Sanctum Sanctorum Cloak

On Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, New York City, there is a building that most people walk right past.

It looks, from the outside, like an old townhouse — a bit eccentric, a bit tall, with large round window at the top that you might notice and then immediately forget. The window has an unusual design: a circle inside a circle, with spokes radiating outward in a pattern that the mind seems to slide off of, unable to quite hold its shape. If you looked carefully, you might see something glow in its center, very briefly, like a spark trying to decide if it wants to become a fire.

You would probably decide you imagined it and walk on.

This is the Sanctum Sanctorum. And inside, everything is different.

The moment Doctor Strange steps through the front door, the building opens around him like a question. Staircases run in four directions, and which direction is "up" changes depending on where you're standing. Rooms appear and disappear. A hallway that led to the library yesterday leads to the armory today. The walls are covered in artifacts gathered from across the multiverse — glowing things, humming things, things sealed in cases and wrapped in wards that whisper do not touch in a language older than English. The whole place smells of old paper and possibility.

Wong manages the library. He has an expression permanently set to "deeply skeptical of whatever you are about to say" and he is, without question, Strange's most important ally. Wong has read most of what the library contains. He knows which artifacts are dangerous, which are unpredictable, and which are both — and he has an impeccable memory for all three categories. He also makes very good tea, though he would consider it beneath him to acknowledge this as a contribution.

The Seal of Vishanti — the great circular window — does more than look mysterious. It projects a protective aura over the entire building, masking it from magical detection. To any sorcerer scanning New York City for mystical signatures, the Sanctum Sanctorum simply isn't there. This is useful, because the building contains enough power to be enormously attractive to beings that should not have it.

But the most extraordinary thing in the Sanctum is not a book or an artifact in a case.

It is a Cloak.

The Cloak of Levitation is crimson and long and absolutely alive. It doesn't drape passively over Strange's shoulders the way ordinary cloaks drape. It has opinions. It notices things. When an enemy comes from behind that Strange hasn't spotted, the Cloak snaps to attention and taps him urgently on the shoulder — hey, behind you. When Strange is falling, the Cloak catches him mid-air, WHOOSH, snapping wide open to slow the descent. When an enemy grabs Strange's arms, the Cloak wraps around the enemy's limbs independently and holds on with remarkable stubbornness.

The Cloak chose Strange. This is important. It had no obligation to do so — it had simply been in the Sanctum, waiting, for longer than anyone knew. When Strange first arrived, the Cloak floated over to him with the unmistakable air of having made a decision. Strange, being Strange, did not fully appreciate how unusual this was. Wong watched from the doorway with an expression that suggested he found this either very significant or very amusing, possibly both.

Strange and the Cloak have been together ever since. Their relationship is hard to describe — closer than a piece of clothing, less complicated than a friendship, more important than either. The Cloak seems to have a sense of humor. It is not above grabbing an enemy by the face just to make a point.

The Sanctum Sanctorum is more than a headquarters. It is a sanctuary for anyone caught in a supernatural crisis — time flows slightly differently inside its walls, which is useful when you need to think carefully about a problem. Heroes tangled in mystical trouble have found their way here at odd hours and been met by Strange and Wong and whatever the Cloak decided to offer in the way of welcome.

A guardian needs a home. A home needs to be a fortress and a foundation at once.

The Sanctum Sanctorum is both — and the Cloak of Levitation, drifting thoughtfully through its hallways at night, seems entirely satisfied with the arrangement.