The sky above the Spirit Realm didn't follow logic. It pulsed. Shifted. Sometimes it turned violet, other times it was a dome of stars. Gala never questioned it anymore. She had spent too long here. Too long breathing spiritual mist instead of real air, too long watching seekers rise and fall like leaves in a wind that didn't always blow.
She sat atop a ridge that overlooked the Valley of Hollows, her fingers tracing the edge of her staff. The crystal embedded in the wood throbbed faintly, alive with a spirit's heartbeat. Below, a group of seekers under her command were preparing their nightly defenses, weaving nets of spiritual runes across the valley's edge. Silent figures, disciplined, loyal. All hers.
"Commander Gala," one of them called. A young girl with fox ears and nervous hands. "Scouts report movement from the east. Abyssal kind. A swarm."
"Let them come," Gala said, her voice soft but resolute. "We've danced this dance before."
