Chapter 2: The Illusionist

"Even illusions, when layered well enough,

can become truths—at least long enough to survive."

The great iron gates of the Meijer estate had closed behind her—quietly, without ceremony. Mina stood for a while, her shoes crunching against the gravel path, uncertain of where to place her feet next.

She had left behind everything she'd ever known, yet the world ahead held no promises.

Beyond the white walls of the manor, the landscape opened like an untouched scroll—vast and wide, kissed by a sky as blue as the illustrations from her childhood books.

She descended a winding road, lined with gentle trees that swayed with the wind, their leaves rustling in whispers. For the first time in her life, Mina felt wind that wasn't filtered through marble columns or rose-trellised gardens. It was wild. Free.

She paused at a small crest of the valley—and gasped.

Below her, nestled between green hills and ridges of gold, stood a city of magnificence: 

White and gold spires pierced the clouds like holy blades. Blue-tiled roofs shimmered like lakes in sunlight. A marble bastion—wide, towering, ancient—curved protectively around the city, holding its grandeur within. Mina blinked several times, unable to believe that this fabled city had always been so close—just over the hills from the manor where she had lived her entire life like a shadow behind glass.

It was Elynthi. The Capital.

The heart of the Monarchy.

She'd read of it—on Tropico-leaf pages in gold-stitched books—but never seen it. Never known it was just a few valleys away from where she had spent her entire life.

She couldn't tell if the ache in her chest was awe or betrayal.

"So that's… the Capital…" she whispered to herself, almost reverently. "I never thought I'd see it... not like this."

The road curved downward through the valley, and Mina followed, descending toward the ridge. Along the way, she passed a bench sheltered beneath a wooden roof, oddly placed in such isolation. It felt like a waypoint, not for travelers, but for thoughts. She sat.

She touched the edge of her satchel—Juzzi, still shining—and closed her eyes. She had no map, no coin, and no home anymore. Cast out. Unnamed. Unclaimed.

But not without reason.

"I can't go back," she murmured. "But… they're still out there. Mama, Noelle… Uncle Don..."

The thought burned in her chest. House Meijer may have casted her out like debris from a sinking ship, but Mina knew the noble class never waste assets—not without reason. Her loved ones might still be alive. Might still be searching for her.

So she would search for them.

—

The Unexpecting Slums

Nightfall found her at the city gates. Imposing white arches carved with ancient Elynthian runes welcomed her; but as she passed beneath them, the truth revealed itself.

This was not the city of gold brimming with magical inventions, streets of grandeur cerulean she had imagined.

It was the underbelly of Elynthi.

The streets were cracked and narrow, flanked by leaning buildings with walls like slumped shoulders. Laundry dripped from sagging lines.

Rats and barefoot children shared the alleys. Somewhere nearby, a drunk howled a song to a god who wouldn't listen.

The scent was a stew of rot, oil, and piss bottled as perfume to fool the guards' hounds.

Her Tropico-formal clothing; a beige scholar's blouse, linen cloak, and black-trimmed boots screamed stranger. And worse: target.

Even the glow of her Juzzi satchel under the streetlight made her feel like prey.

Eyes were already watching.

She tried to move quickly, head down, clutching her satchel like a lifeline. But as she passed a flickering tavern sign shaped like a bent spoon, a shadow slid into her path. A man—barefoot, leather coat, bloodshot eyes. He blocked her with a foot, lazily smirking.

"Yo, kid," he rasped, breath reeking of old ale. "Lost? I know the way to the Magos Guild. Real exclusive tour."

From the shadows behind him, more figures emerged.

"Hey, this one's dressed like a Tropico scholar. You think they built a school here?"

"Nah. Look at the satchel. Juzzi, right? Damn, that's silver-grade. Probably fetch a better price than she would."

"Why not both?" one of them slurred. "Pretty thing like her, good price in the right tavern. Or in a cage."

Laughter. Grime. Leering eyes.

She tried to walk past them.

They didn't let her.

Mina was tough—trained alongside Meijer soldiers themselves, no stranger to danger—but nothing prepared her for the lawlessness of the Capital's gutters.

The circle closed around her.

Mina backed up, eyes darting for escape. But the alleys twisted and forked in ways she couldn't predict. This wasn't a map. This was a trap.

They lunged at her.

Mina sprinted immediately, through the narrow alleys, her breath sharp and shallow as four men gave chase. They moved with ease through the winding paths—they knew this part of the city far too well.

Their intentions were vile, hoping to savor the night with a frightened young girl at their mercy. When one of them lunged for her satchel, Mina flung it aside without hesitation—her life meant far more than a piece of leather. But her unfamiliarity with the terrain betrayed her. In moments, she found herself cornered, the cold stone walls offering no escape.

One seized her by the ponytail. Another locked her arms. A third reached toward her chest with sick intent.

But Mina—

She refused to let it happen. Not like this. Not on their terms.

She struck first.

An elbow drove hard into one man's ribs. A swift kick caught another square in the crotch.

She moved with precision—not like a pampered noble's daughter, but like someone trained to survive. Like a soldier's child. She twisted, struck, punched. Her fist cracked against a jaw. Her nails raked down a cheek, drawing blood.

There was power in her. Unexpected. Untamed.

Enough to knock one of them flat. Such raw strength unexpected from a Null yet.

Then—real magic begins.

She felt it before she saw it—mana thick in the air, humming against her skin. One of them grinned, his hand glowing faintly as he twisted his wrist with practiced cruelty, his knuckles glowing a faint hue of mana then.

Crack!

The mana-reinforced fist hit her side like a sledgehammer. Her ribs screamed. Air fled her lungs.

She crumpled to the ground.

The ground was unforgiving. Cobblestones bit into her knees and palms as she collapsed. Her vision blurred, ears ringing with the aftermath of the magical blow.

Laughter echoed around her.

"Feisty little thing," one of them sneered, stepping closer. "You had your turn. Now it's ours."

But Mina's eyes, even clouded with pain, still burned.

She coughed, blood tracing the corner of her lip. Her body screamed to stay down—but she wouldn't. She couldn't.

Not like this.

Her fingers closed around a shard of broken glass near her hand. Small, sharp. Enough.

When the nearest man reached for her, she drove it into his thigh.

He screamed.

The others flinched.

That was all she needed.

She rolled, ignoring the agony in her ribs, and sprang to her feet—wounded, yes, but burning with something deeper than rage: refusal.

Then the wind shifted.

From the far end of the alley, a low whistle cut through the night. Not from her. Not from them.

A shadow approached.

Tall. Calm. Cloaked.

The air grew colder.

And the men—finally—looked afraid.

But then—darkness.

Not unconsciousness. Not death.

Illusion.

For the mongrels, reality flickered. The alley shimmered—walls warped, shadows deepened—and their prey vanished like smoke in a gale.

They blinked. Spun in place. Confused. Drunk. Stupid.

"Where'd she—?"

"She was just here!"

"She's gone. Vanished, dammit! It's that damned Illusionist brat again!"

One of them tore open the satchel, furious.

"What the hell is this? It's fake! The Juzzi seal's off—look at it. Just books and pens. She's a scholar. Nothing else."

"Dammit, man! I've been stabbed!" one of them wheezed, clutching his side. "Leo, get me to a doctor! We can use the satchel as payment…"

Grumbling, cursing, bleeding and bruised, they stumbled off toward their usual tavern. One half-dragged the injured man, while the others bickered over the night's failure.

None of them noticed they were being watched.

They never even looked up.

—

Elsewhere—high above—Mina blinked.

Mina, now on a rooftop, coughed quietly beside a warm chimney vent. Her body once seemingly invisible had returned to sight—first fingers, then arms, then legs—just as a hand gently lifted from her brow.

She looked up.

A boy, no older than her, sat beside her. He had short, messy white hair and dark, gentle eyes that caught the light like polished amber.

He smiled, wiping soot from her forehead.

He looked her age—maybe younger—but his presence was unnerving in its calm.

"You okay?" he said, voice warm but theatrical. "A girl like you shouldn't be wandering down there. You a noble? Or a second-class? Either way—you've been saved by my legendary illusion magic~!"

He threw his arms out dramatically, the chimney smoke puffing around him like a stage.

"Now—go on. Praise me. Worship my genius. Shower me in thank-you's!"

Mina blinked at him. Her lips parted slightly, caught between shock and bewildered laughter.

"What are you…" she began, and then let out a breathless laugh. "You're… serious?"

"Of course I'm serious!" Ashe huffed. "I just saved your life with premium-grade illusion magic! And a full invisibility shroud! You were this close to ending up in some drunkard's potato sack!"

"Well… thanks," Mina said, still trying to process it all. "I've never met people like that before."

Ashe narrowed his eyes. "They're not people. They're scavengers with skin. Don't give 'em the dignity of the word."

Mina looked at him, surprised at the weight in his voice.

"You… speak like you've seen worse," she said.

"I have," Ashe replied simply. "Been living here most my life. Learned fast that spells aren't just for class. They're for survival."

"…What's your name?" Mina asked.

The boy puffed up proudly.

Ashe: "Ashe! Ashe Vaxille~" he grinned.

Mina: "Mina... name's Mina." raised an eyebrow.

Ashe's grin turned softer. "Nice to meet you, Mina. You got weird noble energy. But I like that."

She gave a small laugh, then glanced sideways. "Ashe? That's… kind of a girl's name."

Ashe froze. "Gweh!? I knew that was coming!"

Mina chuckled through the pain, wiping a tear from her eye.

Mina: "S-sorry! It just—Ashe! It sounds like a name for a princess or something!"

Ashe: "It can totally be a manly name! There are other swordsmen named Ashe! Somewhere. Probably."

Mina: "Still sounds like a flower."

Ashe: "Tch. I save your life and this is what I get."

Mina gave a small smile. It was the first time she'd smiled in days.

For the first time since the manor gates closed behind her, despite the ache in her ribs, the bruises, and the horror she had just lived through, she laughed like she hadn't in weeks.

And Ashe—this weird, kind, confident illusionist boy—laughed with her, Mina felt the presence of something unexpected.

Hope.

And maybe… a friend.

—

The Pact Beneath the Rooftops

The underbelly of the Central Capital never slept—but it did forget.

It forgot faces.

It forgot names.

It forgot mercy.

For those who lived beneath its towers and terraces, anonymity was survival.

On a rust-bitten rooftop, Mina stood still, eyes lifted toward a towering marble wall streaked with soot and grime. Massive black letters loomed above her: "Sector V9."

Ashe caught her staring, eyes wide with awe as a patrol's watchlights skimmed the wall's surface like probing searchers from some divine tower.

"Oh, that?" Ashe said casually. "Yeah, the Capital's carved into sectors—A1 to A10, all the way to Z. Sectors Q1 through Y6?" He gave a dry chuckle. "That's the entire slum district."

Mina nodded slowly. The world felt massive all over again. And yet this, this grim corner of the city, was just one tiny part of it.

Since her exile, nothing had made her feel this small.

Two shadows darted across the rooftop tiles like ghosts relearning how to walk—children, yes, but hardened by hunger and hardened faster by circumstance.

Ashe wore no cape, yet moved like he did.The wind pulled at his clothes, but never his balance.His steps were sure, his voice smooth—polished by desperation, refined in the gutters.

And Mina—silent, golden-eyed, her gaze held a hidden ember. A crimson glint that hadn't quite burned out.

They moved in tandem—leaping vents, dodging watchlights, stepping through hundreds of tiles. The city below never noticed. The sky above never cared.

Ashe broke the silence first, as always.

"This way's faster," he whispered. "Fewer guards. More moonlight."

Then, with a sly grin, "You're braver than most kids my age these days~"

Mina didn't smile. But she followed.

After tonight's chaos, it was all she could do.

And somehow, it was enough.

Not long ago, even her name had been taken from her—along with everyone she had ever loved.

Now, she was known only as Mina of House Meijer.

The nobility she once wore like a necklace now felt like a chain, dragging her through fire. Her name, once a shield, had become a curse. Her own family had struck her from the registry, erased her existence with ink and silence.

She was nothing. A ghost in the gutters. A girl without a place.

But Ashe had found her. Or perhaps... she had found him.

Either way, down in the haze of the lower sectors, names didn't matter anymore.

Only survival did.

—

 A Broken House and Bright Illusions

They walked in silence for a bit after that, the night pressing in around them. A bond settled unspoken between them. Both cast out. Both left behind. Both surviving on spite and instinct.

Eventually, Ashe led Mina to a squat, forgotten house tucked between two leaning buildings—nearly invisible from the streets below. The windows were boarded shut. The front door was nailed closed. But the roof had a loose panel, just big enough for two skinny kids to slip through.

"Home sweet nowhere," Ashe grinned.

Inside, the room was made of dust and shadows. But with a flick of his fingers, soft light bloomed—gentle orbs floating midair like ghost-lanterns. Illusions, nothing more.

But they felt warm.

"No mana in the grid? No problem," he said proudly. "Fools need wires. I've got flair."

He sparked a broken stove with a conjured glow, set a dented tin kettle atop it, and poured in water from a rain barrel against the wall. As steam began to rise, he rummaged through a worn bag and pulled out a half-loaf of stale bread.

"Dinner à la Vaxille: steam-toasted brickbread."

He grinned like it was a feast. Mina laughed—a real laugh, quiet but alive. The first since exile stole her voice.

They sat on the floor. No gold-plated forks, no velvet chairs. Just crumbs and company.

Then, slowly, Mina began to speak.

At first, it was barely more than a murmur. She wasn't sure why the words came, only that they needed to. And once they started, they didn't stop.

She told him everything.

The manor halls. The cold drills in etiquette. The way the maids smiled like dolls—graceful but hollow. Her mother's quiet strength. Her uncle's rare warmth. The label: Null. The exile. The silence that followed when no one explained, when everything she knew disappeared without reason.

Ashe didn't interrupt. He just listened—really listened. Hands tucked into the sleeves of his oversized coat, eyes focused like she was the only story the world had left to tell.

"Wow," he finally said, voice low. "So… you were a noble. But now you're not."

Mina exhaled—half sigh, half laugh. "Yeah. That's kinda my whole thing now."

Ashe blinked, then gave a crooked smile. "That's gotta be the biggest embarrassment for House Meijer—"

He froze, panic flashing across his face. "Wait, I didn't mean you, I meant them! Like—seriously, I kinda don't like those nobles either."

Mina arched a brow. "Oh? You've met them?"

Ashe's voice lowered. "Yeah… when I was little. Meijer soldiers came for us. Said my dad owed debts. He tried to argue—got loud. They called it 'hostile resistance' and shot him in front of me."

He hesitated, fingers tightening.

"My mom… she sold me. Said it was to cover the rest. I ran before they could collect."

He looked away.

"I've been running ever since."

Silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy. Shared. Understood.

Two lives broken by the same name, colliding in a world that didn't care to remember either of them.

But maybe… just maybe… in each other, they could find something close to peace.

Not as nobles or fugitives.

Just as friends.

And in this dim, crumbling shelter, warmed by fake lights and stale bread—

it felt enough.

—

The Blur of petty crime & perfect coordination.

Weeks had passed since Mina Meijer met Ashe Vaxille—and in that short time, much had changed.

Words were shared. Skills were traded. Trust, slowly, was forged.

Ashe taught her the rhythm of the underbelly: which rooftops connected by hidden walkways, which alleys guards pretended not to see, which merchants were light on vigilance and heavy with coin. Together, they became something more than allies—co-conspirators of survival in the dark arteries of Elynthi's forgotten veins.

His illusions weren't parlor tricks. They were weapons, distractions, escapes. Cloaks to vanish under. Masks to wear.

They stole only what they needed.

A slip of silver here, a purse lightened there. Ashe even revealed one of his prized deceptions: polished river stones transformed, just briefly, into gleaming coin. Not real—just a flash of light, a shimmer of gold caught in the eye of a tired vendor or a lazy reader.

Just long enough to buy an apple. Or a loaf. Or sometimes, nothing at all.

Mina gave back in kind.

She taught him control. Movement. Discipline. Tactics drilled into her during noble remedial sessions—how to breathe steady in a fight, how to strike where it counted, how to vanish without sound. No longer just an exiled girl with a noble name, she moved like a shadow with purpose. That crimson glint behind her golden eyes? It burned a little brighter each day.

By night, they darted through alleyways, smuggling trinkets and tools into hidden caches under false names.

By day, they claimed a booth.

The same one—cracked, crooked, barely standing—at the Shacken Clam Tavern, a damp little fish-soup bar tucked behind a sea-slick wall. Each afternoon, two minor nobles sat there for lunch, talking too loudly, eating too much, and always leaving their food half-finished.

The moment they left, Ashe and Mina would swoop in like grinning pirates, scraping up the abandoned meals with practiced speed. To them, it was a banquet. Warmth in a bowl. A stolen victory that tasted like survival.

They were still young.

But not children.

Not anymore.

Too much had already been taken from them.

And now, they were learning to take some of it back.

—

The Ten Layers Technique

On their seventh visit.

Ashe and Mina sat across from each other, wooden spoons diving into bowls brimming with salvaged leftovers—more than usual this time. A quiet victory.

Ashe grinned. "We're like heroes, y'know?" He lay back on his side of the booth later that evening, hands behind his head. "Outlaws. Street savants. Survivors."

Mina chuckled across him, arms folded behind her head.

"No one's writing our names in storybooks, Ashe. And I doubt anyone's going to craft an epic about two kids eating other people's half-eaten soup."

"Not yet." He turned his head, flashing that familiar grin. "But they will."

Back at the tavern, Ashe slurped a loud mouthful of soy chicken broth and noodles, scowling with dramatic flair.

"Damn nobles. Can't even appreciate good food. Wasteful as hell."

Mina shrugged, spoon halfway to her mouth. "Hey, at least we're eating warm tonight. I'll take that."

"I'd like it more if we actually ordered something," Ashe muttered.

Their conversation paused as the waitress passed by again—same stoic stare, same unsettling silence. Both kids tensed for a moment, expecting to be shooed away.

But she didn't stop. Just served the next booth over and moved along.

Mina exhaled. "She always looks right at us."

"Yeah…" Ashe muttered, relief soft in his voice.

Mina finally asked—"Hey," she mumbled through a mouthful of hot beef stew, "isn't your magic… illusion?"

Ashe blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"I read somewhere it's, like… obsolete. Volume 39 of the Tropico-Elynthi Compendium said illusion magic's been dead ever since… um, mana-something?"

"Mana-Perception," Ashe answered without missing a beat.

"Yeah, that! What does it do again?"

Ashe slurped his soup, then leaned back with mock grandeur. "It lets you sense the truth beneath magic. Like reading someone's aura, tracking them through walls, fog, whatever. Once you're good at it, illusions become useless. You just pierce through the glamour and see what's actually there."

Mina squinted at him. "Then how come yours still works? You fooled five guards and two pickpockets last week."

Ashe grinned like a kid who'd just pulled off the best prank in the world. "That's because I don't just use illusion magic—I evolved it. Secret technique. But…" He rubbed his fingers together. "For a bit of silver, I could be convinced to share."

Mina groaned. "Ugh, I'm saving that for ice pops next week!"

"Okay, okay!" He threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! I want ice pops too. Consider this a gift. A gesture of friendship."

He leaned in close, covering his mouth like he was about to share a national secret. Mina leaned in too, half-excited, half-skeptical.

"Think of illusions like blankets," Ashe whispered. "One thin layer might cover something up. But if you stack them—two, three, ten—it gets thick. Dense. Most people can't see through it."

Mina blinked. "So…?"

"So I made a pact—with myself, and with my magic. I figured out how to duplicate illusions. Layer them. Two, four, ten—without increasing the mana cost. One spell, multiplied in effect."

He leaned back, clearly proud. "That's the trick. Layered illusions. Even people with strong mana-perception struggle to see through more than three. Regular guards? Street enforcers? They're totally blind to it. And I can go way beyond that."

He raised an eyebrow and asked himself aloud, theatrically, "What's it called?"

With a puffed chest, he answered, "The Ten Layers Technique. Mine and mine alone." His grin said what he didn't—he might be the one to bring illusion magic back from the grave.

Mina raised a brow. "Wow. Actually... that's kind of genius."

She leaned back with a soft sigh. "But I'm a Null. Not sure it'll ever matter for me."

Ashe smiled gently. "Maybe not. But it matters for us. And maybe one day, for the world."

The tavern buzzed with low conversation. Warm soup settled in their stomachs. And for a moment, the cold underbelly of the city felt far away.

Ashe no longer wandered the streets alone.

Now he had Mina—his perfect partner in crime.

And she had him, vice versa.

Here in this tavern, amid clattering bowls and bubbling pots, they had found something rare:

A place of safety.

A place of solace.

A place for—

"FOOD!" they shouted in unison as the next bowl landed on the table.

The same waitress, her eyes still carrying that sharp, unreadable gaze, returns quietly—this time with a warm bowl of broth and wavy noodles.

She places it in front of them without a word. It's not much, but it's all she can offer after noticing their weariness… their struggle.

Maybe not everyone in this world is an enemy.

Maybe—just maybe—there are more out there like her.

And maybe, some of them will walk alongside Ashe and Mina on the road ahead...