He withdraws further into the shadows as Vandelin strides past him; in his wake, the chill begins to add a layer of cold frost across the wooden doors, stone walls, and glass windows. Light and color begin to fade, drawing substance away from the nightmare. The illusion is dissipating, now that the dreamer has departed.

Atticus steps carefully out of his hiding place and onto the path. Before him, he can see his own breath with each exhalation; like everything else here, it isn't real, but is a placeholder for something else. He follows the path that Vandelin took with his eyes, considering the reckless gamble that he'd just witnessed, then looks back to find the pride demon regarding him appraisingly.

The pair of them need little time to size each other up and come to the same conclusion: ...no, perhaps not.

Atticus draws his cloak further around himself, and fadesteps out of the remnants of Vandelin's nightmare.