The entrance to the Spirit Vale was nothing like the stories had described.No grand temple carved in stone, no glowing gate between realms. Just a cleft in the earth—narrow, jagged, half-swallowed by time and ash. And yet, as Selene stepped toward it, the air shifted. Thickened. The wind didn’t blow over the vale. It avoided it. Like even nature was afraid.She stood at the edge, Rowan at her side, Agnes just behind. Vera paced nearby, scanning the tree line.“Feels like standing on the edge of a scream,” Vera muttered.“It is,” Agnes said. “A scream trapped in a bottle for a thousand years.”Selene knelt and pressed her fingers to the dirt. It was cold. Too cold. Even in the heat of midsummer, this ground was lifeless.“They took too much,” she whispered. “And now it’s... hollow.”Rowan crouched beside her. “We don’t have to do this today. You’re still recovering.”“No,” Selene said, shaking her head. “This can’t wait. The spirits are growing louder. This valley—it’s not just leakin
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