Many who speak of the Spiritual World call it a realm.
They are wrong.
A realm has shape, boundaries, and rules that exist independently of the one who enters it. The Spiritual World has none of these. It is not a place one travels to; it is a state one is exposed to.
When you enter it, you do not step forward.
You are stripped.
The body remains behind, breathing and warm, obedient to habits carved by life. But you—the self that decides, doubts, and desires—are no longer sheltered by flesh. If the path of return is broken, the body will continue without you. I have seen such shells walk, eat, and even speak, yet contain nothing. This fate is not death. Death is merciful by comparison.
Within the Spiritual World, thought is substance, emotion is pressure, and identity is structure. There is no ground beneath your feet unless your soul can define one, and no sky above unless you imagine its absence. Time does not flow; it reacts. A single hesitation may last an eternity, and a lifetime of resolve may pass in an instant.
Essence does not circulate here as it does in the Physical World; it listens. It answers only those who possess clarity of self. Those who attempt to command it through force or borrowed understanding are torn apart by their own contradictions.
You will not be attacked at once. That mercy is a deception.
The greatest dangers are not entities, but reflections—doubt given form, fear given weight, regret given voice. Souls that lack cohesion fracture under this pressure, scattering into fragments that drift until they are devoured or forget themselves entirely.
There are also presences I will not name.
Not because they are rare, but because to name them is to invite recognition—and recognition alone is enough for them to notice you.
Understand this well. Entering the Spiritual World without preparation is not courage; it is arrogance.
If suicide ends the path, then this leaves it suspended—unfinished, with no guarantee of oblivion.
I did not record these words to inspire you, whoever you might be. I recorded them to warn you.
If you still choose to enter, do so knowing that no teacher can follow to guide you, no ally can intervene to save you, and no scream can cross the divide to call for help.
You are all by yourself.
…
Inside a dark, silent chamber deep within the abandoned mine, a young man sat with his head lowered.
Vincent recalled the words of The Threefold Origin's author describing the Spiritual World.
He could almost feel the fear embedded within those words.
Even now, the simple thought of entering that place again made his body tremble.
But since he had chosen this path… he would walk it without regret.
An image surfaced in his mind—a young girl hugging him on a quiet street. His resolve hardened.
If something went wrong, if he began to forget the purpose that brought him here… this memory would become his salvation.
But if even that was not enough…
Vincent slowly shook his head, forcing the thought away before it could fracture his focus.
Once I enter… do not forget why you are here or who you are. Remember that someone is waiting for you. Someone who needs you. You are not allowed to forget, he told himself inwardly, something he rarely did.
Sitting in a stable position, Vincent began to breathe slowly, eyes closed.
Time passed.
Then, suddenly, an odd yet familiar change occurred—as if his senses were being peeled away.
Vision.
Touch.
Taste.
Hearing.
He knew what this meant.
Before the separation was completed, he forcefully severed a tiny fragment of his consciousness—a thin wisp of his soul—and anchored it within his body, leaving behind a path for return to the Physical World.
This was the most dangerous moment.
If his soul destabilized during separation, before fully entering the Spiritual World, the resulting backlash would be so severe that death would be preferable.
When it was done, when the wisp remained behind, pain beyond description tore through him—and then his soul left his body.
Almost instantly, the pain was swallowed by an overwhelming attraction toward an unknown destination. It had no direction, yet felt impossibly close and impossibly distant at the same time.
The Physical World rejected him.
As if he no longer belonged to it.
Where there had once been utter darkness behind his closed eyes, grey slowly began to bloom.
He knew what this meant.
He had crossed the boundary between the two Worlds.
…
There was no sensation in his limbs.
No wind against his cheeks.
No ground beneath him.
No light to gaze upon.
Instead, a sudden warmth enveloped his existence.
Joy followed.
Gentle. Comforting.
His very being grew warmer, more pleasant, as if embraced.
The sense of time began to unravel.
'Don't forget… why… you're here.'
…
Seconds passed.
Or perhaps centuries.
He could no longer remember how long he had been here.
…
Vincent stared into an empty distance without horizon or depth.
'I want… to go there…'
Purpose thinned as his soul absorbed spirit essence without pause. There was no choice in it.
He had to accept it.
He couldn't stop.
He didn't want to stop.
…
'I… so happy…'
Joy flooded him.
'I… I want to stay…'
…
Then, after an immeasurable span of time, an image flickered before his lifeless eyes—a young girl—vanishing almost the moment it appeared.
'Who… was that…?'
…
After what felt like millennia, another scene emerged: a young man and a young girl lying together, embracing—then fading away.
'I…'
'Who… is she…?'
…
Another memory surfaced.
Then another.
Suddenly, a name stirred within him.
'A…'
'Ali…'
'A…lisia.'
As the name formed, clarity struck like a blade.
Horror filled his entire being as he realized where he was.
He immediately remembered the pain from leaving that tiny wisp behind.
…
"Haaaa—!"
Vincent's eyes snapped open as he drew in a violent breath, his body collapsing to the ground.
His heart thundered wildly. Shivers tore through him.
Darkness claimed his mind.
And consciousness abandoned him.
Before consciousness left him, Vincent felt that he… lost something within himself.