The air in Veilheim hung heavy with burnt sugar, hot spices, or something sharp like electricity. Tonight meant the Lantern Festival of the Glimmering Veil, when the walls between worlds got shaky for a while. On the surface, it felt wild but happy - little floating lights, each trapping a flicker of stars, moved without strings, gliding above narrow stone paths. Mirage saw everything from up top in the Weaver’s Tower, where he could take in the glowing chaos while staying clear of the mess below. Being built for tangled things, he loved how the fest lit up in wild loops and flicks across the sky. He moved like chaos given form, yet somehow fit right in this weird town. Not just one thing - he mixed opposites without trying. Silver-blue fur that melted into total darkness, no glow left behind. Then random blotches scattered across his sides - like a wild paint splash caught mid-air. Specks dusted him too, soft and icy, like morning frost stuck in time. And on top of it all, round dots popped out here and there - one after another - all marking him like some ancient breed from forgotten tales. Beauty and horror rolled together, smooth as smoke but cold at the core. Imagine an angel who stared death in the face - and didn't look away. One who stayed free, not because rules allowed it, but 'cause he decided so himself. All that power? Leashed only by his own word - to step in whenever someone weak needed help. Tonight, though, seemed secure - way too secure. Mirage slumped by the icy wall, his huge body buzzing faintly - half spellwork, half something wild. Illusion ran through him like blood; always active, never quiet. A soft shimmer danced along his edges, warping his shape just enough so folks wouldn't see the full horror behind his form - but instead believed they were seeing someone simpler, safer. Not invisible… just adjusted. Reality bent where he stood, not erased. The tune built up fast - fiddles mixed with fey pipes humming loud. After that, everything went quiet. It stayed strong - then got crushed by a noise that cut deep - a rumbling snarl, dragging along with it a sharp wave of warmth that turned the stomach. Mirage's head jerked in that direction. There - right at the heart of town - the old Oak of Reflection loomed, covered in green fuzz from years past. Normally it caught sunlight like a magnet. But today? Smoke curled up instead, flames licking its bark. A crack split the earth - no rocky hole, just a portal of bubbling fire and thick fumes. Out burst some huge thing, oozing molten glow: maybe a wolf, or close enough, made of nothing but wild, roaring blaze. It loomed huge - way bigger than a battle horse - with eyes like blazing craters. Where it stepped, old stone split, hissing steam. Right then, the sky felt heavy, hard to breathe, heat exploding fast; those thin silk flags lining the road? Poof - just burnt dust. Panic hit. As the festival’s order collapsed, real fear took over. Not now, monster," Mirage whispered, his tone quiet but deep in the stillness that followed. Instead of speaking further, he let the hush stretch; his hair and tail - normally shimmering like they held moonbeams inside - lit up from within, powered by the icy force tied to his undead nature. He leapt from the tower - quiet, smooth - and touched down soft in a tight alley near the square. No pause at all; straight into motion. The creature - called the Pyre-Beast - fed on panic. Around the square it prowled, jaws slashing at nothing, each bellow rattling the hanging lamps. Its focus? The Oak of Reflection - an old heart of Veilheim’s hidden power. Should flames take the tree, order would crumble fast. Mirage shot out of the side street, a flash of silvery-blue slicing through the thickening reddish haze. He cared most about the people nearby. Fighting mattered, yet keeping folks safe meant more than looking heroic. Moving them around wasn’t an option - any sudden rush could put someone right in the monster’s flames. He used his illusion powers in full force. Rather than making attacks, he spread a complex web of calm illusions across key escape routes. Focus. With a slow pull from within, Mirage stretched out his intent. Because each fleeing person glanced up - just shy of the gate - they spotted an open route lit by warm blue lamps, watched over by known faces. Since this trick held strong, it made scared thoughts believe help waited close, so everyone moved fast but calm from the square. The trick did the job. Screams started fading, swapped out with rushed but orderly evacuation noises. Right then, only Mirage stayed - facing the creature alone. The Pyre-Beast caught sight of him at last - a weird, speckled stallion giving off an odd mix of icy clarity and dark strength. Since it sensed danger, the wolf swiveled its huge head, flames flickering across its gaze. It let out a rough growl, sharp like stone scraping on stone. Heat rushed forward, just barely scorching the tips of Mirage’s fur. Mirage stood firm, muscles tensed. Yet the spots on his skin flickered - small circles of cold glow amid the warmth. “You wandered way off track, dog” - Mirage shot back, his words boosted by a hint of trickery magic, slicing clean through the leftover mess. The Pyre-Beast ignored responding. Instead, it lunged forward. The earth shook beneath its huge, flaming feet. Yet it surged forward fast - like raw power unleashed - a relentless tide set on burning everything ahead. While fire blazed across the land, each step cracked the soil apart. Though small things fled, none could escape its reach. Mirage realized brute force wouldn’t work here. Even the temperature could break through his magical cover. This thing wasn’t made of meat or bones - more like raw power set loose, burning everything in its path. He wanted room, a distraction, or some weakness. When the wolf jumped, jaws open to swallow him whole, Mirage disappeared. He didn’t vanish on the spot - moving like that burns way too much power. Instead, he flickered, leaving behind an exact copy of himself right in place - a figure made of glowing mist and frosty vapor, giving off the same bold vibe. At the very same moment, Mirage, the real lich seraph, dropped close to the ground and twisted sideways, his mind stretching time out slow. The Pyre-Beast clamped its mouth closed, gobbling up the fake image in a burst of glowing, hazy blue flame. That quick touch was probably like chomping on frozen vapor - so the wolf wobbled backward, jolting its skull with a sudden yelp full of hurt. Mirage took advantage of the gap. Right there, twenty yards off, he snapped up - plans clicking into place. Yet momentum carried him forward before thought could catch up. The core of illusion lay in how things appeared. Because the Pyre-Beast sensed truth by devouring fire's intensity, Mirage aimed to flood its senses instead. He started building a web of confusion using sounds and smells. Not by showing fake images, but by messing with what felt real. Instead of illusions, he twisted certainty. The animal couldn’t trust its own senses anymore. Rather than adding lies, he altered truth. What was solid now seemed shaky. By shifting small details, fear crept in. Reality became slippery under his touch. He sent out twelve glowing copies of himself into the open space, every one giving off a bold vibe, each stepping sharp like a trained brawler. One ran fast while another turned wide; some faked attacks, their slick mix of dark blue and black fur glinting cold under light - like shards of ice catching the moon. The Pyre-Beast bellowed, angry and confused - was any of it even true? Instead of charging ahead, it twisted around, flames jerking wild from side to side as its mind split apart. Mirage had to act fast while everyone was disoriented. Picking a fake shape near the creature’s side, he sent raw power into it instead. "Distract it!" The vision rose up sharply, almost glowing with fierce energy - the bright force tied to who Mirage really was. As it shot at the fire creature, the monster had no choice but to respond. The wolf, furious at what it saw as defiance, pulled together its strength for a crushing strike. As it sucked in breath, the wind from the square surged into its jaws, fueling the fire within. Now. Mirage stayed hidden behind the creature, cloaked in shadows and false images, slipping forward without a sound. His target was its center - the spot holding the fire steady - since one strike there might stop it cold. To do that, he’d need something wilder than flame: the raw, lifeless disorder pulled from a dead sorcerer’s bones. He let go of the fake disguise. Then, his aura hit the thick air hard - like a punch outta nowhere. Cold sliced through the heat real fast, making a sharp hiss when both forces smashed together. Mirage focused his energy - not on flames or brightness, yet on undoing. His goal wasn’t to wipe out the beast, instead to break apart what it was made of. Out of his horn - old, smooth darkness - it shot: a spear of ghostly frost. Not just cold but dead warmth, dead spells, dead breath - the core of ending things. The bolt glowed solid obsidian blue, edged with a whisper of silver shine. Yet it hit the Pyre-Beast just behind the shoulder - where flames burned densest, almost calm. The effect hit like a storm. A loud hiss took the place of a blast. As the Pyre-Beast twisted backward, raw pain tore from its throat - its roar shifting into a sharp cry, like chemicals breaking down. That black spear didn’t set things on fire - it turned them brittle. Cold locked the burning core mid-flow, snapping the surge of power apart. At last, the Pyre-Beast could be hurt. Its arms twitched wildly - sections of fire-skin blinked off, leaving burnt black scars that hissed smoke. Yet gaps flared again, uneven, struggling. Mirage kept moving - this beast left no room to catch a breath. He raced in circles around the dazed wolf, staying just beyond the leftover warmth. While moving, he started crafting a fresh trick - one made of frosty echoes and thick darkness instead of glowing threads. It wasn't about light this time. The snare pulled at old moments, making the fire creature face the instant it broke apart for the first time. The wolf stared blankly, locked onto the glowing web drawing near - frozen like a ghost, yet giving Mirage just enough time. He had to press on the cut he’d made, yet getting close to the creature remained deadly. Mirage turned his attention inward, tapping into the core of what made him angel-like. Not kindness this time, but something stronger - white glare fused with cold metal tones from his fur. It didn’t feel sacred; more like a reset, burning away taint, stripping everything down to its raw pieces. He crouched down, channeling the force from his heavy frame into one powerful strike aimed right where the black arrow hit - using speed and weight like a weapon. Instead of rushing, he timed it just after the impact, turning defense into attack without wasting motion or balance. When his hoof hit, out burst the angel-like force. Not wild strength - precise, like a scalpel cutting clean. A huge burst of steam and sharp ozone cracked open. Where bright cleansing light hit the icy dead force, a chain sparked - hitting just the Pyre-Beast’s shaky core makeup. The wolf cried out - its voice full of raw, aching sorrow. The blaze shaping its form jerked back, flinging off pieces. Instead of flames, thick dark mist hung in place - sour smoke stung the air. The Pyre-Beast felt death coming. Shaking off the freeze, it left the tree behind - then rushed Mirage one last time, driven by raw anger. The fire came together - only this time, no wolf formed. Instead, a huge ball of glowing energy took shape, burning hot. This wasn't an escape - it was an end. The blast meant to wipe out Mirage - and anything nearby. A hundred-yard radius would vanish. All at once. Mirage faced the attack straight away. Because he realized fake barriers wouldn't last. So he decided to twist the gap separating them. At lightning pace, he started crafting the trickiest spell in his mind. Not making an illusion this time - instead, slipping into forming a hidden gap. He used illusions - not to trick anyone - but to twist space near the incoming fireball for just a second. Instead of real force, he pulled at nothingness, opening a gap where reality briefly stopped. The fiery blast surged forward, slamming into bent space. Rather than blasting Mirage, the trick made it twist back - folding the orb down, snuffing its force inside itself. It hit like a flash - a clever trick shutting down the laws of motion. The ball of fire collapsed with a dull, quiet pop. Not loud at all - yet the thing inside got wrecked anyway. The Pyre-Beast fell apart in a flash. Its flames didn't burn out - instead, they broke into tiny dark specks, lifeless and chill, floating downward like silent ash. Quiet came back to the square. The warmth faded, replaced by a cold from the ghostly undead power. Mirage stayed still amid broken rocks, breathing hard from the sudden drain. His light gray fur carried soot, though nothing about him looked damaged. The swirls on his horsehide soaked up leftover darkness like they belonged there, while speckles across his flank gave off a soft pulse - echoes of what just happened. He'd made it. The tree still stood - everything nearby wrecked except that one thing. He glanced sideways. All folks were gone by now - mission done right. Nothing left there except broken stuff from the clash. A second passed, then hurried steps came close. When the town soldiers showed up - after failing to calm the mess - they froze. Their eyes swung from the charred dirt to the huge lone horse, still panting in the burnt-out wreckage. Mirage ignored them completely - his goal? Done. Stopping Veilheim’s collapse was on him, now it’s over. He felt dead tired - his body ached, though his strange half-ghost form softened the worst of it. He had to disappear fast, before the mess started piling up and people came asking things he wouldn’t answer. She protected others; she didn’t deal in politics. Using up what little fake power he had left, he dropped the glowing shield around him. Not with a bang - just slowly melting into the thick dark patches from the standing structures. The guards froze - just a second lost in surprise as the great horse slipped away without a sound. Before their leader could shout for a hold, Mirage had vanished, melting once more into Veilheim’s hidden magic. He left nothing but a sharp tang in the air, flickering traces of power hanging like mist, yet still clear evidence remained - the festival under the glowing veil hadn't fallen, thanks to someone restless, wild, always slipping through brightness into dark. She vanished without warning; however, the city stood unharmed - still, quiet, breathing again, which suited him just fine.