The wind whistled through the gaps in the bone-arches of the Feline Spire, a mournful sound that seemed to carry the faint echoes of the Singing Moss from the forest below. Sol walked in silence, his mind racing as he processed the sheer complexity of the system Kira was describing. This wasn't just about hunting, it was more about spiritual warfare.
Kira stopped at a landing that looked out over the sprawling city, her silhouette framed by the bioluminescent emerald glow of the Great Tree. She turned to face him, her expression hardening as she dove back into the explanation.
"You have to understand, Sol," she began, her voice steadying. "A wild spirit isn't just a lump of energy you pick up off the ground. It has a will. A fierce, predatory will that was forged in the survival of the Great Orrath."
