Day seven. The farmhouse squatted in morning mist like a rotten tooth. Temperature drop hit at forty yards this time. Stronger than before. Or Kael had grown more sensitive.
His painter spirit manifested without prompting. Hackles raised. Tasting the air with a tongue that couldn't quite decide on color. The abandoned building reeked of old death even from here.
Should they circle first? Scout? Kael's instincts said yes. His deadline said no. Five days left. Mya had five days.
"Feel for it." He whispered to his spirit. "Where's the origin item?"
His spirit flowed forward. More liquid than yesterday. Its form puddled and reformed with each step. Where it touched ground, frost dissolved into watercolor puddles.
The front door hung askew. Beyond it, darkness thick as paint. His spirit paused at the threshold. Whined. The sound came out like brushes dragged across raw canvas.
"I know. But we need this."
They entered together. The temperature plummeted another ten degrees. Ice crystals formed on Kael's eyelashes. His spirit pressed against his leg. Seeking comfort? Or giving it?
Inside was worse than memory suggested. Furniture overturned. Dark stains on wooden floors. Claw marks... were those claw marks?... raked the walls. Whatever spirit lived here had redecorated with violence.
His painter spirit growled. The sound rippled the air. Made dust motes swirl in impossible patterns. A warning? Or challenge?
The answer came from the kitchen.
A child. Maybe six years old. Perfect blonde curls. Clean pinafore dress. She stood by the stove, stirring an empty pot with a wooden spoon.
"Mama says dinner's ready." Her voice was honey and sunshine. "Won't you sit down?"
Every instinct screamed danger. The child was too clean. Too perfect. The kitchen too warm while everything else froze. His spirit agreed. It arched its back, form solidifying into something like a war ferret.
"Where's your mama?" Kael kept his voice steady.
The child giggled. Kept stirring. The pot was definitely empty but somehow produced bubbling sounds. "Silly. Mama's right here."
Temperature dropped to arctic. Kael's next breath came out as ice crystals. The child's form flickered. For just a moment, he saw truth. Not a child. A thing of hunger and frozen rage wearing child-shape like ill-fitting clothes.
Origin item. Where was the origin item? His eyes swept the kitchen. There. On the wall. A rope. Frayed. Dark-stained. Fashioned into a noose.
The farmhouse spirit noticed his attention. Giggled again. The sound was breaking glass and screaming wind.
"Papa used that. After." The child-thing set down its spoon. Turned. Its eyes were holes full of winter. "Would you like to try it on?"
Kael's spirit moved before he did. Launched itself at the child-thing with a sound like tearing canvas. They collided in the center of the kitchen. Paint met ice. Creation fought destruction.
His spirit was brave. Also stupid. Also outmatched.
The farmhouse spirit shed its child-disguise. Revealed something made of frozen grief and rope burns. It grabbed Kael's spirit by the throat... did his spirit have a throat?... and squeezed.
Paint leaked between ice fingers. His spirit thrashed. Bit. Clawed. Each attack left color smears that froze instantly.
Move. Had to move. Kael lunged for the noose. His fingers touched rough hemp and...
Memory exploded. Not his. The farmer's. Debt. Failed harvest. Hungry children. Wife's tears. The decision made in December darkness. The rope. The chair. The...
Kael jerked back. Almost lost himself in the spirit's origin trauma. Behind him, his painter spirit shrieked. The sound was ripping canvas and spilling paint.
"Let go!" He grabbed the iron knife. Slashed at the farmhouse spirit. The blade passed through like smoke. Of course. Only Kiratashi spirits could touch spirits directly.
His spirit bit down harder. Drew something that wasn't quite blood. The farmhouse spirit howled. Flung his painter across the room. It hit the wall, exploded into paint splatter, reformed looking dazed.
Now. While it was distracted. Kael grabbed the noose with both hands. Tried to break it. Too strong. The rope was iron-hard with spiritual reinforcement.
The farmhouse spirit noticed. Moved toward him. Fast. Faster than frozen grief should move. Its hands reached out, already shaped into noose-curves.
His painter spirit intercepted. Smaller. Weaker. But fierce with desperation. It painted as it fought. Quick strokes in the air that became barriers. Walls of color that lasted seconds. Just long enough to slow the farmhouse spirit.
"Break it!" His spirit's meaning was clear even without words.
But how? The rope wouldn't yield to strength. Kael tried the knife. Blade skittered off like the rope was metal. His spirit bought him seconds with its body. Paint and ice scattered with each impact.
Think. Spirits were emotion. This one was guilt and hunger and winter despair. What destroyed those things?
No. Wrong question. Garrett's words echoed: Resolution, not destruction.
"You fed them first." The words came without thought. "Even while starving. Fed your family before yourself."
The farmhouse spirit paused. Its child-face flickered back for a moment. Confused. Listening.
"That's why you manifest as a child stirring empty pots. You're not the hunger. You're the love that tried to fight it."
The noose trembled in his hands. Warming? No. Softening. The rope remained rope but somehow less. Less real. Less binding.
"They forgave you." Kael pulled. The noose stretched like taffy. "Your family. They understood. They never blamed..."
The farmhouse spirit screamed. Not anger. Recognition. Pain of truth cutting deeper than any blade. It released Kael's spirit. Stumbled backward. Its form rippled between child and corpse and something almost human.
Now. Kael pulled harder. The noose parted with a sound like sighing. Hemp fibers drifted down like snow.
The farmhouse spirit looked at its hands. Through them. Beyond them. For one moment, it smiled. A father's smile. Tired but genuine. Then it dissolved. Not violently. Just... stopping. Choosing to stop.
Light particles rose from the dissolution. Warm gold despite the frozen origin. His painter spirit lunged forward. Mouth open. Swallowing light like honey.
"Don't choke." Kael muttered.
His spirit gave him a look that clearly communicated thoughts about his humor. But it absorbed carefully. The gold light sank into its form. Paint-fur rippled. Solidified. When it looked up, its eyes were more real. Still not quite eyes, but closer.
The farmhouse shuddered. Whatever force had held it in twisted shape departed. Wood remembered it was just wood. Started to collapse.
"Run!"
They fled together. Burst through the front door as the roof caved in. Rolled in dead grass as timbers crashed behind them. When dust settled, only rubble remained. A farmhouse finally allowed to fall.
Kael checked his spirit. Larger now. Cat-sized? Small dog? Its form held steadier. Less liquid drift. When it walked, actual paw prints appeared. Faint but real.
"How do you feel?"
His spirit considered. Painted a small smiley face in the air. The image lasted ten seconds before fading. New record.
"Can you fight better now?"
Another painted image. His spirit drawn larger, breathing fire. Artistic license clearly. But underneath the exaggeration... confidence? It had won. Fed. Grown. The taste of victory was sweet as absorbed light.
"Good. Because that was just one. We need more."
His spirit's enthusiasm dimmed. It painted a question mark.
"More spirits. More feeding. More growing." Kael stood. Brushed off dust and splinters. "Mya has five days. We need to be much stronger."
Five days. His spirit painted the number. Added a clock. The hands spun wildly before the image dissolved. Message clear: time moves too fast.
"I know. But what choice do we have?"
His spirit had no answer. But it pressed against his leg. Comfort offered and accepted. They walked back toward Garrett's cave. Both slightly stronger. Both knowing it wasn't nearly enough.
The sun climbed higher. Another morning burning away. Four days and some hours now. The math was crushing.
But his spirit had grown. Fought. Won. That had to count for something.
...
Garrett waited at the cave mouth. Took one look at them and nodded. "You survived. Good. The spirit?"
"Dead. Resolved. Not sure which." Kael collapsed on his sleeping pile. "My spirit fed."
"Show me."
Kael's spirit emerged fully. Definitely larger. Its form held for a full minute before wavering. When it painted a circle in the air, the shape completed. Still faded quickly, but completion was new.
"One feeding. You'll need dozens more." Garrett's assessment cut deep. "But it's a start."
A start. With five days left. The math remained impossible.
"Where next?"
"Rest today. Hunt tomorrow." Garrett pulled out his old journal. "Three possibilities. All wandering spirits. All dangerous for Low Apprentice."
"I need faster growth."
"You need to survive growth." Garrett fixed him with those too-knowing eyes. "Dead Kiratashi save no one."
True. But living Kiratashi who moved too slowly saved no one either.
His spirit curled up beside him. Digesting its meal? The gold light settled into its form like paint soaking into canvas. Kael felt the connection strengthen. Not just bound. Beginning to merge.
"It fought well." He defended his spirit. Proud of it.
"It fought desperately. Different thing." But Garrett almost smiled. "Still. For a newborn, not bad."
Not bad. High praise from the hermit. Kael let exhaustion take him. His spirit kept watch. Or tried to. Its eyes... were those eyes now?... kept drooping.
Tomorrow they'd hunt again. Find another spirit. Fight. Feed. Grow. Repeat until strong enough or dead.
Simple plan. Impossible timeline. But Mya waited. So they'd try.
His spirit painted dreams on the cave wall as he slept. Images of victory. Of rescue. Of reunion. All dissolved by dawn, but the hope remained.
Four days now. Four chances to become something more than Low Apprentice with delusions.
His spirit believed they could do it. Painted itself huge and heroic.
Kael wanted to believe too. But the math was merciless. And math didn't care about hope.
Still. Tomorrow they'd hunt. What else was there?