Chapter 4: Threads of Illusion

The soft chime of enchanted bells stirred Angel from sleep, their notes gentle yet impossible to ignore. She blinked up at the twilight-kissed ceiling of her dorm, where faint star patterns shimmered in response to her waking breath. The spell was still there—woven like a second skin into her aura—its hum a subtle reminder that for now, she was passing.

Angel sat up slowly, the weight of her spellbook and last night’s ritual still lingering in her bones. But there was no time to bask in the small victory. Today was the real test: her first official class.

And worse, it was with him.

She dressed quickly, donning the uniform cloak every Lunaria witch wore, its edges stitched with protective runes she hadn’t earned. As she adjusted the silver pendant over her chest, her voice was steady, even if her stomach churned.

“Just stay calm. Blend in. You’re a witch now. Nothing more, nothing less.”

---

The classroom was unlike anything she’d seen in the human world.

A sweeping amphitheater carved from obsidian stone, its walls alive with swirling runes that blinked and shifted when she tried to study them. Glowing orbs of light drifted lazily overhead, casting silver-blue shadows across rows of arcane desks. Students murmured and took their places—some floating, some flickering with energy, none entirely normal.

Angel slid quietly into a back-row seat, hoping to disappear into the noise. But even here, her presence drew attention.

She felt him before she saw him.

A flicker of warmth against her skin. A whisper of silken magic. And then he was there.

The fae.

He lounged beside her with infuriating grace, his silver hair tousled like moonlight through leaves. Wings folded neatly behind his back shimmered with otherworldly hues, and his golden eyes locked onto her with a curiosity that made her breath catch.

"The witch survives another night," he drawled, tapping a lazy rhythm on the wood of his desk. "I’m impressed you look different like...illusions."

Angel stiffened but didn’t flinch. “Maybe. I needed it for a spell. That’s what we do, remember?”

His gaze sharpened, then softened into amusement. “Mmm, of course. Though most witches don’t smell like... rain and sunlight.” His lips curled slightly. “You’re different, Angel. But that makes it fun.”

Before she could retort—or flee—the shadows stirred at the front of the class. A pulse of silence swept the room like a curtain being drawn. Professor Zephyros had arrived.

He was shadow given form, his cloak shifting between worlds, his presence a command to obey.

“Silence, fledglings,” he said, his voice like thunder wrapped in velvet. “Today, you’ll pair off. You’ll cast illusions on each other… and attempt to see through them.”

His piercing gaze swept the room and stopped on her like a blade.

“Angel, you’ll pair with Lioren.”

The fae; Lioren's grin was slow and dangerous, as if he’d just been handed something far more interesting than a lesson. He turned to her, voice low and thick with mischief.

“Well then,” he said, his wings stretching just slightly. “Let’s see what kind of witch you really are.”

The room settled into a taut silence as Professor Zephyros moved to the center of the amphitheater, his shadowed robes coiling like mist around him.

"Pair off," he commanded, voice like thunder muffled through fog. "We begin now."

Students shuffled and shifted, magical murmurs buzzing through the air like static. But Angel barely noticed. She was already rising, already walking toward the center of the room where Lioren stood—arms loose at his sides, wings folded with casual grace, golden eyes tracking her every step.

They faced each other, a breath of space between them. Around them, classmates whispered and watched, the tension in the room sharpened by anticipation and veiled power.

Professor Zephyros raised a brow, lips curling faintly. "Today’s exercise is simple: cast an illusion upon your partner. Hold it. Resist theirs. And most importantly—see what they hide. Lioren. Angel. Begin."

Lioren’s expression was unreadable as he stepped forward, his voice a velvet coil of amusement. “Let’s make this interesting, shall we? I don’t think your little spell will hide you from me for long.”

Angel swallowed hard, her fingers twitching with restrained nerves. She couldn’t afford failure. Not here. Not now. She drew in a slow breath, grounding herself in the veil she wore. Her magic—borrowed, layered, fragile—hummed at her core like a distant bell.

Lioren raised a hand, and the room shifted.

Reality bent.

His body shimmered and twisted, rising into a figure of myth—taller, more luminous, his wings stretching wide like spun glass catching celestial light. He stood like a god reborn, the sheer beauty of it overwhelming, distracting. Dangerous.

Angel gritted her teeth and fought to maintain her illusion. Shadowroot and ash pulsed beneath her skin, clinging like mist to her aura. Her form shimmered beneath the layers of false flame, light dancing across her skin like a mirage. She forced calm, steady hands. Forced stillness.

He was trying to rattle her. And it was working.

Lioren took a step closer, his illusion unwavering, his voice low and teasing. “Still hiding, Angel? I can see the cracks. You wear that disguise like silk over fire.”

Angel didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Not without revealing the tremble in her voice. His gaze wasn’t just looking at her. It was cutting through her. Reaching. Peeling back layers she’d fought so hard to weave.

"What are you hiding, really?" he asked, and the edges of his illusion rippled with curiosity. "You’re not a witch. Not like the others."

Angel’s heart stuttered. Her grip on the spell tightened, then slipped—just for a breath. A flicker. But it was enough.

Lioren's eyes narrowed, golden irises burning like torchlight. “There it is.”

He stepped forward, the air thickening between them. His presence pressed against her, and her magic strained beneath the weight. Her mind screamed to hold on, but her energy was faltering. The veil thinned.

And then, it happened.

A sliver of truth bled through. Her skin, her scent, her very essence shifted—for less than a second—but it was enough to betray her humanity.

Lioren’s voice was almost a whisper. “I knew it.”

Angel’s breath caught.

Before the silence could break further, Professor Zephyros’s voice cut through the tension like a scythe.

"Enough," he said coldly. "That’s enough for today."

The illusion shattered around them like glass. Angel stumbled back a step, swallowing the nausea rising in her throat. The weight of holding that spell for so long, the strain of resisting his will—it was unbearable.

Zephyros’s expression was unreadable, but his tone was curt. “Angel, your illusion lasted longer than I expected. But remember—every flicker of weakness can invite danger.”

The students around them began to murmur again, pairing off, practicing. But she heard none of it. Only the sound of her own ragged breath. And Lioren.

He stepped close again, just enough for her to feel the brush of his magic like a phantom across her skin.

“You think you’re hiding it well,” he murmured, voice low, almost gentle. “But I see you, Angel.”

She turned to leave, but he wasn’t finished.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he added, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “But… I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

And with that, he was gone—back to his seat like nothing had happened.

Professor Zephyros’s final words echoed across the room.

“Illusion magic is not just about hiding,” he said. “It’s about controlling what others see. Don’t let them see what you don’t want them to.”

Angel sat down in silence, her body trembling, her thoughts whirling. The veil had almost broken. And Lioren… he saw too much.

But she wasn’t finished yet.

She couldn’t be.

Not now.

—To be Continued—