shelves of fabrics and the racks of suits.
Daron's eyes traced the intricate patterns woven into the rich burgundy carpet beneath his feet. The swirling designs seemed to dance in the warm glow of the antique lamps scattered throughout the shop. He leaned back.
A faint ticking drew his gaze to an old grandfather clock nestled between two towering bookcases. The aged wood gleamed with a polished sheen, speaking of years of loving care. Daron's fingers itched to run along the spines of the leather-bound volumes, to lose himself in the musty scent of well-worn pages.
But it was a display case that truly caught his eye. On top of a pedestal of carved mahogany stood a mannequin draped in a suit of the deepest black. The fabric seemed to shimmer as Daron stared, the buttons glinting like stars against the night sky.
He rose from the chair, drawn to the case like a moth to a flame. His reflection stared back at him from the glass, his green eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, he could almost imagine himself in that suit, standing tall and proud, the weight of his past falling away like a discarded cloak.
The creak of a door jolted him from his reverie. Daron turned to see Edmund emerging from the back room, a satisfied smile on his weathered face.
With a flourish, Edmund presented a sleek black garment bag. "Your suit, young sir. I daresay it'll fit like a second skin."
Daron took the bag, marveling at its lightness. He stepped behind the ornate screen in the corner, heart pounding as he unzipped the bag. The suit within was a work of art, the fabric so smooth it felt like liquid beneath his fingertips.
He slipped into the trousers, the waistband settling perfectly on his hips. The shirt came next, the crisp white cotton a stark contrast to his scarred skin. Finally, he shrugged on the jacket, the sleeves falling to just the right length.
He stepped out from behind the screen, and Edmund smiled. "By the gods, lad. You look like a different man."
Daron turned to face a full-length mirror beside the cover, and his breath caught in his throat. The boy in the reflection looked like a stranger, tall and imposing, the black suit transforming him into something more than human.
"I can move so freely in this," Daron marveled, stretching his arms above his head. "It's like you said, a second skin… Thank you very much."
Edmund nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "That's the magic of a well-made suit, lad. It becomes a part of you, an extension of your very being."
"But... I can't take it, I don't have any money."
"Do not worry boy. This has been taken care of already."
The jingle of the shop bell interrupted their conversation. Laurence strode in, two bulging bags in hand, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Daron.
"Well, well, well," he grinned, setting the bags down. "Don't you look sharp? That suit looks like it was made for you, Daron."
Daron felt a flush creep up his neck, unused to such compliments. "Thanks. I feel… better in this."
Laurence clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. "That's the spirit, my friend. With threads like those, there's nothing you can't do."
As the two boys talked, Edmund watched from the sidelines, a glimmer of pride in his old eyes. He had a feeling that this was just the beginning of a grand adventure, one that would be spoken of for generations to come.