Fog shrouded the city at dawn—not a fog of rain or air, but a fabric of deception woven carefully by Cain. Every street, every corner, every window was like a mirror shaken by invisible hands. Tiflos stood on the edge of the abandoned building, his silver eyes searching the void, trying to decipher the codes of the false reality. Sounds permeated the fog, but they belonged neither to the city nor to time; they were a hidden melody weaving through their consciousness.
Noor stood beside him, her black hair flying in an illusory breeze that didn't touch reality, her eyes following lines of energy made from illusions flowing like an undercurrent beneath their feet. "The devices show buildings duplicating, as if the city created another version of itself," she said, as if trying to grasp a thread of truth.
Tiflos nodded, his voice quiet but carrying a heavy weight: "Every shadow here is part of Cain's plan to make us get lost in his personal illusion, but there will be a pattern. There's always a pattern." His hand trembled slightly, then steadied. "We must find the energy source of these illusions before the deception consumes us completely."
...
In the government palace, Arcanus stood before a massive office window, his golden eye gleaming with anger and restraint. "They've become prisoners of shadows our eyes cannot perceive. Do we proceed?" his general asked, his voice like a stone dropping into written silence.
"Our forces are doubling, Sir," said the trembling general. "As if every step we take, every decision we make, becomes a tool in his hand."
Arcanus was silent for a moment, then replied coldly: "We are not here to play shadow games. We will not allow anyone to challenge the state."
The general fell silent, then asked for permission and left.
Arcanus remained, looking out the window. He raised his head to the sky, sighed, and said to himself, "Cain... it seems my hope in you was misplaced. And I was the one who trained you all these years to lead the family."
---
Tiflos and the Resistance felt they had no choice but to enter the strange fog Cain had enveloped around most of the city in a suspicious manner. As if he weren't an ordinary Seer, for covering the city with such fog would require several days even for a Golden-Eyed Seer.
Tiflos and Noor stepped into the heart of the fog, their footsteps faint but their senses highly alert. The ground beneath their feet was no longer stable; it shifted with each illusion, each illusion disappearing as they approached. "This is Cain's game," said Tiflos. "He wants to see who reaches the center first."
Noor looked at him. "But why test us like this?"
"I don't know," he answered, his voice carrying all his psychological weight. "But a person like him... I don't think it's for enjoyment. The more I look at his actions, the stranger they seem, but there's something hidden behind them. So we must learn from this illusion that strength isn't measured by what we possess, but by what we know about ourselves."
From among the illusions, shadows of fighters appeared—not real, but their strikes were like thunderbolts. Tiflos used his sonic waves, his movements precise, dismantling the shadows into glowing dust. Each of his moves was like a lesson striking accurately, conveying at the same time: Truth only shatters by understanding deception.
In a corner of light, stood Orion, his red eyes gleaming with anger and fear, observing everything. He was part of the illusion, yet he held his own will in his hands. "Father..." he whispered, as if the words themselves trembled among the shadows.
Cain, in the Tower of Shadows, was not alone there; illusory copies of him manipulated the battle. Each copy carried a different tone, pressing on every psychological thread of each participant. "They are learning," he whispered inwardly, "but they don't know what they are learning."
...
Tiflos turned to Noor. "This isn't just a battle. It's a test of everything we believe in. Strength, fear, courage... and most importantly, our awareness of who we are."
As they advanced, the street suddenly changed. From abandoned buildings, it transformed into a garden full of moving shadows. Each shadow resembled someone from the past, or a buried desire of the soul. "Every illusion carries our memories," said Noor. "Every step leads us to confront ourselves."
Tiflos felt those memories—sorrows he didn't know he held, mistakes he hadn't yet committed. But he was aware: "Every time your emotions tremble, there's a chance to learn something new about yourself."
And as they delved deeper into the illusory city, a golden thread of strange energy waves appeared on a foggy horizon—a faint ray of real energy. "This is the path," said Tiflos, his voice like the whisper of wind through trees. "We must follow it."
The illusions tried to tempt them—moving images of fighters, breathing walls, writhing colors—but Tiflos and Noor walked steadfastly, each of their steps a message: We perceive the deception, and we are not afraid.
Until the moment of confrontation, the Illusory Army appeared in every corner. "Attack!" shouted one of the state's military commanders, but the attack was confusing. Shadows intersected with shadows, light with shadows, everything was wrong, yet everything began correctly at the same time.
Tiflos released a sonic wave, rippling as if organizing the fog, like a symphony shattering illusions. But he realized: "It won't stop here. Every step we take, every illusion we break, reshapes the path before us."
Noor placed her hand on his shoulder. "Will we reach the center?"
Tiflos looked at the golden thread, his eye gleaming with new insight: "The heart of the illusion isn't here yet. But we're close. Every test, every pain, every illusory battle... teaches us that we can see the truth, even amidst the darkness."
And in the Tower of Shadows above them, Cain observed from above, smiling from his illusory copies, studying their reactions. Everything was proceeding according to his plan. "They are advancing," he whispered, "but not as they intended."