Bob The Dragon Layer

Breaking the Illusion

Bob's heart raced as he looked down at the villagers who had fallen around him. Their blank eyes, once filled with life, now stared vacantly into the sky. He hadn't meant for this to happen—they were innocent, trapped by something they couldn't control. Guilt flooded his chest, threatening to choke him as the weight of his actions settled in.

"No," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "We didn't mean to hurt them."

Tarran, standing nearby, gripped his sword tightly, his expression grim. "We had no choice, Bob. They were attacking us."

But Bob couldn't shake the feeling that they had done something terribly wrong. These people were victims, just like the man who controlled them, and now their lives were at risk because of a battle they never chose to fight.

Anyala, sensing Bob's turmoil, stepped forward with a calm but decisive look on her face. Her eyes, normally so filled with quiet amusement, were now sharp with focus. She understood Bob's heart, knew how much this would weigh on him, and she wasn't about to let him carry that burden alone.

"Bob," she said softly, her voice steady. "They're not dead. I can save them."

Bob blinked, his eyes filled with confusion and hope. "Save them? How?"

Anyala didn't respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting the energy of her Draco Realm surge through her. A soft, almost imperceptible glow surrounded her as she extended her hand toward the fallen villagers. The power within her, a force tied to her dragon heritage, pulsed outward, connecting with the faint remnants of life still clinging to the villagers' bodies.

With a deep breath, Anyala reached into her realm, drawing from the immense well of energy stored within. The illusion she crafted was subtle but powerful—one designed to protect Bob from the guilt that would surely eat away at him. She manipulated the energy, weaving it into the fabric of reality itself, making it appear as though the blows the villagers had taken were far less severe than they actually were.

As the power flowed through her, Anyala used her Halo to speed up her thinking, allowing her to project her will into the villagers' minds. She combined this with her astral projection, a rare and potent form of telepathy, which allowed her to reach the man controlling the village. She needed to weaken his resolve, to make him more susceptible to what was to come.

Bob, unaware of the depth of her abilities, watched in awe as the faintest of movements began to return to the villagers. Their chests rose and fell with shallow breaths, and though they remained unconscious, it was clear that their lives had been spared.

"I've healed them, but they won't remember the fight," Anyala said softly, her voice filled with quiet strength. "To them, it will seem as though they were never harmed."

Bob exhaled, relief washing over him as he knelt beside one of the villagers, watching as the color slowly returned to their cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

Tarran, though more pragmatic, also seemed relieved. "We can't let this go on," he said, turning his gaze to the man with the camera soul weapon. "We need to stop him."

The man remained seated on the steps of the building, his eyes still locked on the camera in his hands. The villagers may have been incapacitated, but he still held the power to reset the day, to trap them all in the endless loop of his grief.

Bob stood, his heart heavy as he approached the man cautiously. He didn't want to hurt him—he could see the pain in the man's eyes, the sorrow that had driven him to this point. But the village needed to be freed, and the man needed to let go.

"Please," Bob said gently, taking a few careful steps forward. "You don't have to do this anymore. Let them go."

The man's grip tightened on the camera, his eyes welling with tears. "I can't... I can't lose her. She was all I had."

Bob knelt in front of him, his shield resting at his side. "I understand," he said, his voice filled with compassion. "You're trying to protect them, but this isn't life. You're holding them—and yourself—in the past. It's time to let go."

The man's gaze flickered, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. Anyala, still projecting her telepathic influence, could feel his defenses weakening. Her magic, combined with Bob's heartfelt words, was slowly unraveling the walls the man had built around his heart.

"But if I let go," the man whispered, his voice trembling, "I'll have to face the pain. I'll have to lose her all over again."

Bob's heart ached for him. He knew that kind of loss, that kind of deep, unbearable grief. "You don't have to face it alone," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You've been carrying this burden for so long, but there are people who can help you. People who understand."

The man's hands shook as he looked down at the camera, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on him. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I don't want to lose her," he choked out.

Bob placed a hand on the man's shoulder, his touch light but reassuring. "You'll never truly lose her. She'll always be a part of you. But you have to let her go."

The man hesitated for a long moment, torn between the love for his daughter and the crushing reality he had been avoiding. But as Bob's words sank in, as Anyala's telepathic influence calmed his mind, he knew what he had to do.

With trembling hands, the man lifted the camera and held it out toward Bob. "Please... take it."

Bob gently took the camera from him, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the pain it represented. The man collapsed into sobs, and Bob knelt beside him, offering silent support as the weight of his grief finally broke free.