Derek stood where he had just knelt.
The world had changed. There was nothing but the white fog that stretched in every direction like the breath of some ancient beast.
There was no sky or ground, just an endless mist of echoing silence. This was the spirit realm in its pure form. A mirror of the living world. Yet completely different from each other.
In his astral form, Derek felt—nothing, no weight, no wind, not even his heartbeat. But he felt a pull, a soft tugging in his hand.
The necklace.
It trembled faintly in his palm, glowing pale-blue, beating like a dying pulse.
He gritted his teeth.
"She's in here somewhere," he muttered to himself. "Come on, Alira… where did they bury you?"
Then, he felt it.
A faint resistance in the fog, like swimming upstream.
The necklace pulsed harder.
Derek turned and ran.
