Chapter 5:1 Illusions and the Roots of Reality
Three days had passed since our flight from Shadow Pond, the name we gave to the site of our encounter with Inquisitor Hadrian. The journey to the Master's new hiding place felt like entering an entirely different world. The forest we had previously inhabited felt wild, but still bore traces of humanity—animal trails sometimes used by hunters, trees that had been felled, air that occasionally carried the smell of smoke from distant villages. Now, we stepped deeper, into a region that even Imperial maps might only contain drawings of dragons or the words "Terra Incognita".
The air grew more humid and cold, filled with alien sounds. Trees grew taller and older, their trunks covered in moss and softly glowing fungi visible even to the normal eye. With my Vars Eyes, the sight was breathtaking and terrifying. This world was awash with colors I had never seen before: pulsating reddish-orange light from deep within the earth, like a very slow lava flow; ultraviolet rays emanating from strange flowers blooming in the shade; and life-auras that were fainter, more primitive, and often more wary. These auras weren't just from animals, but from certain plants, even from seemingly ordinary large boulders.
Max barely spoke during the journey. He followed obediently, but his eyes were always alert, darting to every shadow. His fear, his blue aura, had faded into a stable greyish-blue tinge—perhaps a kind of weary acceptance. Yet, beneath it, I sometimes saw flashes of dirty yellow guilt resurfacing, especially when he looked at me or the Master. He didn't fully trust us, and perhaps not himself.
The Master, as usual, was the unshakable center of calm. He seemed to know every inch of this unfamiliar territory, guiding us around swampy areas teeming with toxic, deep purple energy (according to my sight) and through rock crevices that seemed non-existent. He continued to give instructions, turning the long trek into a non-stop lesson.
"That plant," he said one afternoon, pointing to a bush with silver leaves. "Touching it will make your dreams for a week feel more real than reality. Useful if processed correctly, deadly if not. And see the tracks on the ground—three-toed claws and a groove like a dragging tail. Night Seeker. They are blind, but can sense emotional vibrations from a mile away. Fear is a magnet to them. So control it."
I nodded, absorbing every word. Max just stared at the tracks with a pale face.
On the afternoon of the third day, we reached our destination. From the outside, it was merely a limestone cliff overgrown with thick vines, hidden behind a row of giant trees whose roots were like stone serpents. But the Master pressed a series of seemingly random rock protrusions, and with a subtle grating sound, a part of the cliff—a massive, seemingly solid boulder—slid inward, opening a narrow crack just wide enough for a person to pass.
"Inside, quickly," ordered the Master.
Inside, darkness immediately swallowed us, but only for a moment. As the Master stepped in, soft greenish globes of light ignited along the ceiling, revealing a space far more spacious than I had expected. It was not a natural cave. The walls were smooth, carved with precision, adorned with reliefs worn by time. They depicted human figures interacting with strange creatures whose very images seemed to have an aura, I thought—under stars represented by small, softly glowing stones. In the center of the room—there was a small spring, water flowing from a crack in the wall into a small pool before disappearing into an underground channel. The air inside was cool, fresh, and filled with the scent of earth and something else… something ancient and knowing.
"The Hermit's Sanctuary," said the Master, his voice echoing softly. "Built by an Ars practitioner centuries ago, long before the Order of Thymol became a power. Protected by layers of illusion and energy dampening that make it invisible to tools like that Inquisitor's compass. Here, we are safe for a time."
Max collapsed onto the stone floor near the pool, exhausted. "We… live here?"
"For a time," confirmed the Master. "Both of you, rest. Drink from the spring, its water is pure and mineral-rich. I will check the perimeter." He vanished into another passage leading deeper into the sanctuary.
I filled my leather water skin and handed it to Max before filling my own. The water was indeed remarkable, cool and energizing, as if washing away some of the mental fatigue.
"He… he's not a normal man, is he?" Max whispered after a while, staring toward the passage where the Master had disappeared.
"He is the Master," I answered, which was the most honest explanation I could give.
"And your eyes… and what you did at the pond… that's magic. Forbidden magic." His voice trembled, but not with pure fear, more with a terrifying acknowledgement.
"The withered rose Order calls it such," I acknowledged, sitting across from him. "But does something become evil just because they don't understand it? They use their 'holy blessings', which are also a kind of energy. Just a different source and method."
Max frowned, pondering it. "They kill people for things like that. Burn them." He shivered. "I saw it once, when I was little. A village woman was accused of poisoning a well with nature magic. Her aura… the woman's aura was a bluish green, like a wilted leaf. She was terrified. But they burned her anyway. They called it purification."
I stared at him, surprised. "You… you can see auras too?"
He shook his head, his face scrunching up. "Not like… like what you do. I don't 'see' colors around people. But… I can feel them. Like moods, but stronger. More real. Like heat or cold on my skin. That's why I could feel the 'cold' from you that time. And that's why the Inquisitor took me. He said I was 'sensitive', that my feelings could aid his compass."
This new knowledge was significant. Max had a natural talent, albeit undeveloped. It explained why he survived Shadow Pond relatively intact—he might have felt the illusory nature of the 'ghosts', even if he couldn't see them.
"That's a gift," I said. "Like mine. But subtler."
"A cursed gift," he grumbled, yet without full conviction. He looked at me. "Why did you save me? I almost led them to you. I guided them."
"You were forced," I said. "And you chose to run when given the chance. That's what matters."
The Master returned, carrying some edible tubers and fungi. "An interesting conversation?" he asked, his tone flat.
"Max can sense emotions, auras, as physical sensations," I reported.
The Master didn't look surprised. He nodded, placing his foraged goods on a flat stone serving as a table. "Projective empathy. Rare, but not unheard of. It will be useful." He looked at Max. "You can feel intent, lies. Correct?"
Max nodded, hesitantly.
"Good. That means you cannot lie to us without us knowing. It simplifies things." He then turned to me. "And you, Apprentice. It is time for a new lesson. Illusions."
That night, after a simple meal, the Master began his lesson in the sanctuary's main chamber. The greenish globes provided steady illumination.
"Your ability, the Vars Eyes, is a tool to see the truth behind the layers of reality," he began. "It is a sword. But sometimes, the best defense is not seeing through illusions, but creating them. To hide, to deceive, to survive."
He raised his hand. On his palm, a small, silvery ball of light appeared, spinning calmly. I looked at it with my Vars Eyes. It was a neatly structured construct of vital energy.
"This is reality," said the Master. Then, with an almost imperceptible finger movement, the ball of light changed. Its silver color faded, its shape flattened and widened, becoming a flat disc that looked like an ordinary silver coin. I exerted my sight. Behind the coin's appearance, the structure of the spinning light ball was still there, but as if wrapped in a thin membrane of another energy that reflected a false image.
"This is a basic-level illusion: disguise. Altering the perception of something that exists." He turned his hand over, and the 'coin' vanished. "Illusions do not create matter from nothing. A good illusion manipulates energy that already exists—light, sound, and most importantly, the observer's mind. The strongest illusions are those built collaboratively by the illusionist and the victim."
He explained the theory: every living being emits a field of perceptual energy, a subtle field that interprets sensory data. A skilled illusionist can 'inject' false information into that field, or manipulate the environment to reinforce the desired impression.
"Shadow Pond," he continued. "I did not create ghosts from nothing. I awakened the residual emotional memories embedded in that place—ancient pain, fear from creatures that died there. Then, I amplified it with the energy of the Scouts' own fear. They provided the fuel for their own nightmares. The illusion became real to them because they believed it."
He had me try. The first task was simple: disguise a small pebble to look like a dry leaf. I concentrated, extending my vital energy, trying to wrap the stone in the image of a leaf. The result was pathetic. The pebble merely flickered with a faint silver light and remained unmistakably a pebble.
"You are forcing your will too much," criticized the Master. "Do not try to 'paint' over the stone. Feel the stone's energy—cold, solid, still. Then, imagine the essence of a leaf—light, brittle, rusty. Create a 'shroud' that radiates that essence and place it between the stone and the observing eye. It is like… breathing steam onto a mirror and drawing on it."
I tried again, and again, and again. My fingers tingled, my head began to ache. Max watched from the side, looking confused as he only saw me staring at a pebble with my glowing eyes.
After perhaps two hours, it happened. The pebble shimmered briefly, and suddenly, to my own eyes (with Vars Eyes disabled), the pebble seemed to change color to brown and its texture appeared leaf-like. It lasted only three seconds before the image shattered, but the Master nodded.
"First step. You have deceived your own eyes, which is the foundation. Now, try to deceive him." He pointed at Max.
That was far more difficult. I had to project the illusion outward, into Max's perceptual space. The first attempt yielded nothing. The second, Max frowned. "I… feel strange about that stone. But it still looks like a stone."
On the fifth attempt, with sweat beading on my temples, Max started. "Hey! That—that's a leaf!" He reached out, but his finger touched hard stone. He snatched his hand back, bewildered. "But… it felt like stone."
"Illusion for the eyes only, not yet for touch," said the Master. "That is enough for now. Full sensory illusions require years of practice. Rest."
I nearly collapsed, deeply mentally exhausted. But there was a small satisfaction, an achievement.