As they walked, Alice’s voice carried as if the winter air itself hushed to listen.

“The Stronghold is divided into four concentric districts. The outermost is the Farming Circle—that’s where we are.”

Fields and lean homesteads huddled beneath a trembling veil of snow.

“Further inward lies the Common Circle, where narrow lanes and cramped houses press close together. Beyond that, the Merchant Circle unfurls its busy sprawl of shops and inns, hot bread and iron tools, bargains shared over counters. And at the very heart stands the Inner Circle, all marble facades and crafted archways, crowned by the Tower’s shadow. Nobles dwell there when the games lure them in, and the city’s governance breathes beneath that stone spine.”

When Alice paused, her companions exchanged glances. Ell narrowed her eyes. “Uh, Alice?”

“Yeah?”

“You sound like you’re reading straight out of a book.”

Alice blinked. “Oh, I am. Well, kind of. I read it in a book, and now I’m just… repeating it.”

They turned to her, brows raised in collective disbelief.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head.

“How do you remember all that? Word for word?” Marcus finally asked.

A faint smile played on Alice’s lips, her voice calm but tinged with pride. “A recent upgrade to my abilities,” she explained. “Anything I read just sort of sticks—perfectly. The memory comes back to me whole, exact, even if I just skimmed it once.”

Ell raised an eyebrow, Molly let out a slow, impressed breath, and Jace gave a quiet nod.

They continued along the path and snow crunched beneath their boots. As they ventured deeper, the snug outlines of distant farmhouses blurred and bent like ink spilled into water. As they entered the Common Circle, Jace noticed that the houses were indeed pressed tightly together, huddled like shivering figures seeking warmth. He narrowed his eyes, sensing something quiver at the rim of his vision—an oily shimmer along the rooftops, a twitch in the crisp winter light.

Then it cracked.

A faint thrum pulsed against the inside of his skull. Transparent script flared before him, icy letters etched in the air.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

System Notification

Word of Power Activated—Truth.

Illusion Broken: [Glamor]

In that instant, the painted picture of prosperity peeled back. Snow-laden eaves sagged, shingles stripped of their neat illusions. Pale fences, once sharp and white, showed rot and splintered boards. Doors hung crooked, their hinges rusted. The scent of damp wood and stale wind replaced the imagined coziness, pressing against his senses.

“Um, guys?” Jace spoke low, almost a hush. He reached out, not quite touching the warped planks of a nearby wall. His companions turned, confusion knitting their brows until they too flinched, as though waking from a sweet dream into a sour dawn. Molly’s mouth set in a grim line. Dex stiffened, shoulders tight. Marcus let a bitter grunt slip past his teeth, mumbling about how it’s always the same: a polished front masking a rotten core.

A movement at the corner of Jace’s eye drew him closer—a window, its glass smeared with grime. Behind it hovered a small face, eyes large and hollow, cheeks grayed with soot and hunger. The child trembled, breath steaming the pane. Molly inhaled sharply. Jace swallowed, words tangling in his throat.

Alice stepped forward, shoulders squared against the chill. She knocked lightly, the sound too hollow, as if knocking on an old coffin. Inside, silence churned. Marcus shifted his weight, impatient and distant. Alice knocked again. A second’s pause, then the door cracked open just enough to reveal stale darkness beyond.

The boy’s face hovered in the gloom, eyes hollow with hunger, his skin pale and smudged with grime. The stale air drifting from the doorway smelled of damp rot and old straw, wrapping around them like a faint plea for help. Alice knelt, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she feared even the smallest gesture might frighten him back into the shadows.

“Hello, little one,” she said softly, her voice careful not to disturb the fragile silence.

The boy didn’t answer, only shrank back slightly, his thin frame trembling. His eyes darted toward the street beyond them, wary of unseen watchers. When Alice asked if his parents were home, he shook his head, the movement quick and mechanical, as if it had been repeated many times. There were no tears—just a quiet resignation that spoke of lessons learned too young, that tears didn’t bring warmth, comfort, or safety.

“It’s okay,” Alice said gently. “Are you cold?”

The boy finally spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, brittle and thin. “I’m not supposed to talk to outsiders,” he said, his hands curling into fists against the tattered fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s alright,” Alice interrupted softly, her tone soothing. “Who told you that?”

The boy hesitated, then shook his head again. The weight of his silence hung heavier than any words could have.

Behind her, Ell stepped forward, slipping off her coat. For a moment, its inner lining caught the light, faint runes etched along the seams glowing softly, promising the warmth it carried. She held it out toward the boy, who eyed it like a forbidden relic. His hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to take it.

“It’s for you,” Ell said firmly, nudging it closer. “It’ll keep you warm.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, shrinking back. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“You won’t,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Take it. Please. If you don’t, I’ll feel insulted.”