Vell stood near the hearth, his gaze resting on the young witch beside him. She sat close, her focus absorbed in the tome before her, its pages stretching ever longer with each slow turn. The air carried the faint scent of old paper and ink, mingling with the warmth of the fire.
Sonder lounged nearby, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair, her expression both thoughtful and intent as she practiced magic with a single hand. A soft glow flickered at her fingertips—first a tiny light, then a thin thread. It wasn't firm like a barrier but delicate, weightless. She guided it through the air like a kite caught in the wind, but it never lasted long before dissolving, only for her to start again.
The process was slow, almost sluggish, yet it demonstrated an impressive level of control—precise manipulation of mana outside the body.
"Illusion magic," Vell's voice broke the quiet, startling the young witch. She nearly jumped from her seat, having failed to notice him standing there. He had been invisible for some time, watching.
He suppressed a chuckle, finding the sight amusing.
"It isn't just about tricking others," he continued once they'd caught their breath. "Not entirely, at least. It's about perception—understanding how the mind fills in gaps, how light and shadow deceive even the sharpest eyes."
The witch furrowed her brow. "That much should be obvious."
"There's more to it." Vell leaned slightly forward. "A strong illusion isn't just seen—or unseen. It's felt or unfelt. Heard or unheard. Even smelled or ignored. The trick is crafting something so convincing that the mind accepts it without question… or dismisses it entirely. And that takes control. Illusions don't sustain themselves; you have to maintain them, hold them together with focus and intent. A weak illusion crumbles under scrutiny. But a strong one?" He smirked. "A strong one can fool even yourself."
The young witch swallowed, knowing that her lesson had started. "How do I begin?"
Vell gestured toward the stone wall near the hearth. "We'll start small. Illusions aren't about creating something from nothing. They're about understanding what people expect to see, hear, and feel… and bending that expectation."
The witch followed his gaze, frowning. "What am I supposed to do with a wall?"
Vell tapped his knuckles against the stone. The sound echoed—a dull, familiar knock. Then, he tapped again. This time, the noise was wrong. Too hollow. Too distant, as if the stone had stretched into an endless void, far away.
The witch stiffened.
Another knock. Sharp, crisp—but it didn't come from the wall at all. It rang out behind her.
She turned sharply, scanning the room, though there was nothing.
When she looked back, Vell was smirking. "See? Just a simple sound, and already your senses are questioning what's real."
Sonder stopped twirling the threads, far too interested in the lesson to pay only half attention.
Vell continued, "Illusions aren't just about sight. They can manipulate all the senses—sound, touch… even balance."
He lifted a hand. For just a moment, the young witch felt something shift beneath her. The floor tilted ever so slightly—not enough to throw her off, but just enough for her body to react. Instinctively, she reached out to steady herself.
"Expectation," Vell murmured. "That's how illusions go deep. Now, let's start simple. Close your eyes."
The witch hesitated but obeyed. Around her, the sounds of the cabin settled—the crackling embers, the faint creak of shifting wood.
"Listen," Vell instructed. "Not to what's there, but to what isn't. Now, imagine a sound. One that should be here. Something small. Subtle."
And with that, the lesson really began.