Chapter 117 The Mirror Of Loss

• The spirit world opens like a breath of eternity—vast, endless, silver light stretching across a sky with no stars, only the pale glow of the eternal moon. The ground beneath is neither earth nor air, shifting like mist yet solid enough to hold the weight of souls. It is beautiful, serene… but heavy, every breath filled with judgement.
• At the center of it stands the Queen, her body shimmering faintly with threads of silver running through her skin, marking her for what she is: a direct descendant of the Moon Goddess. Her presence radiates command, her eyes blazing like molten silver. Here, she is not merely queen. She is divine.
• Across from her, Malik writhes on the shifting ground, the last of Veydris clinging to him like oil. His veins burn with shadow, his form flickering—sometimes wolf, sometimes man, sometimes a grotesque, twisted in-between. His face is set in a sneer, though fear lingers in his eyes.