The rustling of your robe as you kneel is strangely loud; loud enough to momentarily block all 
other sound. The oddity is disregarded as you make your preparations to perform a ritual, the 
actions so familiar you can work largely on instinct. First the rope to define the circle, then 
the stones, each in places allotted as much in response to the flows of power from the land as 
the dictates of the ritual. Beside you you can feel more than see Leaf making her own preparations. 
You finish by placing your sword in the centre of the circle, ready to imbue it with an ice blade. 
For a second you're unsure as to why you're performing this ritual, but continue anyway.

Drawing your knife, you slice your palm in a practiced gesture and begin inscribing runes upon 
your prepared pieces of parchment, placing them around the circle as the whisperings of the spirits 
and the nudges of Leaf direct you. You draw a vial of glitter, the finishing touch to this ritual, 
and start to pour.

Glancing round, you suddenly notice that the ground on which you kneel is not where you remember 
standing only a few minutes before. The realisation is wiped away by an unexpected shock; as the 
glitter contacts your sword smoke billows up and there's a sudden flash of heat. You throw your 
arms in front of your face to shield it; once more, the rustle of cloth from the movement is 
deafeningly loud. The feeling of heat stops abruptly; lowering your arms, you see you are back in 
your own world.