The forest did not react.
That was the first wrong thing.
Mana storms were not subtle. They tore roots from the ground, split ancient bark, and woke creatures that had slept through centuries. Even the intelligent trees those who remembered would murmur warnings through their leaves long before such a phenomenon arrived.
But here, beneath the vast canopy of Vaelthar, nothing stirred.
The Echo Wisp drifted forward without knowing why.
There was no intent behind the movement. No fear urging it onward. No thought guiding direction. Something deeper older than awareness pulled at what little remained of him.
Mana thickened.
Not violently. Not explosively.
It gathered.
Invisible currents pressed inward, spiraling toward a single point deep within the forest. The air grew dense enough to weigh upon existence itself. Even the mana-rich trees, vast beyond comprehension, began to dimlight retreating into bark and root as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Above the forest, the storm formed.
At first, it was nothing more than distortion-a ripple where reality bent ever so slightly. Then clouds twisted into unnatural geometries, rotating without wind, folding inward upon themselves. Lightning threaded silently through the sky, illuminating shapes that should not exist.
The storm did not roar.
It watched.
The Echo Wisp felt it then.
Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
Something vast brushed against his fragile existence-an observation without curiosity, a measurement without interest. For an instant, his drifting halted, suspended as if pinned in place by an unseen hand.
Assessment ongoing.
Soul integrity: unstable.
Anomaly detected.
The words did not echo. They did not sound.
They simply were.
The pressure intensified. Mana surged toward the center of the storm in impossible quantities, enough to birth calamities, enough to erase continents. Even the monsters of Vaelthar-beings who ruled territories measured in star-lengths felt unease ripple through their domains.
Yet still, the forest did not scream.
Roots remained unbroken.
Leaves did not fall.
The storm reached its apex.
And then-
It weakened.
The lightning dimmed. The spiraling clouds slowed, unraveling as if losing purpose. Mana that should have detonated instead dispersed, bleeding harmlessly back into the world.
The storm faded.
Not gradually.
Abruptly.
As though something had been removed from it.
Silence reclaimed the sky.
Far away, in a domain carved from obsidian stone and dragonfire, shock rippled through an ancient tribe.
The ritual circle-etched deep into the earth with runes older than empires-stood intact. The sacrificed demons lay lifeless, their bodies drained completely. The intelligent trees bound to the rite had withered, bark cracked and mana extinguished.
And yet-
The storm had failed.
An elder dragon stood frozen at the edge of the circle.
His scales were dulled by age, edges worn smooth by centuries of battle. His eyesight had long since faded, replaced by perception honed through mana alone. A staff leaned heavily against his clawed grasp-its surface bound with the skulls of warriors he had once defended, relics of a time when he had been feared.
He had witnessed mana storms before.
He knew what should have happened.
"This is not possible...." he murmured.
A soldier approached, voice trembling as he delivered the report.
The demons were dead.
The spirits-twice as many as expected-were bound, their egos chained by dark sigils.
The ritual conditions had been fulfilled.
It was a success.
And yet the storm had collapsed.
Whispers spread through the gathered tribe. Doubt followed. Then fear. Then judgment.
The elder felt it settle upon him like ash.
Elsewhere, beneath the vast canopy, the Echo Wisp drifted free once more.
The pressure vanished as suddenly as it had come. Whatever had observed him withdrew, leaving behind no explanation-only consequence.
Mana around him thinned unnaturally.
The forest dimmed further.
Something fundamental had changed.
Unaware of storms or rituals or dragons, the wisp continued forward, brushing past roots thicker than mountains. His existence flickered faintly, each moment draining what little time remained.
Hours passed.
Then more.
His lifespan dwindled-not dramatically, but inevitably. A quiet erosion, unseen and unacknowledged.
Above him, the forest remained unmoved.
Around him, other spirits passed without notice.
And far away, the world began to react to a storm that should never have ended the way it did...