The initial warmth of the illusion faded, like steam from a cooling meat bun.
Lucian stood now, one foot inside the fragile memory while one hand was curled tightly around the Loom's case. He couldn't use it to weave anything, but it was an excellent grounding tool.
Across from him, Auren Valier remained seated at the head of the long table, the ghostly warmth of bread and cider faded into the air. The table was still set and the candles still flickered, but none of it mattered.
Only the antlered man did.
Lucian took a breath. "You created this place. This version of it."
Auren looked up slowly, like he was waking from a nap he hadn't meant to take. "I did what was right for them," he said.
His voice was quiet but rooted.
"The people of Vel Quen deserved peace. A clean ending. Not the suffering your kind calls closure."
Alice glanced around at the illusion. "So you gave them this instead?"
Auren's eyes dimmed like cooling embers.
