Spirit Realm
The Spirit Realm hummed with silence.
Not dead silence—alive. Breathing. You could hear it if you listened long enough. Trees didn't just rustle, they sang. Mountains didn't just stand—they watched. The sky was deep green, streaked with long drifting clouds that bent and twisted in impossible arcs.
In a wide glade near the heart of the realm, two figures moved like ghosts through a sea of floating lanterns.
Ruka spun first, barefoot across the moss-covered ground. A burst of silver fire followed him, trailing behind his blade like a comet. Temmy weaved in behind him, her staff spinning through the air. Every flick created a shimmer—ripples of spirit energy that warped the space between them.
They weren't playing.
Ruka ducked low, slid beneath her strike, then snapped his fingers. The fire along his sword bent unnaturally, forming a wolf's snarl before launching forward.
Temmy spun, slapped the air, and the wolf exploded into a swirl of feathers.
