Chapter 8: When the Illusions Break

The classroom dimmed around her, bathed in the deep lavender hues of twilight spells and quiet candlelight. Arcane projectors embedded in the ceiling hummed low, weaving illusions into every corner of the grand hall.

Forests of gold shimmered across the stone walls, vast and rustling with unseen winds. Broken dreamscapes floated midair, fragments of other minds and other memories, half-formed and flickering. Celestial runes spun slowly above students’ heads like glowing, drifting constellations.

Angel tried, gods, she tried, to focus.

But her body was beyond the point of protest.The Aetherveil still pulsed quietly under her skin, but her bones felt hollow, and her thoughts dragged like feet in wet sand. The sleepless night, the ritual, the cost, it all pressed on her like a storm cloud too heavy to hold.

Her eyes fluttered.

The professor’s voice, sharp and commanding moments ago, muffled suddenly, as though he were speaking from underwater. Angel’s head dipped forward. Her quill slipped from between her fingers, rolling silently off the edge of her desk.

Just… five seconds, her thoughts slurred.Just let me rest…

And then,

Darkness.

But not unconsciousness.

---

She didn’t fall physically.

Not in the waking world.

But the magic in the room, the residual spellwork of a hundred illusions layered in shifting waves, grabbed her the moment her mind let go. A sleeping mind in the Illusion Hall was unguarded. Vulnerable.

And hers was already frayed.

The spell did not craft a dream.It pulled one from her.Or rather, from what was left of her.

Angel’s feet landed softly on an old rug. A small room spread out around her, wooden floors, pale blue walls, a nightlight glowing faintly in the corner. Her childhood bedroom.

But it wasn’t right.

No posters. No warmth. No sound. No scent of cinnamon and books. The shelves were bare. The window showed only grey fog.

Something’s wrong, she thought.

Her breath hitched.

She turned slowly in place, heart hammering. She knew this place, every creak, every shadow. But the echoes were… empty.

“Hello?” she called out, voice sharp with hope and panic.“Hello? Somebody? Are you here?”

No answer.

No laughter from the next room.No teasing footsteps.No scolding voice calling her name.

“Somebody,” she whispered again, a tremble in her throat.

But the memory was gone.

She knew she had a brother. She knew he’d been everything—protector, anchor, her favorite person in the world.

But his laugh,His voice,His eyes,

Blank. She couldn't reach them anymore.

She stumbled toward the edge of the room, chest squeezing. In the corner, the mirror shimmered. Its surface rippled like moonlit water—and from it, a figure stepped through.

Not her brother.

Lioren.

But not as he was in life.

He emerged cloaked in dreamlight, wearing a fae illusion of midnight robes and skin that shimmered like silver. His feet were bare. His eyes glowed, cold and ancient.

Angel backed away, breath shallow.

“You gave something up,” said Dream-Lioren, voice soft as smoke and cutting as obsidian.“Something precious.”

She couldn’t respond. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

“Why would you do that?” he asked again, taking a slow step forward.“Why would a human give away love… just to hide?”

She shook her head violently. Her fists clenched. Her throat ached from the scream that wouldn’t form.

Lioren bent down, their faces close now. Too close.

“Do you even remember his name anymore?”

The mirror cracked behind him.

---

Angel jolted upright with a ragged gasp.

The light was back. The illusions had faded.

Every head in the Illusion Hall turned toward her.

Professor Zephyros stood with a disappointed scowl, arms crossed. “Miss Angel.”

She blinked rapidly, the dream fog still clinging to her like damp cloth. Her skin felt cold. Her notebook was blank. Her hands trembled. She hadn’t taken a single note.

Across the room, Lioren watched her.

But this time, he wasn’t smirking.This time—he looked concerned.He’d seen it.He’d seen the flicker. The shimmer in her aura. Something had cracked during the spellwork, and he had noticed.

He leaned forward, eyes sharp and unreadable.

Angel looked down, afraid to meet his gaze.

What color were my brother’s eyes?Brown? Hazel? Blue…?Why can’t I remember?

She pressed her hand to her heart.The space where warmth had lived felt cold now.

The Aetherveil had worked.

But it had taken more than she ever intended to give.

Angel’s eyes blinked back to the present, the mundane, heavy world of hardwood desks, floating chalk runes, and the low mutter of students trying not to stare too openly. Her pulse pounded in her ears, loud and erratic, as if it might echo through the whole classroom.

Professor Zephyros loomed in front of her desk, arms folded like drawn swords, his stern brow furrowed in scrutiny.

She forced herself to sit straighter, resisting the trembling in her limbs. Her throat was dry, but she pushed the words out anyway, steady and low.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, keeping her gaze just shy of direct eye contact. “I stayed up all night reviewing illusion reinforcement theory. I didn’t mean to drift off.”

It was half a lie. Maybe less.

A beat of silence passed.

Professor Zephyros looked her over like one might a potion bottle with a questionable shimmer, assessing whether it would explode or fizzle out.

Then, with a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, he waved a hand dismissively.

“If you’re going to break your brain, do it after you’ve passed my class,” he muttered. “No learning happens if you’re unconscious. And dozing during an active illusion sequence? Dangerous. Stupid. Especially for someone with your record.”

The projections behind him flickered again to life, runic forests reassembling midair, dancing across the vaulted room like nothing had happened.

The students turned away from her, interest fading now that the drama was over. A few side glances lingered, but the moment was already being digested into hallway gossip.

Crisis, averted.

Barely.

Angel exhaled, slow and silent. But her heart hadn’t stopped racing.

---

Except, one gaze hadn’t turned away.

Lioren.

He sat at the edge of the class, in his usual position, relaxed, unreadable. But now, his silver eyes were fixed on her. No smirk. No witty remark ready on his tongue.

He wasn’t mocking.

He wasn’t amused.

He looked… concerned.

A fine tension pulled across his features. Like someone trying to piece together a puzzle they didn’t even know existed until seconds ago.

Had he seen it?

Had he seen her dream flicker? The mirror? The hollow version of her childhood room?

Something tightened in her chest.

Don’t talk to me.Don’t come near me.I can’t handle this right now.

She stared down at her notebook, blank and cold beneath her fingers. Her hands still trembled faintly, despite her clenched grip on the desk.

The moment the bell rang, she didn’t wait.

Before the first student even pushed back their chair, Angel had already slung her bag over her shoulder, notes hastily crammed inside, and was halfway to the exit. Her footsteps were quick, deliberate, like she could outrun the memory clawing at the edge of her thoughts.

She didn’t look back. Not once.

She didn’t see the way Lioren rose from his seat, slowly, his gaze following her with a weight behind it—quiet, calculating.

She didn’t see the faint crease in his brow, or the flicker of something almost troubled in his eyes.

And she didn’t notice him step to the classroom doorway, watching her vanish into the corridor, expression unreadable, but watching all the same.

---

Angel walked fast, the illusion classroom falling behind her like a fading shadow. Every breath was tighter than the last. Every heartbeat thudded with something she couldn’t name.

What had he seen in her projection?

And worse,what else had she forgotten?

—To be Continued—