But an illusion

Sol sat against the wall, his breath still unsteady from the intense training session. His mind buzzed with exhaustion, but beneath the fatigue, there was a flicker of satisfaction. He had struggled, fought against the limits of his understanding, and made progress. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

As he sat there, he went through the three techniques he had created with the system. The first was Veil Step, a method of subtly bending light around himself to blur his outline, making it harder for the eye to track him. It wasn't invisibility—not yet—but it was enough to make him difficult to focus on in a crowd or dim lighting. The second was Echo Mirage, an illusionary double of himself that mimicked his movements but could be programmed to act independently for a short period. It was unstable, requiring fine control, but if perfected, it could be a powerful tool for misdirection. The third was Phantom Veil, an advanced technique that altered minor sensory details—like shifting sounds slightly to the left, making objects appear a fraction of a second delayed, or causing subtle distortions in perception to throw off an opponent's instincts.

Each one had potential, but none of them were perfect yet. He had barely scratched the surface of what he could do. He needed more practice, more refinement. But for now, his body demanded rest.

The system had given him a glimpse into the depth of his Illusion Affinity, but he knew he had only scratched the surface. There was still so much to learn, so much to refine. And beyond that, there were still his other affinities—Plant and Time—waiting to be explored. For now, though, his body demanded rest.

With a deep exhale, Sol let his head rest against the cool metal of his cabin's wall. His thoughts drifted as he stared at the ceiling, mind wandering over the possibilities. If illusions could be made so real that they were indistinguishable from reality, then what was stopping him from creating entire false experiences? Could he manipulate how others perceived life itself? Could he trick even himself?

The thought sent a chill down his spine, but it also excited him. There was a dangerous beauty in the unknown.

His stomach growled, breaking his chain of thought. Right. He hadn't eaten in over a day. He needed food.

Pushing himself up, he stretched out the stiffness from his body, his limbs sore from sitting in the same position for too long. Before heading out, he made his way to the small bathroom attached to his cabin. He caught his reflection in the mirror—sweat clung to his skin, his hair was a mess, and his clothes stuck uncomfortably to him. With a tired sigh, he stripped down and stepped into the compact shower, letting the cool water wash away the exhaustion. The sensation was refreshing, a reset after hours of intense training.

Soft giggles echoed through the small space as Sol continued experimenting with his illusions even in the shower. The steam swirled in unnatural patterns, his reflection in the water flickering like a mirage. He played with light and shadow, making the droplets appear to freeze mid-air or shift color entirely. It was childish, but after the grueling training session, a bit of fun felt deserved. The more he explored, the more he realized just how much potential his illusions had—even in the simplest of moments.

Once finished, he dried off, threw on a fresh set of clothes, and paused in front of the mirror. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips as he waved a hand, distorting his reflection with subtle illusions. His hair turned silver, then deep red. His features shifted, sharpening, softening, eyes flickering between countless colors. He cycled through a dozen different appearances before stopping with a chuckle, shaking his head at his own antics. "Looking good, Sol," he muttered with a grin before finally stepping out of his cabin, making his way through the winding corridors of the ship. The familiar hum of the engines vibrated beneath his feet. The ship was alive in its own way, a mechanical beast that never truly slept.

He made his way back down to Lover's Bar, since he was just rooming in one of the spaces provided there by the old man. As he walked through the bar, Peach sat gently on his shoulders, their small presence adding to his otherwise solitary silhouette. The atmosphere shifted almost immediately. Conversations dulled, heads turned, and those who had been there before grew tense. The place got quiet.

Some of the patrons who hadn't been around for the earlier events looked around in confusion, unsure of what had caused the sudden hush. Then, whispers spread through the room, murmurs of what had happened—the rumors of Sol, of what he had pulled off, of what it meant.

Sol kept his expression neutral, pretending not to notice as he casually moved through the space, but inwardly, he couldn't deny a small spark of amusement. It seemed he had left more of an impression than he thought.

Ignoring the lingering stares, he made his way to an open seat at the bar and settled in. Peach adjusted slightly on his shoulder, letting out a soft trill before curling up again. The old man behind the bar, a wiry figure with deep-set eyes and a perpetual smirk, glanced at him before pouring a drink into a glass with practiced ease.

"Back already? Thought you'd be off stirring up more trouble, kid," the old man mused, sliding the glass toward him. "Or did you just finally remember you need to eat?"

Sol smirked, leaning onto the counter. "Something like that. Give me whatever's hot. Haven't eaten in a while."

Before the old man could respond, a familiar voice chimed in. "You should take better care of yourself, traveler. Would be a shame if someone as pretty as you wasted away."

Sol rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small grin that tugged at his lips. "Don't think I've reached that level of desperation just yet."

She chuckled, tail twitching behind her as she turned to the kitchen. Moments later, she slid a steaming plate of food in front of him. "Eat up. Can't have you dropping dead in the middle of the bar. That'd really kill the mood."

Sol chuckled under his breath and picked up his utensils. He took a bite, savoring the warmth of the meal, letting himself relax into the moment. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could just breathe.