When Damon channeled mana into his eyes and cast a spell that helped him peer through the unseen, his heart was gripped by dread.
What he saw wasn't a bloodied and broken dusk-skinned youth who had been tortured brutally.
No.
What he saw… was nothing.
There was no one sitting on the chair.
There was no blood on the ground.
There was nothing.
Nothing at all.
For the last two hours, the Wardens and Agents inside this interrogation room had been put under a highly complex illusion spell.
In that split moment, only one thought echoed inside Damon's mind:
Just how strong must the caster be to be able to sustain an illusion this potent for hours?
The answer soon became clear.
The moment Damon was able to see through the illusion, he saw something else, too, at the corner of his vision.
On the other side of the room, a figure draped in a dark robe stood calmly. A hood covered his head, and a dark silver mask hid his face.
No one had noticed his presence until now.
