One month. Thirty days since joining the resistance. Thirty nights of his painter spirit growing larger, stronger, hungrier.
Kael woke to his spirit looming over him. Horse-sized now. Its eyes... definitely eyes... studied him with expression caught between affection and appetite. When had it started looking at him like food?
"Back." His voice cracked with sleep. With worry.
The spirit retreated. Slightly. Painted apology on the wall. But also painted itself consuming something. Small thing. Mouse? Bird? The image dissolved before he could interpret.
This... when had the morning negotiations started? When had controlling his spirit become bargaining instead of commanding?
"Problems?" Elena sat up in her bed. Watched the interaction with knowing eyes.
"It's restless." Understatement. The spirit paced the room. Left paint-prints that took longer to fade. "Needs to hunt."
"Vera warned you. The hunger always comes." Elena pulled on her boots. "Better to feed it controlled than let it feed itself."
Truth. Hard truth. But Kael had seen what hungry spirits did. Seen Mira twisted. Parents drained. Camps full of food-people. Was he creating another monster?
His spirit painted violent disagreement. It wasn't like those spirits. Would never hurt innocents. Only enemies. Only other spirits. Only...
The images grew increasingly specific. Increasingly disturbing. His spirit had been planning. Thinking. Developing appetites.
"Morning training." He forced normalcy. "Can't be late."
But during exercises, his spirit kept manifesting unbidden. Studying other refugees. Measuring. When Renn demonstrated knife work, the spirit painted him differently. Painted him still. Painted him feeding something.
"Control your spirit!" Vera's voice cracked like whip. "Or I'll control it for you."
Empty threat? No. Vera didn't make empty threats. Her ash-smoke spirit could probably destroy his painter. But that would waste resources. Waste potential. Waste time invested.
He forced the spirit back inside. It went reluctantly. Sulking. Plotting. Definitely plotting.
"You need to hunt." Vera pulled him aside after training. "Today. Before it decides for itself what to eat."
"Where? The mountains?" Wild spirits roamed there. Dangerous for Low Intermediate. But better than alternatives.
"South ruins. Abandoned village. Three wandering spirits reported last week." She handed him a rough map. "Take them. Feed yours. Come back controlled or don't come back."
Ultimatum delivered. Clear. Cold. Necessary. The mathematics of keeping monsters useful instead of deadly.
He left immediately. Couldn't risk waiting. His spirit grew more agitated hourly. Painted increasingly violent scenes. Increasingly detailed hungers.
The ruins sat six hours south. Once a farming village. Now empty buildings and bad memories. Something had happened here. Plague? Spirits? Didn't matter. Only the current residents mattered.
Temperature dropped at the village edge. His birthmark tingled warning. Yes. Spirits here. Multiple. His painter emerged fully. Eager. Hungry. Ready.
Too ready? It shot forward before he commanded. Hunting by instinct. By need. He followed, trying to maintain control. Trying to pretend he led instead of followed.
First wandering spirit hid in the mill. Farmer-type. Scythe-bearing. Territorial but weak. His painter hit it like starvation given form. No technique. No strategy. Just overwhelming hunger.
The farmer-spirit tried to fight. Swung its phantom scythe. His painter caught the blade. Bit through it. The sound... breaking glass mixed with screaming wind. Then consumption. Fast. Messy. Complete.
Light particles rose. His painter gorged. Grew. When it turned back, its muzzle dripped colors that shouldn't exist. Its eyes held satisfaction. Temporarily.
"Two more." Kael pointed toward the village center. "Sense them?"
His spirit didn't wait for completion. Flowed toward the next target. Hunter become hunted become force of appetite. He jogged to keep pace. Who controlled whom anymore?
Second spirit in the old inn. Child-type. Plague victim by its appearance. It saw them coming. Tried to flee. His painter moved faster. Cut off escape. Herded it into corner.
"Wait. Let me—"
Too late. His painter pounced. The child-spirit shrieked once. High. Piercing. Then silence as it was devoured. Consumed. Erased.
This felt wrong. Felt too much like the camps. Like feeding schedules. Like monsters eating the weak because they could.
His spirit disagreed. Painted justification. These were just spirits. Not human. Never human. Just emotion and trauma given form. Recycling them into power was practical. Necessary. Natural.
Was it? The philosophy could wait. Third spirit sensed their approach. Fled toward the church. Soldier-type. Stronger. Smarter. It barricaded itself inside. Prepared defense.
His painter circled the building. Patient now. Sated enough to think tactically. It painted false entrances. Misdirection. The soldier-spirit defended against illusions while the real attack came through the roof.
The fight lasted longer. The soldier knew combat. Fought with discipline. With purpose. But his painter had fed twice. Grown stronger. Grown cleverer. It painted the soldier's weapons useless. Painted its defenses permeable. Painted reality different until different became true.
When it finally fed, Kael felt the surge. Power flowing through their bond. His Low Intermediate status solidifying. Advancing. But also... distance. His spirit looked at him with alien satisfaction. Still affectionate. Still bound. But less his than before.
"Enough." He commanded. Testing authority.
The spirit considered. Painted one more image. Itself, larger. Him, smaller. Question or prediction? Then it subsided. Shrunk to merely horse-sized. Returned to his side. Obedient but not submissive.
The journey back took longer. His spirit kept investigating scents. Tracking things. Hunting instincts awakened and eager. But it obeyed when he called. Mostly.
Vera waited at the settlement gates. Took one look. Nodded. "Better. Controlled for now. How long?"
"I don't know." Honest answer. "It's stronger. Smarter. Still mine but..."
"But developing independence. Normal progression." She studied his spirit. It preened under attention. Definitely vain still. "Most Kiratashi feed monthly. Maintain balance. You'll need to monitor. Judge. Decide."
"What if it breaks free?"
"Then I kill it. And you." Matter of fact. "Can't afford rogue spirits here. Can't afford sentiment over mathematics. Understand?"
He understood. The settlement came first. The resistance mattered more than any individual. Even Darra had been mathematics in the end. Acceptable loss for greater gain.
"It won't break free."
"See that it doesn't." She turned to go. Paused. "You're advancing faster than any Kiratashi I've known. Weeks instead of months. The Thorne blood maybe. Or something else. Either way, useful if controlled. Deadly if not."
Warning delivered again. Clearer. Sharper. His spirit painted understanding. Also painted itself behaving. Lies or truth? Even it might not know yet.
That night, it curled around his bed. Too large for the room but making itself fit. Guarding or claiming? Both probably. He felt its satisfaction. Its temporary satiation. Its growing appetite for more.
"The hunger gets worse." Elena observed from her bed. "Always worse. Never better. That's the price of power."
Price. Everything had a price here. Safety cost isolation. Strength cost humanity. Power cost control. And the bills always came due.
His spirit painted agreement. Also painted tomorrow. Itself hunting again. Growing again. Becoming something more than either of them planned.
But what choice existed? Stay weak and watch others die? Grow strong and risk becoming the monster? No good options. Only mathematics. Only choosing which price to pay.
Tomorrow he'd train. Plan. Pretend control still meant something. Pretend the hunger could be managed instead of just delayed.
But tonight, his spirit painted truth. Painted itself enormous. Painted the world small. Painted hunger as destiny instead of choice.
He erased the image. It returned. Larger.
The mathematics of power. The economics of ambition. The price of trying to matter in a world of monsters.
His spirit agreed. Painted him sleeping while it watched. While it waited. While it grew.
Always growing. Always hungry. Always becoming more.