Breaking the Illusions

The mental battlefield began to tremble, the very air quivering with an almost electric tension. The storm of twisted visions that Lian Zhu had woven—once so overwhelming, so relentless—flickered like a dying flame. The warped images she conjured shattered and dissolved, vanishing into the shadows where they had been born. The chaotic, swirling tempest of illusion gave way to an eerie calm, as if the storm itself had exhaled and lost its breath.

The warped, shifting landscapes—where nightmares danced and fear took root—slowly peeled away, replaced by a steadier, more grounded presence. It was subtle at first: a whisper carried on a wind no one else could hear. Then the sound grew, until it became clear and resonant, like ancestral voices calling across centuries. These were the spirits that had always been at Thalia’s side, guardians unseen but never absent.