"Center… the city center. He… controls it all… illusions… the main avenues… twisted…" He trailed off, trembling as though the memory alone threatened to break him. "Don’t… don’t go there, please. Or if you do… end it."
I exchanged a glance with Asterion, who looked grim but resolute. Even he, with all his earlier caution, recognized that turning back was no longer an option. The traveler’s words confirmed the cult was dug in deeply, illusions saturating Kael’Thorne’s core. He also confirmed the name ’Harbinger,’ the rumored figure at the heart of the cult’s power. Not Belisarius, but close enough to disturb me.
We pressed on, leaving the man behind after ensuring he had no injuries illusions couldn’t heal. There was nothing else we could do for him. If illusions had already half-consumed his mind, it would take more than sympathy or a stray healing spell from me to fix him.
At last, we reached a battered walkway that granted a partial view of the city’s interior. My breath caught. Arcs of shimmering magic spanned from tower to tower like crackling bridges of violet energy, and illusions whipped around them in a chaotic dance. Blocks of the city flickered in and out, buildings half-lost behind swirling illusions. At the heart of it all, a swirling vortex of leyline power glowed fiercely, periodically releasing shockwaves that distorted entire sections of Kael’Thorne.
The memory of my vision roared back—flames, destruction, the mania of unstoppable arcane force. Everything about this vantage point told me that future was closer to reality than anyone realized. I gripped my sword hilt, ignoring how my knuckles whitened from the pressure. If the cult had a figure strong enough to harness that swirling chaos, we faced a threat that dwarfed anything the Council or Gravekeepers had mustered thus far.
And through it all, my mind returned to Belisarius, his thread inexorably woven back into the Tapestry by cosmic design. If he appeared here, with the leyline open, I doubted any fragment of this kingdom would survive the collision. He wouldn’t even need to conquer. The meltdown would do it for him.
Asterion glanced at me, his expression drawn. "So. There it is."
"It is."
We stood on that walkway, the hush thick as illusions swirled in the distance, arcs of twisted lightning bridging the sky. The city below looked like the jaw of a beast, each building a tooth, each illusion a swirling tendril of saliva. I’d never seen so many layers of distortion coexisting. Part of me almost admired the hideous complexity.
But I allowed no illusions about our chances. We were battered, on limited time, in a domain the cult had shaped to their advantage. I couldn’t even guess how many illusions they had anchored, how many twisted beasts prowled the streets, or how many robed zealots waited with half-formed blades. But the alternative—letting them claim the leyline unchallenged—was unthinkable.
"He’s coming," I said finally. "If he’s not here yet, he will be soon. And if this leyline stays open when he arrives, there won’t be a world left for him to conquer."
Asterion exhaled through his nose. "Good. Because I was worried this wasn’t going to be difficult enough."
I let the silence speak for itself.
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We moved through the ruined landscape, pushing away from the ridge where we’d glimpsed that battered stretch of land twisting beneath Kael’Thorne’s looming skyline. Each step drove us closer to the valley below, and with each footfall, I felt the tension in the air intensify. As though the wind itself disagreed with our presence. As though the illusions thrived on the sense that we were trespassing somewhere we shouldn’t be.
The ground was no kinder here, constantly shifting in texture and solidity. Sometimes, my boot struck cracked, dusty earth. Other times, it half-sank as if into mud, yet there was no moisture—just illusions warping the land in real time. When the illusions receded, I’d be standing on firm ground again. A lesser mind would have found the shifts maddening. I found them a simple annoyance, another obstacle to slice through if necessary.
From a distance, Kael’Thorne’s spires clawed at the bruised sky with a desperate sort of grandeur. They were impossibly tall, shot through with swirling arcs of violet. The edges flickered, as if each spire half-existed in one dimension and half in another. Even now, while we remained miles out, I could feel the leyline’s pulse throbbing in the back of my skull—a dull ache that promised to bloom into a full migraine if I let my guard slip. If I’d had any illusions about the city’s condition, they evaporated the moment I tasted that hum of raw energy in the air.
The path we followed was a broken road that wove across this corrupted plain like a ragged scar, scabbed over with illusions. Sometimes it seemed stable, lined with fractured cobblestones that had endured centuries of disrepair. Other times, the entire stretch vanished behind flickering images of old farmland or gardens that no longer existed. I forced my eyes to remain unwavering, refusing to chase after ephemeral ghosts. Only a fool followed illusions that shaped themselves to catch the corner of your eye. I was no fool.
Shattered pillars jutted skyward, half-sunken statues marking the way. I recognized some as relics of a distant past—stone guardians with half their faces melted away, no doubt by the swirling meltdown that consumed this region. Others looked newly defaced, as though the Cult of the Unraveled had re-carved them, layering bizarre, swirling patterns over ancient designs. I saw entire portions of these statues flicker in time with the pulses of violet energy overhead.
Illusions tugged at the edges of my vision, trying to coax me into seeing shapes or hearing whispers. I ignored them. I had practice. Let them rattle their chains in vain. Asterion seemed more rattled; now and then, his gaze flicked nervously around us, his expression tight. He’d stop, mutter a curse, then walk faster, as if speed alone would outpace illusions bent on devouring us.
Shrines dotted the path—small, makeshift altars crafted from twisted metal and bone. They pulsed faintly, insidious in their simplicity. From a distance, one might mistake them for piles of scrap. But the swirling designs etched into them, the glyphs that shimmered under any stray light, told a different story. They reminded me of the robed zealots we’d encountered: swirling, mesmerizing lines that hinted at worlds colliding. Or worlds undone.
Asterion crouched beside one such shrine, eyes narrowed. He reached out but didn’t quite touch it. "This is more than worship. They’re anchoring something."
"Illusions," I said, my voice cold, "and territory. Control." I tapped the side of my sword hilt for emphasis, my gaze scanning the surroundings for robed fanatics. "They’re setting up domains. If the leyline is bleeding, they’re siphoning its power and shaping reality to fit their design."
His lips twisted into a grimace. "Great. So we’re walking into a place where reality is a suggestion."
"It was never anything more," I replied quietly, thinking how every step we’d taken since the Ashen Expanse hammered home that truth. The Tapestry’s meltdown only stripped away the illusions that had always disguised the fragile nature of the world.
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From somewhere off to the side came a rustling sound, a low, skittering noise that set my nerves on edge. Asterion and I reacted in unison, turning, weapons drawn. What emerged from the mist was an abomination of conflicting realities, a beast half-lost to illusions. It might have once been a wolf—a shape suggested by a lean body and a vaguely lupine head. But its legs elongated and shortened at random, flickering in and out of existence, while half a dozen eyes blinked asynchronously across its malformed face. When it snarled, its mouth split far wider than physics should have allowed.
Asterion muttered something crude. "You take left, I take right?"
My hand clenched around my blade. "No. I kill it before it mutates again."
I moved first, quick and deliberate. The creature’s form wavered between illusions. One moment it stood on four legs; the next, it looked like it had eight. But I’d faced illusions that nearly took me in the Ashen Expanse, illusions more cunning than this twisted animal. My sword met half-real flesh, slicing through it with brutal efficiency. The beast let out a static-laden howl—a sound that jarred my teeth more than my ears—before collapsing in a heap of writhing echoes that fizzled out in slow arcs of distortion.
Asterion wiped his blade on the dark coat he wore, eyes flicking to the dissolving remnants. "They used to be normal," he observed, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Nothing here is normal anymore," I said, sheathing my weapon with a smooth motion.
We continued, but each step felt heavier than the last. My body protested the constant strain, the forced illusions we kept battling, the meager scraps of mana I still harbored. Asterion caught my hesitation. He suggested we rest, but I waved him off, ignoring the burn in my limbs. Time was short, and Kael’Thorne wouldn’t wait politely for me to recover. If anything, the meltdown would accelerate.
Eventually, though, my own willpower found its limit. We stumbled upon a half-crumbled watchtower perched on a ridge, battered by illusions that coated its walls like strange vines. My breath came heavier, and I could feel the dryness in my throat intensify. Asterion insisted again on a brief respite, and I realized pushing beyond reason could cost us both our lives. I grudgingly agreed.
From the vantage point at the top of that leaning structure, we could see Kael’Thorne in its full, horrifying majesty. My vision had shown me flames and chaos, but now, with my own eyes, I saw swirling tendrils of magic arcing across the city’s skyline, bridging ruined towers in ephemeral lightning. At the epicenter, I sensed the leyline’s raw energy churning beneath the surface, manifesting as random pulses that distorted the very air.
"It’s worse than my vision," I said, my voice low. No point in lying.
Asterion’s gaze roamed the city. "They say the Cult is led by someone called the Harbinger."
I kept my focus on Kael’Thorne. "And?"
He shifted, arms crossing. "Some say he’s in communion with Belisarius himself. Others say he’s trying to become him."
I turned to him, expression cold. "It won’t matter."
He let out a scoff that wasn’t entirely dismissive. "It matters if he can control the leyline before we do. Then everything you saw, everything we’re fearing, might be unstoppable."
My hand tightened on my sword hilt. "Then I’ll kill him before he gets the chance."