Arthur returned to the dungeon beneath the spirit city.
He came alone this time. The others stayed in the camp, still trying to touch a fruit or light a single wisp without phasing through it. Tiara had made the most progress, her form pulsing slightly with each attempt. Ali had given up halfway and was now meditating by the pond.
Arthur didn't blame them.
Most people came to the Spirits Realm with the expectation of fighting. They trained themselves to resist and destroy, not to listen.
But this legacy… it wasn't a sword.
It was a mirror.
The path back into the underground chamber felt shorter than before. The black cat didn't appear again, but Arthur didn't need it to guide him. He remembered every turn, every soundless echo, and every shift in the air. Even in a world built from spirit, the silence here was different—heavier.
When he reached the chamber, the shard was gone. Melted into him.
But the room wasn't empty.
