The courtyard was silent.
Too silent.
I stood at the center of my carefully prepared fear game, senses stretched thin. The illusions were in place the shifting walls, the whispers sewn into the mist, the subtle pressure that gnawed at the mind and coaxed fear to the surface. Any lesser spirit would have already reacted.
But nothing happened.
Lumo hovered close to my shoulder, its glow dimmer than usual. I felt it too the disturbance in the flow of fear. Something was wrong.
Then the shadows moved.
Not erratically. Not instinctively.
Deliberately.
A figure stepped out from the far end of the courtyard. It was tall, its shape clearer than any spirit I had seen so far. Its face resembled a human's too closely. Sunken eyes regarded the illusions around us, not with fear, but with curiosity.
"So this is how you do it," the spirit said calmly.
My blood ran cold.
It spoke clearly. No distorted whispers. No mindless hunger. This one understood.
"You trap fear," it continued, walking forward without triggering a single illusion. "You harvest it. You turn terror into structure. Very clever… for a newborn."
I clenched my fists, drawing fear inward, steadying myself. "You're not afraid," I said.
The spirit smiled.
"Why should I be?" it replied. "I've already seen through your game."
The courtyard shuddered.
One by one, my illusions collapsed. The whispers fell silent. The shifting walls stilled. It was as if the spirit had simply reached out and unplugged the fear itself.
My heart pounded. This was bad. Very bad.
Lumo darted forward, releasing a pulse of light, but the spirit raised a hand and the glow dispersed harmlessly.
"An assistant spirit," it mused. "Interesting. You're building systems already. That means you'll be dangerous… if you live."
It lunged.
I barely rolled aside as a wave of oppressive fear slammed into the ground where I had been standing. Unlike the raw panic of lesser spirits, this fear was controlled focused. It targeted my thoughts, my confidence, my sense of control.
So this was what an intelligent spirit could do.
"Lumo!" I shouted. "Scatter the field!"
Lumo split its light into fragments, darting in unpredictable patterns. I seized the opening and pulled fear from myself my panic, my doubt and forced it outward, shaping it into sharp, sudden stimuli rather than lingering illusions.
The courtyard exploded with flashes of terror: sudden drops in depth perception, phantom footsteps inches from the spirit's back, echoes of its own voice whispering doubts.
The spirit staggered.
For the first time, its expression shifted not fear, but irritation.
"Tch. So you can adapt too."
I didn't stop. I couldn't. This wasn't a game anymore it was a duel of minds.
I abandoned complexity and went back to basics. Short loops. Immediate feedback. No patterns.
Fear surged. I absorbed it. Redirected it. The circuit completed.
The spirit hissed and retreated several steps, its form flickering. "You're inefficient," it snarled. "But creative."
"And you talk too much," I shot back, forcing another surge of fear through the space between us.
The courtyard shook violently. Cracks spread across the ground. The spirit let out a low growl and dissolved into the mist, its voice echoing faintly as it withdrew.
"This isn't over, Spirit Warrior. You've been noticed."
The silence that followed was heavy.
I collapsed to one knee, gasping, sweat cold against my skin. My fear reserves were nearly empty. If that spirit had pressed just a little longer…
Lumo hovered close, its light trembling.
"…That was close," I muttered.
But beneath the exhaustion, something else burned.
Excitement.
There were spirits out there that could think, adapt, dismantle my games.
Which meant one thing.
I would have to design better ones.