The Lady of Illusion didn't move at first.
She stood motionless beneath the twisted archway of her chamber, her violet form almost blending into the ambient glow of the walls around her. The air itself shimmered like heat rising off metal, distorting her silhouette as if she were a mirage. Her robes swayed without wind, drifting like tendrils of smoke in water. Her hands remained folded before her—delicate, serene, and yet deeply wrong.
"Careful," Inigo warned, aiming down his M4's sights. "She's not going to attack us the way that alpha did. This one plays with the mind."
"You think we've come this far just to fall for cheap parlor tricks?" Korrik snorted, tightening his grip on his blade.
Arienne didn't answer. She was already preparing counter-wards, her magic thrumming against the foul currents of the room. "No," she said softly, "not parlor tricks. This is high-level illusion magic. Possibly divine-tier. My seals might not be enough."
