The illusions began exactly when Gabriel reached the tree line.
He felt them more than saw them—subtle distortions in the air like heat shimmer on a summer road, sounds that didn't quite match their sources, movements in his peripheral vision that vanished when he looked directly at them. The fabric of reality bent just slightly, just enough to confuse without being obvious.
The guards began reacting immediately.
One turned his head sharply toward a sound that hadn't happened, his hand going to his sword hilt. Another stared at empty space where the illusion suggested movement, his eyes tracking something invisible. A third called out to a patrol that wasn't there, his voice carrying across the camp: "Who's on the eastern perimeter?"
Confusion rippled through the northern section like stones thrown into still water.
Gabriel moved.
