“Say something, damn you.”
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
He was part of the illusion.
I began to lower my sword, just slightly?—
And he lunged.
His blade sliced across my wrist before I could react.
Hot pain bloomed, sharp and immediate, as blood welled over the cut and spilled down my hand.
What are you doing?
Kaelith’s voice slammed into my mind like a whip crack.
I winced, staggering back.It’s an illusion,I hissed.It’s not real.
If the weaver is powerful enough, she growled,your mind won’t know the difference.
I clutched my bleeding wrist, the wound burning like fire.Right. I can die in the illusion.
Yes. Now fight him.
I didn’t hesitate this time.
I surged forward, steel clashing against Perin’s with a ring that echoed across the false field. He met every blow, every parry, with calculated precision.
We moved like shadows locked in a storm. His strikes faster now, more aggressive, like the illusion itself had learned me.
I panted, sweat stinging my eyes. My wrist throbbed, the blood soaking the hilt.
I’m not going to win this fight this way,I told Kaelith, spinning low and slashing upward, only to have him dodge with ease.
There was nothing but silence in response.
No reassurance.
No strategy.
Just me.
My bleeding hand.
And an illusion that fought like it wanted me dead.
My magic rose, violent, unmoored, scorching.
It wasn’t the kind of heat I could command. This wasn’t my usual spark, that controlled blaze I could wield with a breath and steady hands.
This was raw. Unanchored.
It surged up from my spine, through my ribs, into my throat, searing every nerve until I felt like I was being broiled alive from the inside out.
My knees almost buckled. My vision pulsed at the edges.
