Planet Buis, stronghold of the Illusionists, was a fortress world, its every entry and exit guarded by the race's masters of deception. Surveillance was omnipresent, each Illusionist's mind attuned to the planet's boundaries, their illusions weaving a net of unyielding scrutiny. But Aaron scoffed at their defenses, unbound by their rules. With a single time-step, he bypassed their barriers, appearing in the heart of their palace—a grand hall of crystalline spires and shifting mirages, its walls alive with illusions that danced like liquid light.
"Who are you?!" The cry rang out as guards scrambled into defensive formations, their weapons drawn, illusions flickering around them like spectral blades. Within moments, dozens more poured in, surrounding Aaron in a ring of bristling hostility, their eyes glinting with suspicion and fear.
