The ground trembled beneath Aria's feet, though no one else seemed to feel it. Wind whispered secrets through the trees, curling around her skin like a memory. The rift had opened an hour ago—just outside the edge of the northern clearing—and though no spirits had poured through, a strange energy pulsed from within it, tugging at her chest like a second heartbeat.
She stood at the edge now, her boots resting on cracked earth laced with threads of silver mist. It shimmered, alive, writhing like veins made of light. The Rift to the Spirit Realm wasn't just open—it was breathing.
"Aria." Caleb's voice was gentle, steady. "You've been standing there too long. Talk to me."
She turned slowly. Moonlight painted him in soft blue, hair tousled, eyes shadowed with concern. The rest of the camp had gone quiet, too unsettled by the sudden opening. Only he remained close.
"I feel… her," Aria whispered. "Not Mara. Vaelora."
Caleb's brow creased. "The Spirit Queen?"
