The air shifted the moment Aria stepped into the rift.
One heartbeat, she was in the forest surrounded by allies, blood, and the scent of war. The next—silence.
The sky here was a mirror, fractured into shifting panels of gold and void. Stars blinked in patterns that changed every second, like runes being rewritten. The ground beneath her feet wasn't earth but glowing mist, pulsing with the heartbeat of an ancient realm. She had crossed into the Spirit Plane—a place between time, memory, and nightmare.
Her boots didn't make a sound as she moved forward. Every breath she drew in tasted like forgotten dreams and cold sorrow.
This was Mara's domain.
"Where are you?" Aria called out, her voice echoing as if a thousand versions of herself spoke from all directions.
No answer came—only the shifting of the realm itself.
