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Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 013 | A Phantom's Return (Helio)
The palace air feels thick, clinging to my skin like invisible chains. I should have left hours ago, but something keeps me rooted here, standing in front of Prince Zorion’s chamber door. When I finally knock, I hear a quiet shuffling before the door creaks open. Zorion stands before me, his silver hair slightly disheveled, his small frame tense with something I can’t quite name. “You’re leaving.” His voice is calm, but I can hear the underlying note of something heavier. Not fear. Not sadness. Something in between. “Yes,” I answer simply. He steps aside, motioning for me to enter. I do. The room is bathed in morning light, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. He was sitting by the window before I interrupted—perhaps waiting for this conversation. I take a breath. “Zorion, I need to return to Varidianth. I have to see what Zenthio is doing to my home.” He doesn’t react immediately. Instead, he crosses his arms and tilts his head, considering something. Then— “You’ll c
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 014 | The Weight of Hunger (Helio)
The farmlands of Varidianth are vast, stretching as far as my eyes can see, but they are nothing like I remember. My father used to say that the strength of a kingdom is measured not by its warriors but by the hands that till its soil, by the people who grow its food and feed its future. But now, under Zenthio’s rule, the land is broken. The soil beneath my boots is dry, cracked, gasping for nourishment. The crops are sparse, their stalks thin and weak. The air carries the scent of dust, not the rich, earthy aroma of thriving fields. I kneel, running my fingers over the dirt, letting the texture of it tell me what words cannot. Too dry. Too starved. There has been no proper irrigation for months. A murmur of voices drifts toward me. I rise, turning my head slightly. A group of farmers stands near a collapsed fence, their shoulders hunched, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. “What do we do now?” one of them mutters. “We don’t have enough seed left for next season,” another replies
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 015 | A Thief in the Lion's Den (Helio)
The night air is thick with the scent of rain and distant embers as I approach the Hawthorn mansion. The towering estate looms ahead, its dark stone walls illuminated only by the flickering lanterns lining the outer courtyard. It feels foreign now. This place, once my home, is no longer mine. I stand hidden in the shadows of the outer gate, Hale crouched beside me. The low hum of voices spills from inside, mingling with the faint melody of a violin. Laughter—loud, drunken, careless—echoes through the open windows. I exhale quietly. “He’s throwing a party.” Hale scoffs. “Your brother?” I nod. “Not Zenthio. Demario.” Hale shifts slightly, peering toward the entrance. “Seems like he's enjoying himself.” Of course he is. While Varidianth crumbles, Demario feasts. I close my eyes for a moment, letting my illusion magic stretch outward. The world shifts, layers of sound and movement bending to my will. I sense the guards stationed by the main doors—lazy, distracted, wine-heavy in their
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 016 | Shadows and Scars (Helio)
The Ashfall estate rises in the distance, its dark stone walls blending into the night. Unlike the Hawthorn mansion, which carries the weight of history and nobility, this place feels empty—as if no warmth or life has ever truly belonged here. And yet, Zenthio has come. I kneel in the shadows of a neighboring rooftop, Hale crouched beside me. The cool night air presses against my skin, thick with the scent of damp stone and distant rain. Through the tall arched windows of the estate’s great hall, I see them. Zenthio. And the woman he has spent his entire life chasing. His mother. Duchess Melissa Ashfall sits in a high-backed chair, her posture regal, her expression unmoved. She is dressed in a gown of midnight blue, her silver hair braided into a crown of intricate knots. Zenthio stands before her, shoulders squared, as if awaiting judgment. He holds a small, ornate box in his hands. A gift. A peace offering. He lifts the lid, revealing a delicate silver locket—the same pendant I’
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 017 | A Dream of Lies (Helio)
The fever coils around me like a living thing. I feel it slithering beneath my skin, threading through my veins like poison. My body is heavy, sinking into the thin mattress beneath me, but my mind is floating, drifting beyond the edge of reality. I know I am dreaming. And yet, I cannot wake. Then, suddenly, I am somewhere else. A city of gold and glass stretches before me. The sky is frozen in a strange, eternal twilight, caught between dusk and dawn. The streets are too clean, the air too still, and there is an eerie hum vibrating in the silence. Everything is perfect. Too perfect. I inhale sharply. The scent of flowers lingers in the air—sweet, delicate, familiar. It smells like home. But my home no longer exists. Which means this is a lie. I take a cautious step forward, my boots making no sound against the pristine white marble. I see my reflection in the polished streets—my own face, but eerily distorted, like I do not belong here. I don’t. My hands curl into fists. "This is
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 018 | A City of Whispers (Helio)
The letter arrives with the first rays of dawn, delivered by a quiet-footed courier who vanishes before I can question him. I sit by the window, my fingers curled around a lukewarm cup of tea, watching the golden morning light stretch over the rooftops of Varidianth. The air outside is cool, damp with the lingering scent of last night’s rain. Hale stumbles into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He tosses an elegantly folded envelope onto the wooden table between us. "Some fancy noble sent you this," he mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair. "It’s weird, though. It’s got all these little bumps on it." I set my cup down and reach for the parchment. The texture beneath my fingertips is unmistakable. Braille. I pause. A slow, knowing smile pulls at my lips. There is only one person who would send me a letter written this way. Prince Zorion. ⚔️ I trace the raised dots, feeling the familiar precision in each letter. His handwriting—if one could call it that—is perfectly
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 019 | A Toast to the Lost (Helio)
The road stretches endlessly before us, a winding path carved through rolling fields and shadowed forests. The sun hangs low in the afternoon sky, casting golden light over the dry earth, but despite the warmth, the air feels wrong. The further west we travel, the quieter the world becomes. Birdsong fades. The rustling of leaves turns to silence. Even the wind carries a hush, as if the land itself is holding its breath. Hale rides beside me, his golden eyes scanning the landscape. His usual complaints—about the sun, about riding, about the way “your horse hates me, Helio”—have faded over the last few hours. He is uneasy. I can feel it in the way he adjusts the straps of his satchel too often, in the way his fingers drum absently against the saddle. He is listening for something. Or perhaps, like me, he is listening for the absence of something that should be there. We have been riding since morning, but as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon, a structure appears in the dista
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 020 | Whispers in the Dark (Helio)
The warmth of the tavern has long since faded, leaving behind the stillness of the rented room. A single candle flickers on the wooden table, its golden light barely holding back the deep shadows that stretch along the walls. The scent of ale, roasted meat, and stale bread lingers in the air, mixing with the damp musk of old wood and fabric. Beyond the window, the wind stirs through the trees, its distant wail threading through the silence like a whisper meant only for me. Sleep does not come easily. I lie on my back, staring at the uneven ceiling beams, exhaustion pressing against my limbs but never quite pulling me under. The mattress is stiff, the sheets rough against my skin, but that is not what keeps me awake. My thoughts are restless, circling, tightening. The weight of my dreams coils at the edges of my consciousness, waiting for me to close my eyes. I can feel it, like an unseen hand reaching from the dark. Across the room, Hale sleeps. His breathing is slow, steady, the onl
Latest Chapter
034 | Between Pain and Memory (Julian)
Pain does not leave me. It clings to my skin, presses against my ribs, curls around my wrists like unseen chains. My body is sore, my limbs weak, every breath a slow, dragging effort. The damp forest floor is cold beneath me, but my fever makes everything feel unbearably warm, as if I am burning from the inside out.I do not know how long I have been here. Long enough for the world to blur. Long enough for my mind to slip between the present and the past. And in that haze of exhaustion, of pain, of near delirium, I remember the city. The City That Had Nothing LeftI remember standing in the streets of my home and realizing it was no longer mine. The city had been drained.The marketplace that once thrived with merchants and traders was now filled with empty stalls and sunken-eyed vendors. Goods that had once been within reach—fine fabrics, fresh produce, spiced tea—were now luxuries only the wealthiest could afford. The people were struggling.I had seen fathers counting their last co
033 | Secrets Beneath the City (Helio)
The underground market is a place that should not exist—at least, not in the eyes of the nobility. It thrives beneath the heart of the city, hidden beneath layers of cobbled streets and forgotten tunnels. To those who live above, it is merely a rumor, a whispered secret passed between cautious lips.But to those who know how to find it, it is something else entirely.A refuge. A kingdom of its own. A place where laws bend and reality shifts, where magic is not bound by the careful rules of scholars and noble bloodlines.The entrance is unremarkable—an old iron grate set into a quiet alleyway, half-buried in debris. To the unknowing, it looks like nothing more than a forgotten drainage system, long abandoned. But beneath it, a staircase carves into the earth, leading to something far older than the city above.I step forward first, feeling the shift in the air the moment my boot touches the stone. Hale follows closely, muttering under his breath about the smell—a mixture of damp earth,
032 | Flicker of Hope (Helio)
The tension in my hands lingers long after we leave Zenthio’s office.My steps are steady, my posture composed, but something raw lingers beneath my skin. The weight of his words—he’s probably dead—still coils in my chest, threatening to drag my mind into a place I do not wish to go.But I cannot afford to lose focus. Not now.Hale walks beside me, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his usual sharp remarks absent. Rhea follows a step behind, silent, her face hidden beneath the loose strands of her dark hair. She has not spoken since we left the office.The estate is quieter than I remember. Too quiet. The servants keep their heads down as we pass, their eyes avoiding mine, their footsteps hurried as if they fear they will be punished simply for being seen. The walls, though untouched in their grandeur, feel emptier. The great tapestries still hang in the corridors, the chandeliers still cast their golden light upon the marble floors, but there is no warmth. No life.We pass the h
031 | Homecoming as a Foe (Helio)
The gates of the Marquess’s estate stand before me, just as they always have—imposing, grand, and heavy with the weight of a legacy I once called my own. The wrought iron, polished to a merciless shine, gleams under the midday sun, its intricate patterns curling like the veins of an old tree.I have walked through these gates before. I was raised behind them. Yet today, as I step forward with Hale and Rhea at my side, I am a guest in my own home.The knights stationed at the entrance stand rigid, their polished armor reflecting the light like mirrors of steel. They recognize me instantly—of course, they do—but their hands tighten around their weapons, unsure of what to do with their knowledge.The hesitation is thick in the air.Once, they would have bowed without question. Once, they would have greeted me as a son of the house Alessio, not as an outsider. But times have changed. And so have I.I hear their whispers before I even pass the threshold."The blind heir has returned.""The
030 | A Rotting Soul (Nyx)
I exist in many places at once.The city whispers my name in the dark, a flickering shadow slipping through the cracks of locked doors, lingering in the hush of frightened voices. In alleyways, men speak of me in cautious tones. In grand halls, nobles glance over their shoulders, wondering if I am watching.Children, huddled beneath their blankets, hear stories of the man who walks between worlds, the specter who listens even when no one is watching. They say I can be anywhere. That I am everywhere.And they are not wrong. I walk the halls of Lavinia’s mansion, where illusions weave themselves into reality like a second skin.I stand in Zenthio’s mansion, where cruelty is currency, and the weak are devoured whole.And now, I am here. The Queen’s palace.The morning light filters through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors across the polished marble floor. The scent of spiced tea and warm pastries lingers in the air, mingling with the sharp ink of freshly opened letters
029 | Ashes and Fear (Helio)
The aroma of tea drifts through the small dining room, weaving into the morning air like a gentle promise of warmth. The scent of toasted bread lingers beneath it, rich with butter, mingling with the faint traces of honey and herbs. The wooden table, though plain and slightly uneven, is covered with simple ceramic dishes, a teapot at its center, steam curling lazily from its spout.It is a humble meal. But there is something oddly grounding about it.I lift my teacup, feeling the comforting warmth seep into my fingertips as I take a slow sip. The bitter taste is softened by honey, smooth and lingering on my tongue. I exhale, setting the cup down with a quiet clink against the wooden surface.Across from me, Hale is already halfway through his second sandwich, chewing with little care for propriety. His younger sister, Ellemira, watches him with a mix of amusement and disapproval, her own hands wrapped delicately around a cup of tea that looks too large for her small fingers.Rhea, how
028 | Traces that Vanished (Helio)
The scent of damp wood and old stone lingers in the air as I shut the door behind me. The night outside is still, the city beyond Hale’s home quiet in a way that unsettles me. Too much silence is dangerous—it means fear has settled into the bones of this place, pressing into its people like an unspoken warning.But I do not linger on it. Not now.I step into my room and let the illusion settle over reality like a second skin.The rough-hewn walls smooth into dark mahogany, the warped wooden floor shifts beneath my boots into polished marble. A silk canopy drapes over a bed far too fine for a place like this, its fabric swaying gently despite the still air.None of it is real.The truth lies beneath the glamour—cracked beams, uneven floorboards, the faint scent of mildew clinging to the corners of the room. A simple cot in place of a grand bed. A single, unlit candle instead of the illusionary chandelier that hangs above me.I do not need luxury.But the i
027 | Lavinia's Game (Nyx)
Julian is still breathing. Barely.His body lies curled in the dirt like a discarded piece of trash, his limbs twitching as waves of pain ripple through his broken nerves. The illusion I left him in has not faded. It wraps around him like chains, feeding him agony, whispering false suffering into every fiber of his being. His skin glistens with sweat, his breath comes in short, desperate gasps, and yet—He does not beg. He does not scream anymore. He endures.A lesser man would have long since lost himself to madness, crushed beneath the weight of pain with no wound to prove it. A weaker soul would have shattered into something unrecognizable, pleading for mercy that would never come.But Julian clings to himself with an admirable, if utterly pointless, determination.I stand over him, my shadow stretching long in the dim light of the ruined alleyway. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tighten in the dirt as if clinging to the last remnants of his former life.
026 | Wake-up Call (Helio)
Pain blossoms across my jaw before I even register the movement. The impact snaps my head to the side, my ears ringing, the taste of iron blooming across my tongue. I stagger but do not fall. My grip tightens around my cane, steadying myself. My breath hitches for a moment before evening out, but the pain lingers—a dull, throbbing ache where Hale’s fist connected. He hit me. Hale hit me. I exhale slowly, tilting my head back toward him. “Are you finished?” My voice is level, but there is a coldness beneath it. Hale stands rigid, his chest rising and falling sharply. His fist is still clenched, his knuckles white. His entire body is wound tight, as if he’s barely holding himself together. “No,” he growls. “Not even close.” I swipe my thumb against my lip, smearing the blood there. “So that’s how we’re handling disagreements now?” Hale scoffs, his face twisted in frustration. “I don’t know how else to get through to you.” He takes a step forward, his eyes burning. “You weren’t liste
