The southern ruler moved with terrifying speed.

  Every step sent a deep tremor rolling through the ground.

  The lively street born from the mist had grown thicker, denser—almost suffocating—at the edge of the illusion I’d woven.

  And all of this was only possible because of the copper jar.

  Its pulse throbbed against my palm, hot and steady—like I was holding an oversized, beating heart.

  A remnant of my past, twisted into something I could have never predicted.

  I closed my eyes for a heartbeat.

  -Confinement of Rhapsody

  Enchantment: The ashes had turned into mist, forging a tale the caster wished to show the world. All who witness the mist are drawn into the forged tale.

  Negative effect: The caster may be subjected to intrusive sights and voices born from their own illusion, along with unstable waves of emotion. Should they fail to separate self from story, the mirage will claim them, drawing them into the tale they wove.

  But that wasn’t the only drawback. A heavy pressure bowed my shoulders—like I was carrying a mountain.

  When I opened my eyes, only seconds had passed, yet reality already felt like it was slipping. And the southern ruler… he was slowing.

  Confinement of Rhapsody was never this strong.

  Normally it couldn’t restrain an abomination of this class for more than a minute. But right now the illusion roared with power far beyond anything I understood.

  I could only assume the terrifying shadow warrior had tampered with it.

  'My essence is dropping at a dangerous rate…'

  Chaos. That was the only word for what I felt.

  My recovery wasn’t going to keep up.

  Cold sweat slid down my face as the jar pulsed again, heat searing through my hand. I tightened my grip and forced the story onward.

  Maintaining control was its own battleground. If I slipped for even an instant, the mirage clawed at me, eager to swallow me whole. I’d tested that already. Even now, the dark vortex inside the artifact sent tremors through my body.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  At some point, Will didn’t matter. The illusion seeped past every wall I built.

  Mist swirled around me, carrying that faint ashen smell. When I looked left, a line of monsters stood in formation. My heart dropped before I reminded myself—they were trapped too.

  Compared to the Avenger marching ahead, holding the monsters was easy. With enough focus, I could probably make them perform complex actions. But right now? All I had in me was to make them cheer. Pathetic, but it worked.

  From the corner of my vision, a white silhouette glided past.

  My breath hitched at the sight of white hair—hers—but I forced my nerves back under control.

  'Yeah… this needs to be better.'

  The illusions were unsettling, strange, and full of cracks—but they weren’t perfect. They couldn’t reach my heart.

  Her face was empty.

  I’d never seen her in person, yet I knew the truth of her—her charm, the fear and awe she commanded, and the sapphire eyes like rolling ocean currents.

  This version of her? Worse than the story weaver’s illusion.

  At least the story weaver had the decency to put effort into their artifice.

  My grip tightened around the jar as another tremor ran through my arm—this one sharper, like barbed wire twisting beneath my skin. The silhouette flickered again, her form dissolving into the mist before reforming slightly to my right. Closer now. Close enough to see the way her lips moved without sound, shaping words I couldn’t hear but felt like a blade between my ribs.

  It was also just an illusion.

  I forced myself to look back at the southern ruler. He’d started moving faster again.

  The shadow of the crown-shaped castle stretched across the ground ahead.

  Not far now.

  "Grrrrrrr—"

  A sharp exhale echoed through the forest of broken stone and steel.

  More monsters crept from the mist. Drawn by the scent of the ashes.

  The white-haired woman flickered closer still, her fingers curling like claws as she reached for my throat—and passed through me like smoke. But the cold lingered, sinking into my bones with the certainty of a death sentence.

  The swirl of emotion ran through me like electricity. The artifact knew what buttons to push to make me go crazy.

  “Like hell,” I muttered.

  The mist thickened around me, swallowing both me and the slit-faced Avenger whole.

  I immediately split the Confinement of Rhapsody into two narratives—two tales layered over one another.

  The first was for the southern ruler: a glorious march toward the castle where his destined crown awaited. That story demanded everything I had.

  The second tale was shorter. The reason I’d gathered monsters around me and coaxed some to follow. It was the story of a war—their war—fought alongside their master.

  But keeping both going? Impossible for long.

  I could only maintain one.

  Ssssh—

  My hands turned numb. Cold spread through my fingertips and up my arms. Weakness washed through me like a tide.

  Guiding the monsters toward the one waiting ahead, I let the war begin.

  Explosions. Flames. Screams of creatures beyond comprehension.

  I directed a few of them aside, leaving a narrow path open.

  If the Sith Avenger broke free from the illusion now, it would be catastrophic.

  “Guekh—”

  Blood spilled onto my tongue. My knees buckled. The artifact’s pressure was crushing me from the inside.

  And this wasn’t even the end of phase one.

  My control over the war-tale slipped—and I let it go. It was better that way. Fighting forces beyond my reach would only drain me before the final stage.

  Amid the chaos—the blazing fire, the shrieks, the smothering mist—the ashen fog curled inward, thinning before slipping into the walls of the crown castle.

  The slit-faced Avenger had finally arrived.

  History was about to be rewritten.