Day five. Dawn crept through cave mouth like spilled watercolor. Kael had managed thirty seconds of manifestation before collapse. Progress measured in heartbeats.
His painter spirit sat beside him. More solid now. Less dog, more... what? Fox? Ferret? The shape shifted based on mood. Currently: petulant. It kept trying to lick his wounded palm. The one that bled paint during practice.
"Wrong emotional state." Garrett observed from his eternal corner. "Spirits reflect their Kiratashi's mindset. Yours feels your desperation."
Desperation? That was all he had left. Seven days until Mya's execution. Seven days of failing to do more than influence dust.
"Show me something useful." Kael addressed his spirit directly. It tilted its head. Considered. Then vomited rainbow sludge on his boots.
"Charming."
The spirit looked pleased with itself. At least someone was happy.
"You think like a human." Garrett shuffled closer. Brave, considering Kael's spirit had taken to random paint attacks. "Spirits aren't human. Never were. Even when born from human emotion."
"The painter was human."
"The painter died human. What you bound is his death. His transformation. His becoming other." Garrett pointed at the spirit. "See how it moves? Not quite physical. Exists between states."
Between states. Like Kael himself. Not quite human anymore. Not yet Kiratashi. Just meat wrapped around borrowed power.
His spirit noticed the attention. Preened. Definitely vain. It stretched, and for a moment Kael saw its true form. Not animal at all. A splash of creation given anxiety. A brushstroke that refused to dry.
"Try again. But different." Garrett pulled out a wooden bowl. Set it on the ground. "Make the bowl move. Without touching."
Without touching? Kael studied the bowl. Just wood. Old. Cracked. Nothing special except...
Ah. His spirit perked up. Saw what he saw. The crack ran in interesting pattern. Almost like brushwork. Natural art.
"Change it." He didn't point. Pointing was human. Instead, he felt toward the bowl. His spirit flowed forward. More liquid than solid. It circled the bowl. Studying. Appreciating?
Then it lifted one translucent paw and...
The bowl shivered. Just once. The crack spread. New lines forming. A pattern that suggested movement without moving. After ten seconds, the bowl rolled. Leftward. Three inches.
"Better." Garrett sounded surprised. "You influenced probability. The bowl was already unstable. You just... encouraged its fall."
Encouraged. Such a gentle word for forcing reality to bend. Kael's nose bled. Regular blood, thankfully. His spirit noticed and tried to lick that too.
"No. Bad spirit."
It gave him a look of profound offense. How dare he refuse its help? It was trying to collect painting materials. Waste not want not.
"Official Kiratashi would kill you before you blinked." Garrett returned to his corner. "Your spirit announces itself. No subtlety. No control."
No control. True. Even now, his spirit had wandered off to investigate a spider web. It poked the silk with one paw. The web turned green. The spider fled.
"Call it back."
Kael tried. Focused on the bond. The thing that connected them was... strange. Not a leash. More like shared circulation. He pulled. His spirit ignored him.
"Call. It. Back."
This time with force. Kael grabbed the bond and yanked. His spirit yelped... did it actually make sound?... and snapped back into his chest. The impact drove air from his lungs.
"Too harsh. It'll sulk now."
Sulk? Inside him? Indeed, Kael felt his spirit curl into a tight ball behind his sternum. Radiating hurt feelings.
"I'm sorry." He pressed a hand to his chest. "But you need to listen."
The spirit huffed. He felt it through his bones. But after a moment, it uncurled. Forgiveness came easy to newborns.
"Again. The bowl."
But the bowl was done. Cracked through. Useless. Garrett produced another. This one metal. No convenient cracks.
"Harder target. Show me."
Kael's spirit emerged reluctantly. Studied the metal bowl with obvious disdain. Metal wasn't artistic. Metal didn't want to change. Metal was boring.
"Try anyway."
His spirit circled the bowl. Once. Twice. On the third pass, it did something new. Instead of touching, it breathed on the metal. Condensation formed. Except the moisture was tinted. Barely visible. Blue-green like old copper.
The bowl didn't move. But the moisture pattern... it suggested movement. Implied the bowl had rolled. Visual lie that the eye wanted to believe.
"Illusion?" Garrett leaned forward. "No. More subtle. You painted the idea of movement."
Ideas. His spirit could paint ideas. Kael filed that away. Might be useful if he lived long enough.
"How do I make it stronger?"
"Feed it. Fight with it. Bleed for it." Garrett counted off options. "You've done the bleeding. Tomorrow you try fighting."
"I tried fighting. At the farmhouse. It nearly killed us."
"That wasn't fighting. That was panicked flailing." Garrett actually smiled. "Fighting requires thought. Strategy. Understanding what you face."
Understanding. Kael looked at his spirit. It had given up on the metal bowl. Now it stalked the spider from earlier. Patient. Focused. Almost caught it before...
"No! Don't eat the spider!"
Too late. His spirit pounced. The spider vanished into its mouth. For a moment, nothing. Then his spirit hiccupped. Tiny legs sprouted from its sides. Eight of them. They waved frantically before dissolving.
"...Did it just..."
"Absorbed minor essence. Living things have trace amounts." Garrett looked mildly alarmed. "Most spirits can't process that. Yours is... different."
Different. Special. Unique. All words for 'likely to die in interesting ways.'
The spider legs appeared again. His spirit examined them with interest. Made them wave. Tap dance. Then reabsorbed them with obvious reluctance.
"Can it do that with bigger essence?"
"Find out tomorrow." Garrett's smile was not reassuring. "The farmhouse spirit awaits."
...
That night, sleep wouldn't come. His spirit kept manifesting unbidden. Practicing. It painted patterns on the cave walls. Simple things. A sun that looked like an eye. A tree that might be a hand. Always incomplete. Always fading.
"Why are you sad?" He asked it.
His spirit paused mid-stroke. Turned those not-quite-eyes on him. For a moment, he saw through its perception. The world was flat. Two-dimensional. It existed in three dimensions but saw in two. Everything was composition and color balance.
No wonder it was sad. Trapped between states. Neither fully real nor fully art.
"I'll make you stronger. Strong enough to paint properly."
His spirit considered this. Then painted a small figure on the wall. Crude. Childlike. But recognizably him. Beside it, a smaller figure. Red hair suggested in three strokes.
Mya.
"You remember her?"
The spirit added bars around the red figure. Prison. Camp. Same thing. Then added numbers above. Seven. Six. Five. Counting down.
"You understand?"
His spirit nodded. Or did something that might be nodding. Then painted itself larger. Fierce. Protecting both figures. The image lasted almost a minute before fading.
"Ambitious." Kael touched the wall where color had been. "But I like the goal."
His spirit preened. Definitely vain. But also... loyal? It had chosen to help. To try. That was more than just spiritual bond. That was partnership.
"Tomorrow we get stronger."
His spirit yawned. Curled up half-in, half-out of his chest. Like a cat with its head on his lap. Strange. Uncomfortable. But oddly reassuring.
Kael let it rest there. Watched its form solidify and disperse with each breath. His breath? Its breath? The distinction blurred.
"Six days." He whispered.
His spirit painted the number in the air. Six. But made it look hopeful somehow. Six chances. Six opportunities. Six steps closer.
Or six more failures. But that thought he kept to himself.
...
Morning came too soon. Garrett was already awake. Or had never slept. Hard to tell with hermits.
"Ready for real combat?"
No. But Kael nodded anyway. His spirit emerged fully. Larger than yesterday? Maybe imagination. But it moved with more purpose. Less drift, more intent.
"Remember - spirits aren't mindless. The farmhouse ghost has cunning. Rage. Purpose." Garrett handed him a knife. Iron. "For the origin item. If you can reach it."
If. Such a small word for such a large doubt.
"Any advice?"
"Don't die." Garrett's humor remained consistent. "If you must die, do it outside. I don't want your spirit haunting my cave."
Touching concern. Kael tucked the knife away. His spirit tested its claws on the ground. When had it developed proper claws?
"Let's go paint reality different."
His spirit approved of the phrasing. Together, they headed for the farmhouse. For real combat. For growth or death.
Probably both.
But Mya had six days. So Kael would fight with what he had. A spirit that ate spiders and painted hope. Not much. But it would have to be enough.
The farmhouse waited. Patient as old trauma. Ready to teach harsh lessons.
Time to learn.