"Fight back? Against how many Dravens?" Maris shot back, her voice trembling. Despite her fear, she was already weaving illusions of her own—a swirling kaleidoscope of images designed to confuse the enemy. Her illusions weren't nearly as large in scale, but they were creative, fracturing the space around her into mirrored segments that made it difficult to pinpoint her location.
Amberine's eyes darted around. If she looked closely, she could distinguish a slight difference among a handful of Dravens—some tiny variance in the way their hair moved, or the angle of their stance. But just as soon as she thought she saw a pattern, the illusions shifted, changing formation, rendering her observation useless.
