Darkness.
That was the first thing Caleb felt. Not a physical darkness—but a void so complete it seemed to devour even thought. He wasn't falling. He was suspended, held in a silent, breathless stillness. And then the pain began.
Not the searing agony of flame or blade, but something colder. Hollow. Like his soul was unraveling thread by thread, tugged apart by unseen hands.
And then—light. Dim and flickering.
He landed on ashen soil with a force that shook his bones. Gasping, he looked around.
The Spirit Realm.
It wasn't what he expected. Not a ghostly mirror of the world he knew, but a corrupted wilderness. Blackened trees twisted upward, their branches clawing at a bruised-purple sky. Rivers of silver flame flowed through scorched ravines, and the air shimmered with power—old, broken, restless.
This was a realm of forgotten things. Trapped souls. Twisted memories.
He was alone.
