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Forest of Illusion and souls : 3

The Forest of Illusions seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the dark shadows between the trees shifting and writhing like a living entity. Atticus moved forward cautiously, his senses heightened, aware that each step he took could plunge him deeper into the forest’s mind-bending tricks. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant, eerie calls of unseen creatures.

As he walked, Atticus kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, though he knew its blade would be of little use against illusions. It was more of a comfort, a tangible reminder of who he was and what he could rely on—steel and resolve, not tricks of the mind.

The forest began to shift again. The trees seemed to grow taller, their trunks stretching impossibly high until they disappeared into the murky canopy above. The ground beneath his feet softened, turning to a slick, almost liquid surface that made each step feel like he was trudging through a mire. The air thickened, and Atti
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