Three days. Seventy-two hours since binding the painter's spirit. Each breath tasted of turpentine and charcoal.
Kael's eyes snapped open to darkness. Fire spread through his veins... no, not fire. Paint. Liquid color burning paths beneath his skin. His mouth opened to scream but only pigment came out. Cerulean blue splattered across Garrett's cave floor.
Should he try sitting up? The thought alone sent fresh agony racing down his spine. His left hand twitched. Five fingers became ten, then fifteen, then dissolved into brush strokes.
"Stop fighting it." Garrett's voice drifted from somewhere beyond the pain. "Let the spirit settle."
Let it settle? This thing inside him twisted like a living cancer. Kael forced his eyes to focus. There. By his feet. Something moved.
The painter spirit manifested partially. Dog-sized. Maybe smaller. Its form shifted between oil and watercolor, never quite solid. Two eyes... were those eyes?... studied him with animal intelligence. When it opened what might have been a mouth, the smell of linseed oil filled the cave.
"Pathetic." Garrett crouched just outside arm's reach. Smart man. "Can barely hold form. Starving spirit bound to starving boy."
Starving? Kael tried to speak. His throat produced only a wet clicking sound. Like brushes on dry canvas.
"Your spirit needs feeding. Other spirits. Essence. Power." The old man counted on gnarled fingers. "At your level? Low Apprentice? Weakest of the weak? You'd need fifty wandering spirits just to stabilize."
Fifty. The number echoed in Kael's skull. How long would that take? Months? Years?
"M-Mya..." The name came out fractured. Each syllable cost blood.
"Forget the girl." Garrett's expression showed no sympathy. "Camp Seven processes prisoners in nine days. You can barely manifest for seconds."
Nine days? But she'd been there... how long? The math wouldn't come. His brain kept trying to paint equations instead of solving them.
Kael forced himself upright. The cave spun. Steadied. Spun again. His spirit yipped... or was that sound coming from him?... and dove back into his chest. Even that small manifestation left him gasping.
"Try again." Garrett pointed at the cave wall. "Paint something. Anything."
Paint? With what? Kael raised his right hand. Studied the trembling fingers. Nothing special about them. Just flesh and bone and...
Blood welled from his palm. Not from any cut. It simply emerged, transformed. Crimson became burnt sienna. His lifeline drew itself across the stone.
One line. Just one wavering mark that might have been horizon or grimace. The effort dropped him to his knees. Black spots danced across his vision like spilled ink.
"Pitiful." But Garrett leaned closer, studying the mark. "See how it influenced the dust motes? They curved around it. Two seconds of fate adjustment. Maybe three."
Fate adjustment? Kael watched the line fade. Dust motes returned to random patterns. His palm bled normally now. Red blood. Human blood. The relief of that almost made him sob.
"Rest. Try again in an hour." Garrett moved to his corner, pulling moldy blankets around himself. "At this rate, you'll be useful in five years."
Five years. Mya had nine days.
...
The second attempt came after Kael crawled to the water bucket. Drank. Vomited. Drank again. His spirit poked its not-quite-head out from his sternum. Curious? Hungry? Both?
"Show me what you can do." He whispered to it. Talking helped. Made it seem less like possession.
The spirit emerged further. Front paws... hands?... touched the cave floor. Where it stepped, colors bloomed. Brief. Beautiful. Gone in heartbeats.
Could he direct it? Kael pointed at a beetle crossing the cave. "Change its path."
His spirit tilted its head. Dog-like but wrong. Too many angles. It padded toward the beetle, leaving rainbow footprints. Opened its mouth. A single drop of yellow fell.
The beetle turned left. Sharp. Unnatural. Marched straight into the wall. Kept marching. Its tiny legs worked frantically against stone until...
Crunch.
"You killed it." Kael stared at the smear of chitin and ichor.
His spirit sat. Proud? It had done what he asked. Changed the path. The fact that the new path led to death...
"Spirits lack human morality." Garrett observed from his blankets. "Yours is newborn. Doesn't understand limits."
Limits. Yes. Kael felt his own approaching. The manifestation had lasted forty seconds. Already his vision grayed at edges. The spirit noticed his distress and dove back inside. The re-entry hurt worse than emergence. Like swallowing broken glass.
"Again in an hour."
But the next hour brought only failure. His spirit refused to emerge. Sulking? Tired? Kael pressed both hands against his chest, feeling for that alien presence.
There. Curled behind his heart. It felt... small. Weak. A painter who'd forgotten how to hold a brush.
"You're both too weak." Garrett's assessment cut deep because it was true. "Need to feed. Hunt. Grow."
Hunt. With what strength? Kael could barely stand. His spirit could barely manifest. Together they might take down a mouse. Maybe.
"Where do I find spirits?"
"Everywhere. Nowhere." Garrett scratched his frost-touched arm. "City's full of old deaths. Abandoned places. Origin items waiting. But you? You'd die to the first wandering spirit you met."
Die. Like Mya would die in nine days. No... eight days now? Time kept slipping.
"Teach me to fight them."
"Fight?" Garrett laughed. Bitter sound. "Boy, you can't even stand straight. Your spirit's like wet paper. Fight..." Another laugh. "You'll learn to run. Hide. Scavenge. Maybe in a year..."
A year. Mya had eight days.
Kael forced himself up again. His spirit grumbled but emerged. Slightly larger? No. Just fluffed up like a scared cat. He pointed at the cave wall.
"Paint something useful."
The spirit gave him a look that clearly said 'you first.' But it opened its mouth. Red dripped. Formed a circle. Almost. The shape wavered, incomplete. After twenty seconds, both collapsed.
"Getting worse." Garrett noted. "Pushing too hard."
Too hard? Not hard enough. People died while he played with finger paints.
"What did I bind exactly?" Kael asked during the rest period. "You said fate-type?"
"Emotion and probability. Rare combination." Garrett actually sounded impressed. "Most painters just create illusions. Yours influences outcomes. Small scale now. Insects. Maybe rodents. But fed properly..."
Fed. Always back to feeding. Kael studied his spirit, now barely visible. It looked at him with those not-eyes. Hungry. They were both so hungry.
"Tomorrow we hunt." He decided.
"Tomorrow you'll die." Garrett pulled blankets higher. "But sure. Why not. Lessons learned in blood stick better."
...
That night, Kael dreamed of paint. Rivers of it. Oceans. Drowning in color while Mya called his name. Eight days. Seven. Six. The numbers ran like watercolors in rain.
He woke to find he'd painted in his sleep. Crude marks covered the ground around him. His spirit had tried to communicate. Or create. Or just relieve itself. The patterns meant nothing. Cost blood anyway.
"Drink." Garrett shoved water at him. "Eat." Stale bread followed. "You hunt today."
Hunt. Right. Kael chewed mechanically. His spirit emerged without prompting, sniffing at the bread. Could spirits eat human food? It tried. The bread fell through its translucent form.
"Abandoned farmhouse. Three miles north." Garrett drew a crude map. "Family died there last winter. Might have spawned something."
Might. Everything was might and maybe while Mya's death approached with certainty.
"How do I beat it?"
"You don't. You survive it." Garrett tapped the map. "Break the origin item. Feed your spirit the remains. Try not to die."
Try not to die. Excellent advice. Kael struggled into his clothes... when had he undressed?... and prepared to leave. His spirit wouldn't stay inside. Kept popping out to examine things. Touch things. Leave little color stains everywhere.
"Control it or it controls you." Garrett's warning followed him outside.
Control. Yes. Kael focused on his spirit. Tried to feel its needs. Hunger dominated. But beneath that... curiosity? It wanted to create. To change. To paint reality different.
Just like its host.
Three miles through forest. Should have been easy. Kael stopped six times. Twice to vomit. Three times when his spirit decided to chase squirrels. Once because walking hurt.
"You're pathetic." He told himself. True. But Mya deserved better than pathetic. So he walked.
The farmhouse squatted between dead fields. Abandoned but not empty. The temperature drop hit at fifty yards. Ten degrees. Fifteen. His breath misted.
Spirit. Definitely spirit.
His painter emerged fully. Hackles raised. Whatever waited inside was stronger. Older. Angrier.
"Ready?" He asked his spirit.
It looked at him like he was insane. Which... fair. They were about to fight something that could kill them for the chance to grow marginally stronger. All to save someone already doomed.
But what else was there? Let Mya die while he trained safely? Become strong in five years when everyone he'd failed was dust?
No.
Kael stepped toward the farmhouse. His spirit whined but followed. Together, they entered the darkness.
Time to learn what being a kiratashi really meant.