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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
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 021 | A Shadow's Gaze (Nyx)
Helio sleeps uneasily. Even in slumber, his fingers twitch—his breathing shallow, restless. The moonlight filtering through the ragged curtains of his temporary shelter bathes his pale skin in silver, casting his sharp features in an illusion of peace. But I know better. There is no peace left in him. Only the weight of vengeance pressing against his ribs like a blade waiting to pierce through. I lean against the crumbling stone wall, arms crossed, watching him. He has grown thinner. Shadows cling beneath his sightless eyes, and exhaustion weighs down his every movement. Yet his magic hums faintly in the air around him, never fully at rest. Always prepared. Always waiting for another betrayal. Foolish boy. I could slit his throat right now, end his pathetic struggle before it begins. But where would the fun be in that? Instead, I let the illusion slip through the cracks of reality, just for a moment. A whisper of a memory. A flicker of something lost. A child’s laughter, light as a
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 022 | The Judging Flames (Nyx)
I stand beside Zenthio, the obedient shadow at his heels, the loyal hound he believes me to be. From the grand terrace of his mansion, he gazes down at the people gathered in the courtyard below—his people. His subjects, as he so arrogantly calls them. But they are not subjects. They are desperate. The morning sun casts long shadows over the uneven cobblestones, highlighting the weariness etched into their faces. Farmers, merchants, craftsmen—all standing in tense silence, clutching whatever coin they could scrounge together. Today is collection day. Today, Zenthio counts his wealth, and the people count their misfortunes. He stretches his arms lazily, exuding the air of an emperor surveying his kingdom. I watch him with vague amusement as he takes slow, deliberate steps forward, his polished boots clicking against the marble. A performance, as always. Zenthio does not walk. He prowls, basking in the weight of the gazes below. "Another fine morning in my lands," he muses, voice ca
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 023 | Deadly Alliance (Helio)
The wind carries the scent of damp earth, tinged with something old—like rotting wood buried beneath the soil. The air is thick, pressing against my skin like a silent warning. We are climbing a hill. At least, I think it is a hill. Each step forward feels heavier than the last, as if the land itself does not want us here. Beneath my gloved fingers, the reins tremble. The horses—both mine and Hale’s—are slowing, their breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. Even without sight, I can feel their hesitation. “They’re struggling,” Hale mutters beside me. I nod. My own horse shifts beneath my grip, its body rigid, tense. “They won’t make it to the top like this,” I say. “We walk from here.” Hale groans, but I hear him dismount. I follow suit, sliding off my horse and planting my boots onto the uneven ground. The moment my feet touch the earth, I frown. The soil beneath me is wrong. It’s too soft for a hillside. Too smooth. Not like natural terrain, but something carefully crafted. I
Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir 024 | The Art of Cruel Lessons (Nyx)
The scent of burnt wood lingers in the cold night air, thick and suffocating, like the last breath of something long dead. Smoke still coils in weak tendrils from the remains of the house, rising into the sky like a funeral prayer whispered too late. Julian stands at the heart of it all, motionless amid the wreckage. The home he once knew is nothing but a blackened skeleton. Charred beams stretch toward the sky like fractured ribs, the remains of the walls sagging inward, barely holding themselves together. Everything inside is gone—consumed by the fire, reduced to nameless piles of soot and ash. But still, he searches. His fingers dig through the wreckage, sifting through cinders and broken stone, pushing aside remnants of a life that no longer exists. His movements are slow, methodical, like a man performing a ritual for the dead. He picks up objects that hold no meaning anymore—half-melted trinkets, shards of pottery, a broken wooden spoon. He inspects them with hollow eyes befor
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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
