Day nine. Ashenmoor's walls looked different to Kiratashi eyes. Kael could see the thin spots where reality wore through. Dark patches where old deaths left stains. His painter spirit huddled inside his chest, hidden but restless.
Three silver coins left. Stolen from the farmhouse before it collapsed. Enough for information if he could find the right seller.
The queue at the gate stretched longer than memory. Guards checked papers with unusual thoroughness. Looking for someone? Kael pulled his hood lower. Joined the line. Just another traveler. Nothing special except the spirit coiled behind his heart.
"Papers." The guard looked bored. Good. Bored meant routine.
"Lost them. Bandits." Kael let his voice crack. Young. Scared. Harmless. "Just trying to reach my aunt..."
"Move along." The guard had already dismissed him. Next traveler stepping forward.
Too easy? No. Just typical. Ashenmoor swallowed thousands daily. One more ragged boy meant nothing.
The streets hit different now. Every shadow held potential. His spirit perked up at each temperature drop. False alarms mostly. Just normal cold spots. But the awareness...
There. Tannery row. A wandering spirit huddled in an alley. Tiny thing. Mouse-born from some minor tragedy. His painter spirit wanted to hunt. Pushed against his ribs.
Not now. Not here. Too many witnesses.
Kael forced himself past. The mouse-spirit didn't even notice. Weak recognized weak. No threat to each other.
Where would street children gather? Same places. Same patterns. Humans were predictable even in desperation. He found them by the bronze fountain. Different faces but same hungry eyes.
"Looking for someone." He showed copper. Not silver. Silver meant robbery. "Red-haired girl. Called herself Mya."
The children exchanged glances. Their leader, a boy maybe twelve, stepped forward. Missing fingers marked him as a failed pickpocket.
"Mya? From the soap factory gang?" Interest sharpened his voice. "Haven't seen her in..." He counted on remaining fingers. "Two months? Three?"
Two months. Kael had searched for a week before fleeing. Timeline matched.
"What happened?"
"Black coats took her." The boy shrugged. "Her and that whole gang. Tom. Sara. All of them. Asked too many questions about something."
All of them. Kael's chest tightened. His spirit noticed the distress. Pressed comfort against his heart.
"Where did they take her?"
"Same place they take everyone." The boy made a warding gesture. "North. The camps. But you didn't hear that from me."
The camps. Confirmation of what he'd feared. Kael passed over the copper. Added another. Information earned payment.
"Any survivors? Anyone escape?"
"From the camps?" The boy laughed. Bitter sound for someone so young. "Nobody comes back from there. Nobody."
Nobody. The word echoed as Kael walked away. Nobody escaped. Nobody survived. Nobody saved anyone from Camp Seven.
But he had to try.
...
The old warehouse stood empty. Their warehouse. His and Mya's and the gang's. Dust had already claimed it. As if they'd never existed. His spirit emerged slightly, tasting memories in the air.
"This was home." He told it. "Once."
His spirit painted a small image. Five figures around a fire. Crude but recognizable. It remembered through him.
"Gone now. All gone."
The image dissolved. His spirit pressed against his leg. Comfort? Or seeking it? Both.
A sound. Footsteps. Multiple. Kael's spirit vanished back inside as three figures entered the warehouse. Black coats. Apprentice Kiratashi by their bearing. Young. Confident. Dangerous.
Should he run? Too late. They'd seen him.
"You there." The leader called out. Female voice. Sharp with authority. "State your business."
"Just... looking for shelter." Kael hunched his shoulders. Became harmless. "Used to sleep here sometimes."
"This building's been marked." She stepped closer. "Spiritual contamination. Civilians aren't allowed."
Spiritual contamination? Here? Kael stretched his senses. Felt nothing beyond normal urban decay.
"I didn't know. I'll leave."
"Wait." One of the other Apprentices, male, narrowed his eyes. "There's something..."
No. They couldn't sense his spirit. He was hiding it. Containing it. But the Apprentice stepped closer. His own spirit partially manifested. A hound-shape made of silver mist. It sniffed the air.
Run. Now. Kael bolted for the side exit. Behind him, shouts. The silver hound's howl. Too late to hide what he was.
Through the door. Into the alley. His painter spirit burst free, adding speed. Not much. But enough to turn corners sharper. To flow over obstacles.
"Rogue Apprentice!" The call went up. "Seal the district!"
Rogue Apprentice. They thought him criminal. Unregistered. Illegal. All true, technically. But the punishment...
More black coats appeared ahead. Word spread fast among Kiratashi. Kael skidded left. His spirit painted false footprints going right. The illusion lasted three seconds. Enough to confuse.
Down through the market. Over the bronze fountain. Into the sewer grates he'd used before. The silver hound couldn't follow scent through running water. Probably. Hopefully.
He emerged six blocks away. Soaked. Stinking. But free. For now.
His spirit shook itself like a wet cat. Splattered paint-water everywhere. Both exhausted from the chase. From maintaining speed and illusions.
"That was too close."
His spirit agreed. Painted a skull and crossbones. Subtle as always.
Three days left. The city crawled with Kiratashi now. Looking for him. The warehouse had been bait. A trap for anyone asking about the taken.
"We need to leave. Tonight."
But first, information. The broker in the sewers. Last chance to learn anything useful.
...
Finding the broker took hours. Different route this time. Avoiding Kiratashi patrols. His spirit guided him through temperature variations. Warmer here. Colder there. Following some pattern only it understood.
The iron door looked the same. But the knock pattern had changed. His spirit painted the new one. How did it know? Questions for later.
"Enter, young Kiratashi."
The broker hadn't changed. Still blind. Still knowing. Still wrapped in silk and incense.
"You survived binding." Not a question. "Interesting. The painter's spirit suits you."
"How did you..."
"I trade in information." The broker smiled. "Your spirit broadcasts its nature. Artistic. Vain. Young. Loyal. Fascinating combination."
Kael's spirit preened at the description. Definitely vain.
"I need to know about Camp Seven."
"Still hunting the taken girl?" The broker sighed. "Love makes fools of us all."
"Just tell me."
"Camp Seven processes prisoners in three days. Your girl among them." The broker's blind eyes saw too much. "The camp holds forty Kiratashi. A hundred guards. Three Master rank commanders. You could not rescue a mouse from their kitchen."
Three days. He'd thought four. Time slipping again.
"There must be a way."
"Must there?" The broker leaned forward. "Tell me, young painter. What do you imagine happening? You fight forty Kiratashi? Your Low Apprentice spirit against their Splits and Lords?"
The math was impossible. Kael knew it. But...
"Then I die trying."
"Yes. You do." The broker sat back. "Unless..."
Unless? Hope hurt worse than certainty. "Tell me."
"North of Camp Seven. The old battlefield. Dozens of wandering spirits haunt those grounds." The broker's smile turned sharp. "A feeding ground for the desperate. Or suicidal."
"How does that help?"
"Grow strong enough, fast enough, and perhaps..." The broker shrugged. "You'd still die. But perhaps take one or two guards with you. Perhaps cause enough chaos for some prisoners to run. Perhaps."
Perhaps. Thin word for thin hope. But better than none.
"How much for detailed camp layouts?"
"More than you have." The broker's fingers drummed silk. "But I'll make a deal. There's an Official Kiratashi who sometimes sells information. Marcus. He lost family to the camps. Might help for the right price."
"What price?"
"That's between you and him." The broker produced a sealed letter. "Deliver this. He'll know I sent you."
A trap? Everything felt like traps now. But Kael took the letter. What choice did he have?
"The battlefield." He confirmed. "North of Camp Seven."
"Follow the old legion road. Where it splits, go east." The broker waved dismissal. "Try not to die too quickly. Your story isn't finished being interesting."
...
Kael emerged to find sunset painting Ashenmoor red. Appropriate. His spirit tested the air. Tasted the coming night. Eager to hunt despite exhaustion.
"Tomorrow we head north." He told it. "Tonight we rest."
But where? The warehouse was compromised. The streets crawled with hunters. His spirit painted a suggestion. The artist's studio. Its home. Their territory now.
Dangerous to return there. But less dangerous than sleeping exposed.
They made their way carefully. Avoiding main streets. His spirit scouted ahead, checking for ambush. Found none. The studio stood empty. Waiting.
Inside felt different now. Warmer. The paintings watched but without malice. His spirit moved through the space like it owned it. Which... it did, in a way.
"Just tonight." Kael found a corner. Pulled drop cloths into makeshift bedding. "Tomorrow we leave."
His spirit curled up beside him. Painted dreams on the air. Images of the battlefield. Of growth. Of power. All dissolving like morning mist.
Three days. Mya had three days.
He had a feeding ground and a desperate plan. Not much. But it would have to be enough.
His spirit painted one last image before sleep took them. Two figures standing together. Both free. Both alive.
Beautiful lie. But lies helped sometimes. Helped you survive another night. Try another day. Fight another hour.
Three days to become strong enough to matter. Or die forgotten like everyone else who'd tried.
His spirit believed they could do it.
Kael wished he shared its optimism. But wishing was just another kind of painting. Pretty but impermanent.
Still. Tomorrow they'd try. What else was there?