Yara lit the intense and began chanting, feeling foolish. She was sure the spell wouldn’t work, but she had to try.
When she opened her eyes, a translucent figure as insubstantial as the smoke stood before her.
“Mother,” she began, unsure of what to say.
“Yara?” The shade asked, taking in the grown woman before her.
“It’s me. I wanted you to know that I made it. I wanted you to know that I’m alright.”
The ghost started to become fuzzy, the spell already dissipating.
“I wanted you to know that I’m sorry,” the warrior said to the empty shrine.

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