Death did not arrive loudly.
There was no pain—only absence.
Lor's last sensation was weightless confusion, followed by a silence so complete that even thought struggled to exist. Then, something moved.
Not a body.
Not a mind.
Only awareness.
He drifted.
Time lost meaning. Distance lost form. He passed through spaces where stars were born and died without sound, through worlds layered atop one another like forgotten echoes. Civilizations rose, collapsed, and vanished while he remained watching without eyes, remembering without identity.
The longer he drifted, the less remained.
Thoughts thinned.
Memory eroded.
The shape of self dissolved.
What endured was persistence.
When the pull finally came, it was weak barely enough to gather what was left of him. A presence measured him silently, without judgment or intent.
Classification accepted.
Spirit-origin confirmed.
Soul capacity: critically low.
The conclusion was inevitable.
He was born into Elyndra as an Echo Wisp.
Light flickered.
Existence resumed.
A vast forest loomed around him, mana dense enough to press against his fragile form. Roots as thick as towers vanished into shadow. Leaves the size of dwellings blocked what little light reached the ground. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with something unseen.
His lifespan began to diminish quietly.
Hours at most.
No fear surfaced.
No hope followed.
He drifted forward, carried by instinct alone.
Above him, the forest remained unmoved.
Around him, other spirits passed without notice.
And the world did not acknowledge his existence at all.