The morning mist clung to the valley like it didn't want to let them go.
By the time the sun burned through it, the road to Valecrest stretched out ahead — a pale ribbon winding through gold fields and scattered ruins.
Rowan led the group in silence, cloak trailing dust behind him. Cass trudged along beside Lynx, half asleep, rifle slung over his shoulder. Mira followed at the rear, scanning the horizon like she was waiting for the world to blink wrong.
"Feels weird," Cass said after a while, breaking the quiet. "No smoke, no screams, no one trying to stab us for once. I don't trust it."
Lynx's tails flicked. "You don't trust anything that isn't exploding."
"Exactly," Cass said. "Peace is suspicious."
Rowan half-smiled without turning. "Maybe take it as a gift, for once."
Cass snorted. "Nah. Gifts mean traps."
Mira's gaze lingered on Rowan. He'd been quiet since Greyspire — quieter than usual. The bandages on his arm still glowed faintly under the sunlight, pulsing with traces of mana scars that refused to heal.
"You should've let me look at that," she said.
"It'll fade," Rowan replied.
"It hasn't in three days."
He finally glanced back at her, a faint smile tugging his mouth. "You always this stubborn?"
"Only when people pretend they're fine," she said.
Before he could reply, Lynx's ears twitched. She froze mid-step, fur bristling. "Something's watching us."
Rowan stopped instantly. His hand brushed the revolver at his side. "Where?"
She sniffed the air. "Not close. But it's following — has been for miles. Smells like iron and… perfume."
Cass made a face. "That's a creepy combo."
"Valecrest soldiers," Mira said grimly. "Lady Selara's personal guard — they soak their armor in gilded resin. The smell sticks."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "Then she already knows we're coming."
"Probably," Mira said. "But she won't move until we're inside her walls. She likes control too much for that."
---
By midday, the land changed. The cracked stone roads gave way to white marble — clean, polished, wrong.
Golden vines climbed the roadside statues, and crystal lanterns floated lazily in the air. Everything looked beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Cass whistled low. "Man, this place is rich rich. I can smell the taxes."
Lynx sneezed. "It's not wealth — it's illusion. The mana here's laced with glamour."
Rowan's hand brushed one of the marble pillars. It shimmered under his touch — just for a second — revealing rotting wood beneath before snapping back to pristine white.
Mira frowned. "Selara's domain magic. She can alter perception within her borders. What you see isn't what's real."
"Great," Cass muttered. "So we're basically walking through a giant lie."
Rowan's voice dropped low. "Then we better make sure we're the only ones lying back."
---
By sunset, Valecrest appeared — a city of gold and glass rising from the plains like a mirage. Towers curved like petals, sunlight glittering off their mirrored surfaces. Music drifted faintly from somewhere within — laughter, the clink of goblets, the illusion of paradise.
But the guards at the gate told a different story.
Dozens of them, faces hidden behind gilded masks, eyes glowing faintly blue from mana compulsion. None spoke as the Outlaws approached.
Mira stepped forward, hood drawn low. "Let me do the talking."
The lead guard raised a halberd. "State your business."
Mira's voice was smooth, practiced. "Merchants from Greyspire. Looking for refuge — and trade."
The guard hesitated. His eyes flicked over Rowan — the white hair, the faint gold glint beneath his bandages. Then he nodded once and stepped aside.
"Welcome to Valecrest," he said flatly. "May your stay be prosperous."
Cass muttered under his breath, "That's the creepiest blessing I ever heard."
---
Inside, the city gleamed.
Golden banners waved lazily from balconies. Perfumed mist rolled through the streets. Children laughed. Merchants smiled. Everyone looked happy.
But none of them blinked.
Not once.
Lynx's fur bristled. "They're not real."
Mira's hand went to her blade. "Some are. Some aren't. Selara uses glamours to keep her people obedient — she rewrites their memories until they forget what freedom feels like."
Cass frowned. "So, like, magical brainwashing with better architecture?"
"Exactly."
Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Then we find her. Tonight."
---
They found the palace easily — impossible not to, really. It was the heart of the illusion.
A sprawling citadel of crystal and light, crowned by a single burning sigil: the Phoenix crest.
Rowan stared up at it, expression unreadable. "Round two, then."
Mira drew a slow breath. "You sure you're ready for this?"
He looked at her, eyes steady. "Doesn't matter if I am."
Cass cracked his neck. "Then let's go break another pretty thing."