The light from the Spirit Tree swallowed Ato whole.

  For a moment, he felt weightless, as if someone had pulled the world out from beneath him. The air turned white too white, blinding, like the inside of a star. He couldn’t feel his body. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe.

  And then

  He stumbled forward.

  His lungs dragged in a sharp breath of air that wasn’t air at all, something sweet, warm, tinged with something ancient. He blinked rapidly, vision adjusting.

  And everything around him was alive.

  Not alive like a forest.

  Alive like a dream someone had breathed reality into.

  Huge trees rose in every direction, but none were normal. Their trunks were carved from shifting light and translucent colour, deep blues, soft greens, radiant purples, and molten golds, each one glowing faintly with drifting particles like starlight. Their leaves shimmered with soft luminescence, some floating gently upward instead of downward, defying gravity with a quiet grace.

  And floating through the air, drifting lazily between the trees, were dozens of small orbs each a perfect sphere of glowing essence. They pulsed rhythmically, like beating hearts, their colours shifting as if reflecting emotions Ato couldn’t understand.

  Ato stared, breath leaving him again.

  “What… is this place?”

  The Stranger stepped out of the light beside him, his cloak trailing behind like smoke.

  “The Spirit World,” he answered softly. “The true realm of essence.”

  Ato turned slowly in place, eyes wide. He had no words. Everything looked like a painting made by gods with too much time and too much power.

  “How… how can I be here?” Ato asked. “This shouldn’t be possible Humans can’t–”

  “They can’t,” the Stranger interrupted. “Not unless part of them isn’t human.”

  Ato froze.

  The Stranger walked ahead, hands behind his back. “Your blood carries more than flesh. You are partially essence born, like your ancestors. That is what allows you to cross the boundary.”

  One of the orbs drifted near. It was soft pink at the core, rings of pale yellow shimmering around it like soft petals. A gentle hum resonated from it like a lullaby sung by something without a mouth.

  Ato reached toward it.

  It trembled, and for a moment, then it mirrored the glow of his own threads beneath his skin.

  “What are they?” Ato asked.

  “Lesser spirits,” the Stranger said. “Fragments of essence given simple form. They can feel, but not think. Drift, but not choose. They respond to emotion more than reason.”

  The orb drifted closer to Ato, circling him once before floating away like a curious child losing interest.

  Ato’s eyes followed it. “They’re… harmless.”

  “Yes,” the Stranger said.

  “But not everything here is.”

  Ato tore his gaze away from the lights as they began walking deeper into the ethereal forest. The ground beneath him felt soft yet strangely stable, a woven tapestry of glowing moss and faintly humming roots.

  “Does time pass differently here?” Ato asked.

  The Stranger nodded. “Much slower. Three years of training here will be eight in the mortal realm.”

  Ato stumbled at that. “Eight? People will think I’m dead.”

  “They already believe you are dead.” The Stranger’s tone was matter of fact, not cruel. “The world will simply continue believing it longer.”

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  Ato fell silent, swallowing the weight of that truth.

  They walked for several minutes, time becoming slippery, indistinct until the vibrant colours of the forest gradually began to fade. The glowing trees thinned, replaced by twisted, pale trunks. The air lost its warmth. Sporadic whispers echoed faintly through the branches, like distant voices calling through water.

  Ato felt something cold curl around his spine.

  “What is this?”

  The Stranger didn’t slow. “The edge of the Spirit World. Where it weakens.”

  The colours drained further until the forest was nearly monochromatic greys, blacks, and the faintest pale blue of faded essence. The orb spirits vanished. The humming roots fell quiet.

  Then Ato felt it.

  A pressure.

  Low and heavy, like he had stepped into the breath of something massive.

  Shapes moved between the twisted trees.

  Shadows first, their thin silhouettes that flickered at the edges of vision. Then forms more solid, beasts made of cracked essence, glowing eyes trapped within jagged bodies; humanoid shadows with too long limbs and mouths carved where no mouths should be; crawling things made entirely of shifting darkness and fractured light.

  Ato’s breathing quickened unconsciously. His footsteps became careful. His fingers twitched toward a thread instinctively.

  For the first time since meeting him, the Stranger stopped.

  “This,” he said, sweeping a hand across the corrupted landscape, “is where you will train.”

  Ato’s eyes widened. “Here? With… these things?”

  “Yes.”

  Ato swallowed hard. “Why?”

  The Stranger turned toward him, the faint light revealing a hint of his expression, something firm, something calculated.

  “Because Fallen are pure instinct,” he said. “No hesitation. No fear. No mercy. They strike to end. Not wound. Not intimidate. End.”

  Ato stared at the writhing mass of corrupted spirits.

  “They were once spirits like the others,” the Stranger continued. “But when essence becomes untethered and when emotion overwhelms form the spirit collapses into corruption. Rage, sorrow, obsession, hunger… whatever consumed them manifests as twisted shape.”

  A Fallen stalked into view, humanoid, half its face sliding down like melted wax, glowing blue veins throbbing against blackened skin. Its eyes flicked directly toward Ato.

  A chill stabbed down his spine.

  “You expect me to fight that?” Ato whispered.

  “I expect you to survive that,” the Stranger corrected. “And survive everything after it.”

  Ato exhaled shakily. The faint glow of his threads reacted to his nerves, flickering beneath his skin.

  The Stranger noticed. “Good. Fear sharpens instinct. But you will not rely on fear alone.”

  He stepped closer to Ato.

  “First, your body. You will be pushed beyond human limits. Faster. Stronger. More durable.”

  “Then,” the Stranger continued, raising a hand, “your essence.”

  He touched a twisted tree, and the essence under its bark shuddered violently. A wave of pale green energy rippled outward, brushing against Ato’s skin like needles.

  “VITA, your core. The breath of life within all things. You will learn to sense it. Control it. Shape it.”

  He dragged his hand downward and the tree rotted instantly, collapsing into dust.

  “And MORTIS, your other half. The force of endings. Decay. Stillness. Entropy. Where there is life, there must be death. You were born with both.”

  Ato clenched his fists. “And after that?”

  The Stranger’s voice lowered.

  “After that… the power unique to your bloodline. To craft life. To sever it. To reshape what already exists.”

  Ato swallowed.

  “Lifeweaving.”

  “And its darker twin,” the Stranger said quietly.

  “Deathweaving.”

  A Fallen beast slithered across the clearing, its limbs bending unnaturally. Its mouth opened without sound, essence leaking like vapour.

  Ato stepped back instinctively.

  The Stranger grabbed his shoulder. “No. Forward.”

  Ato froze. “Forward?! That thing will kill me!”

  The Stranger’s grip tightened, not painful, but unyielding in force.

  “You came here to become something greater than what the world left you. Power does not grow in comfort, Ato.”

  He let go.

  “You will face only a weak Fallen today. The smallest one I can find.”

  He paused.

  “If it kills you, then you were never meant to hold the power inside you.”

  Ato’s breath shook.

  “That is not comforting.”

  “It was not meant to be.”

  The Stranger stepped aside.

  A small Fallen barely waist length stepped forward slowly and eerily, its body a trembling mass of dark essence crawled toward Ato. Its eyes were wide, hollow, empty of reason. It moved with jerking, broken motions.

  Ato’s heart hammered against his chest.

  “Begin,” the Stranger said.

  “What do I–?”

  “Survive.”

  The Fallen lunged forward.

  And Ato’s training began.

  —--