By the time the dew had evaporated from the long grass, the traps had already done their work. Oliver knelt by the shaking wicker cages, carefully transferring the live, twitching rabbits into his backpack.
Back at the mansion, Oliver cleared a space near his Alchemy Engine. He placed a spare Top Hat on a stone pedestal and began the ritual. He fed the boards into the Science Machine for refinement, then positioned the rabbits. The air grew cold—colder than the shadow magic he usually used.
The Prestihatitator hummed into existence. It wasn't a machine of gears; it was a structure of shimmering fabric and shifting space, a giant hat that seemed to breathe. From its brim, a pair of white rabbit ears occasionally twitched, though the rabbits themselves had vanished into the magic.
He opened the Codex Umbra, his face pale from the mental tax. He summoned a large group of Shadow Workers and a squad of Shadow Duelists to act as their vanguard.
The shadows glided out like a dark tide. While they worked, Oliver using science machine, used rabbits and twigs to make Rabbit Earmuffs.
******
While Oliver prepared for the supernatural, a far more physical darkness was descending upon the Hidden Valley. In the high councils of Rivendell, the air was thick with the scent of war.
Elrond stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his ancient blade, Vilya glinting on his finger. Beside him, Aragorn gripped his sword, his face grim.
******
The air around the Prestihatitator didn't just hum; it whispered. As Oliver approached the shimmering fabric of the magical hat, he felt a cold draft that seemed to come from nowhere.
He laid the Evil Flowers his shadows had gathered onto the altar. They were dark, wilting petals that seemed to drink the light. As he touched them, a shiver ran down his spine—a primal chill that made his skin crawl. Using the hat's magical resonance, he compressed the flowers, refining their dark essence into several jars of Nightmare Fuel.
The substance was like liquid smoke, shifting between solid and gas, pulsing with a purple glow.
He didn't stop there. He pulled out the Red Gems and several bars of refined Gold. Working with the Prestihatitator, he fused them with the Nightmare Fuel. The result was a Life Giving Amulet, a crimson jewel that pulsed like a heartbeat. He slipped it around his neck, feeling a strange surge of vitality.
Next, he took the Blue Gems. He fashioned a Chilled Amulet using gold, and then, taking a standard Spear, he lashed a blue crystal to its tip using the machine's power. The wood of the spear frosted over instantly, turning into an Ice Staff.
He stepped off his porch, the Ice Staff humming in his hand. He was focused entirely on find a "test target"—perhaps a tree or a stray boulder—to see if the freezing effect scaled with the reality of this forest.
******
He was so intent on his "item testing" that he didn't notice the change in the wind. The smell of pine and rain had been replaced by the stench of scorched earth and rotted meat.
Beyond the ridge of his clearing, the forest was screaming. Thousands of black-feathered arrows were hissing through the trees, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of iron-shod boots was shaking the very ground he stood on.
The Orc war-party, diverted from the main pass of Rivendell, was spilling over the hills like a black tide. They weren't looking for a fight in the woods; they were looking for a shortcut to the Elven valley.
Oliver crested the small hill at the edge of his property, his Ice Staff raised and his Top Hat tilted forward. He expected to find a stray wolf or a tall bird.
Instead, he found himself staring down the throat of an entire Orc Legion.
Hundreds of snorting, armored monsters stopped in their tracks, their yellow eyes fixed on the boy in the purple hat and the wooden suit who had just walked calmly into the middle of their invasion path.
He gripped his Ice Staff tighter. He didn't know he was standing on the doorstep of Rivendell's greatest battle. He only knew that his "testing phase" was about to get a lot more interesting.