The journey through the Cloud Marsh was a relentless, sucking grind. For every few feet they gained, Erowen's effort to maintain the Soul Barrier became visibly more taxing. The Heartwood Spirit was fighting the sheer weight of the Fifth Realm spell, but the battle was being lost.

Erowen's breathing became shallow and ragged. Sweat beaded on her brow and plastered strands of silver hair to her temples, making her face appear strained and slick in the dim, swirling fog.

Her jaw was clenched, and her expression was visibly contorted into a mask of intense concentration and sheer pain.

"Try to somehow hold, Princess," Harlon urged, his voice grave and low, audible only inches from her ear within the shimmering sphere.

He kept one hand firmly on her shoulder, anchoring her. "We cannot stop here. Not even for a moment. Or else it will all be for naught."

Erowen could only manage a strained nod. The power flowing through her veins was turning from a blessing into a searing, agonizing burden.

She was pouring every ounce of her temporary, boosted mana into the shield, but the ethereal weight of the protective dome felt like it was pressing down on her skull.

The chittering sounds outside the barrier, which had been distant, began to grow louder, a sure sign that the Illusion Mecks were amassing, testing the integrity of the sphere.

They were learning.

Suddenly, a series of frantic, rapid taps struck the shimmering surface, followed by an oily, shadowy pressure.

The Mecks had launched a concerted, focused attack on a single point.

The Soul Barrier vibrated violently, the shimmering surface wobbling and flexing inward like hammered glass.

Erowen cried out, a sound caught between a gasp and a shout of pain, as the mental pressure became physical.

She felt the magic rip away from her control.

With a final, desperate thrum, the barrier shattered completely.

The fragments of residual energy winked out, plunging the three elves into the raw, unbuffered heart of the marsh's magic.

Erowen collapsed onto her knees, panting desperately, the sudden release of magical tension leaving her weak and dizzy.

The fog immediately thickened, rushing in to fill the space the barrier had occupied.

"Erowen!" Harlon bellowed, his voice raw with panic.

He tried to whirl around, attempting to grab her hand and pull her back to her feet, but it was too late.

A torrent of Illusion Mecks, small shadowy, ghost-like forms, poured through the air. They were utterly silent, moving faster than the eye could follow.

One passed directly through Harlon's chest, and another through Alvaro's. The men instantly froze on the spot, their eyes glazing over as the parasitic spirits began to feed, injecting fear, doubt, and raw psychic anguish directly into their minds.

Erowen, struggling to draw a breath, saw the distorted, fearful expressions on her companions' faces just before a Meck slammed into her own consciousness.

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of fog and terror.

*****

Erowen gasped, blinking rapidly. The chilling white fog of the marsh had vanished, replaced by a soft, familiar glow.

She found herself standing in a room she hadn't seen in years: her own chambers in the palace, back when she was a child.

The room was perfectly reproduced, the carved crib, the silk drapes, the scent of lavender from the windows.

Confusion warred with dread. This isn't real, she told herself, but her heart hammered against her ribs.

Then, she heard it: a soft, choked sobbing.

She turned, locating the sound near a small rocking horse.

There, huddled on the polished floor, was a small figure.

Erowen approached slowly, her legs shaking, and tentatively placed her hand on the small girl's shoulder.

The crying instantly ceased.

The small figure turned its head, and Erowen gasped, speechless with shock. The girl staring back at her was unmistakably herself, a tiny, silver-haired replica from her childhood.

"You abandoned me in this darkness," the small girl said, her voice piercing and cold, utterly unlike a child's. "I hate you!"

Before Erowen could utter a word of denial or comfort, the horrific transformation began.

The small girl's innocent face morphed into a dark, monstrous parody of elven features. Long, dagger-like teeth extruded from her gums, her eyes bled black, and her skin went slick and grey.

The monstrous child shrieked and leaped directly at Erowen.

Erowen screamed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the small room.

She threw her arms up and across her face in terror, falling backward onto the floor, landing heavily on her rear.

But the attack never landed.

The next moment, she felt nothing. She opened her eyes cautiously, her breath hitching, and the scene had shifted again.

She was now standing in a vast, sun-drenched royal garden.

In the center, a beautiful fountain sprayed crystalline water.

Standing beside it was a stately female elf, her posture radiating elegance, with a silver crown adorned upon her long, flowing hair.

"Mom?" Erowen whispered, shock overriding her recent terror. It was her mother, the Queen.

Erowen scrambled up and stumbled towards the figure, calling out, "Mother!" but the Queen did not respond, standing perfectly still, her back to Erowen.

Erowen reached the figure, her hand lifted, about to touch her mother's shoulder.

Just as her fingers brushed the silk of the gown, the Queen's body slowly, agonizingly, turned around.

Erowen's breath caught in her throat, transforming into a strangled scream.

It was not her mother's face. The illusion dissolved, revealing a grinning, grotesque skeleton.

The Queen's crown sat tilted on the bare skull, and a repulsive, thick centipede was seen crawling out through one of the hollow eye sockets.

Erowen retreated backward with frantic, scrambling steps, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Please! Stop! Please! Stop this!" Erowen bawled, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.

She clamped her hands over her eyes, burying her head against her raised knees, refusing to look at the horrors that the Mecks were inflicting upon her mind.

She curled into a ball, wishing for the blessed relief of unconsciousness, desperate for the psychic onslaught to end.

Erowen's sobs eventually died down, leaving her chest aching and her throat raw. Forcing herself to endure the mental pain, she slowly lowered her hands and opened her eyes again, steeling herself for the next horror.

This time, she was inside a rattling, crudely built caravan, jostling violently along a rough, unforgiving road. The light was sickly and dim.

Beside her sat her younger self once more, but this time, the child was bruised, her small legs and arms tied tightly with coarse rope, whimpering softly with fear and pain.

Erowen tried to reach out, tried to speak, but the Illusion Meck's curse held her trapped in the terrifying cycle.

Every time she called out to the child, or tried to touch her, the familiar horror struck: the child's face would suddenly snap backward, revealing the hideous skeletal visage with insects crawling from the sockets, delivering another shock that jolted Erowen's mind.

She was unable to interact, unable to save, doomed only to witness.

The scene fractured and shifted again.

She was now in a different environment: a small, old, worn-out house.

The air was thick with the stench of mildew and decay.

Inside, tied securely to a wooden chair, was her younger self. Surrounding the terrified child were several hulking figures of Dark Elves.

As they slowly turned to face Erowen, their bodies were in various states of decomposition, their flesh rotten, the skeletal features showing through, and swarms of insects, flies, beetles, and centipedes emerged from their eye sockets and gaping mouths.

The stench of rotting flesh seemed to fill her nostrils, making her gag.

The vision held her captive as the skeletal Dark Elves slowly raised their hands toward the bound child.

Erowen was tossed violently from one traumatic scene to another: her father's face melting into a mass of maggots; Harlon laughing maniacally as he stabbed her with a ritual knife; the beautiful elven palace crumbling into dust.

She was reliving, inventing, and witnessing her deepest fears and the darkest moments of her childhood trauma, the Illusion Mecks relentlessly drawing upon her psyche.

Finally, the relentless cycle ended. She found herself alone on a patch of barren, scorched earth, the air strangely cold and clear.

She was on her knees, her eyes wide and dead, unable to shed any more tears.

She stared out at a vista of absolute devastation.

In the distance, the colossal, magnificent World Tree stood, but it was not green and alive.

It was a charred, blackened husk, its gargantuan trunk smoking.

The dazzling white palace below was completely consumed, roaring in unending flames, its beautiful arches collapsing into ruin.

As Erowen watched, lifelessly, the thick, grey ashes of her home and her people were carried away by the cold wind.

The fog was still thick, but now it was punctuated by frantic, desperate movement.

"Princess! Wake up! Don't give in to these illusions! Wake up!"

It was Harlon. He was a whirlwind of motion directly over her, his powerful silver-laced sword a deadly blur.

He was fighting blindly in the thick fog, his body weaving and pivoting to intercept the shadowy, silent attacks of the Mecks.

Even as he fought, Harlon was burdened. Captain Alvaro was draped awkwardly over his left shoulder, completely unresponsive, his head lolling, still deep in the Mecks' illusionary grip.

Harlon was fighting one-handed, carrying a man, and desperately trying to protect the prone Princess.

The Mecks, enraged by the resistance, darted and struck, their ghostly forms seeking any momentary lapse in Harlon's defense.

He deflected one after another, his teeth clenched, a desperate warrior battling phantoms.

Harlon risked a glance down at Erowen, who was lying unconscious and dangerously still on the marsh ground, her face slack, lost completely inside the hellish feedback loop of the Cloud Marsh's illusions.

He knew the psychic assault would kill her, or break her mind completely, if she did not fight her way out.

"Erowen! Listen to my voice!" Harlon roared, lunging forward to slice through a shadowy form attempting to pass through her inert body.

"It is all a lie! Fight them, Princess!"

His screams were raw, fueled by sheer will, a desperate beacon of reality in the heart of the illusionary darkness.

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