FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 159: Chapter 159: Spirit Realm Info

“For the different realms, I’ll tell you a bit about two or three to get a general idea,” Isylia said, her voice taking on a melodic, lecturing rhythm. She crossed her small arms, looking down at him from the dais with the air of a professor addressing a particularly slow student, her eyes almost glaring. “So, make do with that. Don’t you dare ask for more.”

Sol nodded with mock obedience. “I’m all ears, Oh Great Weaver.”

Internally, he was grinning. It was already good enough that this arrogant, pint-sized goddess was willing to spill cosmic secrets. He didn’t want to force her; if her pride flared up, she might just clamp her mouth shut. He needed to stroke her ego to get the manual for this universe.

She paced the obsidian floor, her small bare feet making no sound, yet her presence filled the room. “Adjacent to your Material Plane, there is the Spirit Realm.”

She raised a hand. The air around Sol shimmered, the darkness of the Void replaced by a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to hum with a quiet melody.

“It is a world of soft, bioluminescent colors where the sky looks like an aurora borealis that never fades… teal, violet, and burning gold,” Isylia described, her eyes tracing the illusion she created. “There is no such thing as dirt there. The ground here is made of ’solidified light’ or floating islands of white moss that drift in a gravity-less ocean.”

Sol watched, mesmerized. Phantom spirits floated through the air… translucent, peaceful shapes that looked like jellyfish made of silk, trailing long, glowing tendrils. He saw massive trees that looked like weeping willows, but their leaves were shards of crystal that chimed in the wind.

“These are Crystal Glades,” Isylia announced, pointing to a cluster of intricate structures nestled in the branches. “This is the civilization of the Sprites. They live in villages woven into the ’Spirit Trees.’ The architecture looks like blown glass or delicate spiderwebs, hanging over the abyss.”

Sol saw many tiny figures zooming through the illusion—humanoid shapes with insect wings, animals made of starlight, and strange geometric entities he didn’t recognize. They zipped around the crystal structures, their bodies made of condensed essence, glowing in every color imaginable.

“They look… peaceful,” Sol noted, reaching out to touch a passing wisp of light.

“Peaceful is just another word for stagnant,” Isylia scoffed. “And they are annoying. Anyways, the Good Sprites mostly live in the Glimmer-Forest. They sing. They dance. They tend to the souls of the departed. They are nauseatingly cheerful.”

She flicked her wrist, and the view zoomed out.

“But they are not alone.” She continued, “The Light Side is teeming with life.”

She pointed to a herd of majestic creatures galloping across a bridge of light.

“Lumin-Stags,” she named them. “Deer made of starlight. Their antlers are not bone, but constellations. They guide lost souls to the afterlife. It is said if a mortal rides one, they can see their own future.”

Then, she pointed to the shadows beneath the crystal leaves, where massive, arachnid shapes spun webs of glowing gold.

“And the Memory-Weavers. Spiders the size of horses, but gentle. They don’t eat flesh; they eat forgotten memories. They spin the history of the world into their webs. If you want to know who killed your great-grandfather, you ask a Weaver.”

Sol nodded slowly. “So, it’s a paradise. Starlight deer and historian spiders.”

She waved a hand, and the scene darkened slightly, showing a tangled, thorny undergrowth beneath the floating islands.

“But the Bad Sprites… they live here, in the Shadow-Thorns. They build traps for others. They steal memories for fun. They are mischievous little parasites.”

“Wait,” Sol interrupted. “You said ’souls of the departed’?”

Isylia nodded. “When a beast or human dies in your world, their consciousness dissolves. It drifts here, into the Spirit Realm. Spirit Power flows here like a river… it is thick, tangible. Those who can ’breathe’ it gain abilities that defy reality: telepathy, astral projection, the ability to walk through walls.”

’So, fantasy stuff like telepathy and astral projection is also possible in this world,’ he nodded, taking notes in his mental notebook of things to try.

She suddenly turned and looked at him.

Does your tribe have a shaman?

Sol shook his head, then paused. He remembered the silver-haired woman at the Rite.

“Yes,” he nodded. “There seems to be one. A woman with white eyes.”

“Why are you shaking your head like a fool if you know?” Isylia huffed. “You are hopeless. Even a three-year-old godling knows more than you. Those Shamans… even though this isn’t their main realm of contact, they can draw power from the shallow edges of this place. They borrow the whispers of the dead to gain some ethereal wisdom and pretend to be all mysterious and whatnot.”

Sol nodded slowly. “So, it’s like the afterlife.”

“Do not mistake it for heaven, mortal,” Isylia warned, her voice dropping an octave. “It is an ecosystem. And every ecosystem has predators.”

She twisted her wrist.

The aurora sky in the illusion turned a bruised purple and red. The floating islands became jagged and gray, showing a tangled, thorny undergrowth beneath the floating islands, even the and the air seemed to grow cold.

“There is a Darker Side to the Spirit Realm. A side the ’Good’ part is always at war with.

Shadowy shapes began to form in the mist.

“It is inhabited by beings you humans would call ’evil,’” Isylia said, though her tone was indifferent, devoid of judgment. “But it isn’t right to say they are evil. They are just beings with different ways of life. Predatory ways.”

She pointed to faceless, grey wanderers drifting aimlessly in the void.

“Like the Drifting Echoes. Mindless remnants of weak souls. Useless fodder. They float until they fade… or until they are eaten.”

“Eaten by what?”

“Soul-Eaters,” she whispered. The illusion showed a terrifying distortion in the air… an invisible beast that was nothing but a gaping maw of vacuum, snapping up the echoes. “They hunt the weak. They are the predators of this ocean.”

She swiped the air, revealing more horrors.

“Grief-Moths,” she pointed to a swarm of grey, dusty insects with skull patterns on their wings. “They don’t bite or anything. They land on you and feed on sorrow. But the most terrifying thing about them is that you can’t avoid them. If a swarm finds you, you will sit down and weep until you wither away into dust.”

“Mirror-Mimics,” she pointed to another faceless, humanoid shapes stalking the edges of the islands. “They have no face until they see you. Then, they wear the face of the person you loved most… just so they can get close enough to strangle you.”

Then, a massive, terrifying figure appeared in the illusion… a woman made of storm clouds and ice, her body shifting like a blizzard given form. A crown of weeping icicles dripped endlessly upon her brow, each frozen tear falling into the void and vanishing. She floated above a jagged, black island, radiating an aura so heavy with sorrow that even the illusion seemed to bend beneath it.

“And the Wraith-Queens,” Isylia said boredly “Spirits of powerful female beings… sorceresses, queens, monsters… who had an unresolved grudge in life and refused to fade. They are made of regret, hatred and revenge. They rule the dark islands, and they are always hungry for warmth. If a living being enters their domain… they will drain the heat from your blood in seconds, just to feel alive for a moment.”

The phantom Wraith‑Queen turned her head, and even though it was only an illusion, Sol felt his chest tighten. Her hollow eyes seemed to pierce him, her sorrow pressing down like a mountain.

Isylia smirked, her voice curling into a wicked smile. “Of course, if you can help them resolve their regrets, it is said they’ll give you great prizes in return. So maybe, bug, you can try. You seem good at handling ’difficult’ women.”

Sol’s stomach twisted. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Resolve their regrets?” he muttered. “That thing looks like it would rip my soul out before I even said hello.”

The illusion shifted, showing the Wraith‑Queen reaching out with hands of frost, her touch turning a phantom man into a frozen husk. Sol shivered, goosebumps crawling across his arms.

“Prizes or not,” he said, forcing a nervous laugh, “I think I’ll pass on playing therapist to an ice demon. I’d rather keep my blood warm, thank you very much.”

Isylia rolled her eyes, clearly amused by his fear. “Coward. But at least you’re a self‑aware coward.”

Sol clenched his fists, glaring at her. “Call me what you want. I’m not walking into a death trap just to win a lottery. If those things are made of regret, then I’ll leave them to regret someone else.”

“Anyway, moving on.”

Isylia’s illusion shifted again, the storm‑crowned Wraith‑Queen dissolving into mist. The void rippled, reshaping into a vast throne hall of spectral light.

“Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with pride, “it’s not just Wraith‑Queens. The Spirit Realm is a hierarchy, a court of endless echoes. There are many beings who dwell there… some radiant, some monstrous.”

Isylia waved her hand, the illusion changed. Mist coiled into regal shapes, crowns glimmering faintly above towering figures. She lifted her chin, her voice dripping with superiority.

“Listen carefully, bug. In the Spirit Realm, there are rulers far beyond you mortal’s comprehension. Like the Spirit Kings.”

Illusion shifted and Towering figures draped in robes of mist, crowned with crystals appeared.

“They command vast domains of sorrow or joy, and lesser spirits bow to their will. To stand before one is to feel the weight of centuries pressing down on your fragile bones.”

Sol tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Kings, huh? So they’re like… ghost royalty?”

Isylia rolled her eyes. “Royalty? Don’t cheapen it. They are embodiments of emotion itself.”

The illusion shifted again, forming radiant figures with flowing hair and eyes like burning stars.

“Then there are the Spirit Queens,” she continued. “Radiant or wrathful, weaving entire islands of dream or despair. Some nurture lost souls, guiding them to peace. Others devour them whole, feeding on their essence. They judge spirits and mortals alike, and their gaze sees through every mask you wear.”

Sol smirked nervously. “Sounds like my old fat landlady… except with more soul‑eating.”

Isylia ignored him, her hands weaving larger shapes. Colossal beings appeared, their bodies vast enough to blot out the illusionary sky.

“The Spirit Emperors,” she said, her tone reverent now. “They embody entire concepts. One Emperor might be War itself, another Silence. Their presence reshapes the very laws of the realm. They do not rule territories… they rule truths. To face one is to confront the raw essence of existence.”

Sol’s mouth went dry. “War itself… Silence itself… yeah, I’ll pass.”

Finally, the illusion trembled, and titanic figures emerged, their forms shifting between countless spirits fused together, glowing with divine fragments.

“And at the apex,” Isylia whispered, her solar eyes gleaming, “stand the Spirit Gods. They are worshiped even by lesser gods, for their dominion stretches across dimensions. They are truly transcendent beings. To meet one is to know eternity.”

The illusions shimmered, each figure vast and terrifying in its own way.

“And of course,” Isylia added, her solar eyes narrowing, “for every radiant sovereign, there is a darker counterpart. Spirit Kings of Hatred. Spirit Queens of Pestilence. Spirit Emperors of Ruin. Spirit Gods of Oblivion. They are the shadows of the hierarchy, feeding on despair, corruption, and decay. Where the bright ones rule islands of light, the dark ones rule pits of endless hunger.”

The void trembled, showing a Spirit Emperor of Ruin… a colossal figure whose body was a crumbling fortress, whose breath turned landscapes into ash.

Sol’s throat tightened. “So the Spirit Realm isn’t just ghosts and regrets… it’s an entire civilization. A kingdom of light and shadow.”

Isylia smirked, satisfied with his dawning realization. “Exactly. And mortals who stumble into it rarely return. Those who do… are never the same.”

She waved her hand, shattering the illusion of the Spirit Realm into a thousand sparks of light.

“Next,” she said, her voice echoing in the void. “The Titans.”

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A/N: This is a bit of teaser for the incredible world that I’m planning. How is it? Is it interesting enough? And should I describe a few more realms or just move on?