Ilyas couldn’t sleep however. He spent the night sitting atop the castle, watching over the remnants of the kingdom. He still couldn’t believe it. The destruction he gazed upon was caused by one man, and he happened to be related to him. Of course she was so relentless. He laid against the roof, turning his eyes towards the stars. He thought about his mother, wondering if she had run away from all of the destruction in hopes of making a new home. I wonder if she found that home wherever she is now. The night in Darkthorn felt odd. It was a lot more calm than he’d imagined. The chill nipped at his bare arms, yet it was peaceful nonetheless. He had half expected vampires to have come crawling to get them by now. As Ilyas laid, he slowly began to doze off. 

In his dreams, Ilyas saw his father. Hashin Altaria stood tall, his Watcher uniform crisp, his eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and pride. " A mercenary? You've taken a path I never expected," the spectral image spoke, its voice echoing through the dreamscape. "But you’re still my son."

Ilyas twitched in his sleep. The dream shifted, memories blending like watercolors -the scene transformed. Blood began to pool around his feet, warm and viscous. The metallic scent filled the air. His hands trembled, and an unbearable hunger gnawed at his insides. The thirst was different now - primal, consuming. In the dream, his reflection showed fangs extending, eyes turning a deep crimson.

"No," Ilyas whispered to himself, "I won't..."

But the hunger was relentless. Faces of the squad members appeared - Jehan, Heroona, Jabar, Callai, and Aeon - each becoming translucent, their veins pulsing with an irresistible rhythm. His vampiric nature clawed from within, demanding satisfaction. Each heartbeat around him became a thunderous drum, promising sweet relief.

Ilyas felt his humanity slipping. His hands reached out, fingers elongating into sharp talons. The hunger became a roaring tornado inside him, drowning out reason, consuming logic. One bite, just one bite would silence this maddening craving.

The squad members began to back away, fear replacing their faces. Their terror only intensified his bloodlust. A low, growl escaped his throat.

"Stay back!" he tried to warn them, but the words came out as a feral snarl.

Just as he was about to lunge, the nightmare threatening to consume him completely, a soft flutter of wings broke through the darkness. The  gentle moth landed on his forehead, its tiny paws pressing against his skin. The touch was cool, almost electric - a stark contrast to the burning hunger consuming his dream.

Suika's wings pulsed with a soft, constant light. Each gentle beat seemed to push back the crimson darkness, her luminescent scales creating small ripples in the dream's fabric. Her cute, round face looked directly into Ilyas's eyes, and suddenly the nightmare's grip began to loosen.

"Suika?" Ilyas mumbled, his consciousness slowly returning.

The creature chirped, a sound that was part cricket's song and part melodic whisper. Its wings continued their hypnotic dance, driving the vampiric hunger back into the recesses of his mind.

Ilyas jolted awake, cold sweat covering his forehead. The morning sun came into focus, and Suika perched delicately on his knee, her wings still softly glowing. He couldn't help but laugh - a genuine, surprised sound that echoed through the empty chamber.

"What kind of magic do you have, huh?" he murmured, reaching out to stroke her colorful wings. “This must be ‘cause of that stupid sword.” 

Suika tilted her head, her large eyes reflecting a mix of concern and playfulness. She seemed more aware than the typical creatures he found.

A sharp, urgent call echoed from inside the castle. "Ilyas! We should start to move!" Aeon's voice cut through the morning stillness.

Ilyas scooped up Suika, cradling her in his arms. She nestled comfortably, her wings folding into a soft, colorful bundle. He stretched, feeling the lingering tension from his nightmare still clinging to his muscles.

As he dropped down from the roof, Callaia and Aeon waited. Callaia's eyes were sharp, scanning him with a mixture of suspicion and wariness. Seems she still doesn’t trust me. Aeon stood slightly behind her, his young face betraying a hint of impatience.

"Someone’s finally up," Callaia muttered. "Let’s get going."

They set out on a narrow dirt trail winding through the desolate landscape. Dust kicked up with each step, creating a hazy veil around their boots. Suika occasionally peeked out from Ilyas's pocket, her wings catching the morning light.

Callaia remained several paces behind, her hand resting near her weapon. The tension between them was still palpable.

Aeon's footsteps matched Ilyas, his cheery voice cutting through the dusty silence. "We should start illusion training," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You did drink from Callaia, I’m sure there's not much more you’ll be able to do to get closer to that side of you. You’re a fully fledged vampire now. I presume."

Ilyas glanced down, Suika peeking out from his arms. The mention of Callaia’s bite made him shy away. "Illusions? I'm more comfortable with my sword."

"Precisely why you need it," Aeon responded. His eyes, far too knowing for someone his age. "A sword can kill an enemy. Illusion magic can make that enemy kill themselves - or each other. Seeing as you almost got killed by Callaia, actually you did, the boost is much needed." He stopped walking, turning to face Ilyas. "Show me your hands." He hesitated, but when Ilyas extended them, Aeon studied the palms intently. "Feel the darkness within you. Not as a curse, but as an extension of yourself."

Suika chirped, her wings creating small ripples of light around Ilyas's hands. The moth seemed to be participating in the lesson, her tiny presence adding an unexpected dimension to the magical instruction.

"Close your eyes," Aeon instructed. "Breathe. Feel the darkness inside you. It’s not separate - It’s part of you."

Ilyas complied, feeling a strange tingling sensation spread from his core. This darkness wasn't just absence of light - it was a living, breathing entity. He could feel it moving, responding to his consciousness.

Ilyas felt the darkness respond, coiling like smoke from his fingertips. Shadowy whisps appearing from his fingertips.

"Your eyes, they're the key to casting illusions. Just like Erebus and Idris could - it's about manipulation of perception." Ilyas remembered Taldris’s words about illusion magic.

Callaia, who had been watching silently, stepped closer. Her amber eyes narrowed, studying the shadow with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as it dissipated.

"Not bad," Aeon nodded. "But regular illusions are far more complex."

Suika chirped, fluttering her wings in what seemed like encouragement. 

"The trick," Aeon continued, "isn't just creating shadows or dark wisps. True illusion magic requires complete sensory manipulation. And for a vampire, especially one with your... unique background, there's a shortcut." Aeon's eyes locked onto Ilyas. "Eye contact. Direct, unbroken eye contact. Most people can resist standard illusions, but if you can capture someone's gaze, you can construct an entire world within their mind."

"You mean... the hypnosis?" Ilyas asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Not just hypnosis," Aeon corrected. "Complete sensory replacement. Imagine being able to make someone experience an entire lifetime in the span of a moment. Or trap them in a nightmare that feels more real than reality itself."

Callaia scoffed. "And how exactly would a half-trained vampire manage something so intricate?"

Aeon's smile was both playful and dangerous. "Practice. And understanding that the illusion isn't only about creating something new, but manipulating what already exists in someone's mind."

 Ilyas thought back to the whispering caves, shuttering at the scale of it.

"Try it," Aeon said suddenly, his green eyes gleaming with challenge. "Hypnotize me."

Callaia put her hands on her hips, raising her brows curiously.

Suika chirped nervously, her wings creating small patterns of light that seemed to flutter with anxiety. Ilyas could feel the creature's unease transferring to him.

"Look at me," Aeon instructed, his voice calm but firm. "Don't think about the technique. Feel the connection."

Ilyas met Aeon's gaze. At first, nothing happened. Then, subtly, something shifted. The landscape around them seemed to blur slightly at the edges. Aeon's pupils dilated, his breath becoming slow and measured.

"Focus," Aeon whispered. "Imagine pulling their consciousness like a thread."

As he listened and did, Ilyas felt something strange happening. A thin tendril of darkness, almost invisible, seemed to stretch between his eyes and Aeon's. It wasn't a physical thing, but a connection of sorts that transcended normal perception.

As the thread connected, Ilyas was teleported into a world of imagination, like a dream. Suddenly, he found himself in a vast, ethereal space. Soft, luminescent mist swirled around his feet, changing colors with each step - blues melting into purples, then shifting to gentle greens.

A simple wooden table materialized before him, crafted from what seemed like moonlight and memory. Intricate patterns etched themselves into the wood - scenes from battles, moments of quiet reflection, fragments of lives not yet lived. Ilyas approached, running his fingers along the surface. Each touch sent ripples of memory through the table's surface. “W-what…what is this?” The more he tried to remember where he was, the more the scenery around changed. As he thought of the dirt path they were on, it appeared on the misty floor. I see. This must be it.

He began setting the table, having items appear from thin air, mismatched plates that seemed to whisper stories. A silver fork with a handle shaped like a dragon's claw. A ceramic plate painted with scenes of desert landscapes. A glass that caught and refracted light like a prism, casting rainbow fragments across the misty landscape.

"Interesting choice of dinnerware," Aeon's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

Suika fluttered nearby, her wings creating small windows of reality within the dream-space. Each flutter showed brief glimpses - a marketplace in Zafiron, his old home, a battlefield covered in ash, a quiet moment between two strangers.

"Are we having tea?" Ilyas asked, uncertain of the rules in this imaginary realm.

Aeon's laughter rang out, a sound both young and impossibly ancient. "I should be the one asking that. Every detail you choose tells a story. Every object you place reveals something about you."

A teapot appeared - bronze and worn, with dents that suggested years of travel. Steam rose from its spout, carrying the scent of spices Ilyas remembered from his childhood in Sahaar.

"Pour the tea," Aeon instructed. "But remember - in an illusion, nothing is as it seems."

As Ilyas lifted the teapot, the liquid inside shifted. One moment it was tea, the next it was blood, then water, then something that looked like liquid starlight. Each transformation happened so subtly that he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment of change. Each time his mind fluttered to a new thought it would appear.

Suika landed on the table, her wings casting soft light that seemed to stabilize the shifting reality around them. Her presence was an anchor, preventing the illusion from completely unraveling. He stared at her again. Just what are you?

"The key," Aeon said, materializing in the chair across from Ilyas as he imagined him, "is understanding that reality here is just another form of illusion. And illusion is just another form of reality."

The teacups began to dance, spinning and twirling without being touched, their porcelain surfaces reflecting fragments of memories and potential futures.

Ilyas realized he was learning something profound - not just about magic, but about the nature of perception itself, where the boundaries between what is real and what is imagined blur into a complex, beautiful uncertainty.

Ilyas opened his eyes with a gasp. He panted as he found himself back on the dirt path. He looked around. Suika was floating around them. Callaia watched him carefully, and Aeon had a wide smile. 

 “Good job,” he smacked Ilyas on the back. “I’m sure you’re feeling a bit over exerted, but that feeling will pass the more you practice. 

Ilyas swayed slightly, his vision blurring at the edges. "I feel... sick," he muttered, pressing a hand against his forehead. The world seemed to spin, fragments of the illusory realm still dancing at the corners of his perception.

Suika chirped with concern, her wings creating soft patterns of light around Ilyas's head. The tiny moth came closer, landing on his shoulder and pressing her tiny body against his neck - a gesture that felt almost like comfort.

"Told you," Aeon said matter-of-factly. "Illusion magic isn't just a trick. It's a complete rewiring of perception. First attempts always leave you feeling like you've been dragged through a spinning whirlpool."

Callaia stepped closer, her amber eyes narrowing with a mixture of slight concern and lingering suspicion. "Can he still walk? We can't afford to stop here."

"I'm fine," Ilyas insisted, though his words came out more like a groan. He took a step forward, stumbling slightly.

Aeon  held Ilyas's arm, supporting him. "Easy now. The connection between illusion and reality is more delicate than most realize. Your mind is still adjusting to the boundaries you just broke."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Ilyas mumbled.

"It means," Aeon explained patiently, "that you've just experienced a moment of pure consciousness manipulation. Your brain is recalibrating, trying to understand the difference between what you dreamed and what actually exists."

Callaia huffed and began to move. "Less talking, more walking. We don't have time for magical lectures. I think you should teach him after we’re back in the fort, if he’s still around, anyway." Her eyes washed over him.

Suika chirped in agreement.

"She's right," Aeon said, supporting Ilyas's weight. "We need to keep moving. The others won't wait for us to catch our breath."

 “I can walk fine,” Ilyas attempted to remove Aeon's grip, but he just smiled and kept holding. Ilyas groaned, grateful for the support despite his protests. Each step became easier, the dizziness slowly receding. The path ahead wound through a landscape of dust and stone, occasional rock formations casting long shadows in the late morning light.