The forest was silent. Not the peace of quiet birdsong or lazy wind — but a silence thick with tension, like the world was holding its breath.
Lee stood at the center of a wide clearing he had carved himself. The ground was scorched in a perfect circular pattern, with lines spiraling outward like an unfurled eye. Chalk, blood, spirit ash, and powdered jade had been mixed into the grooves, each line calculated for effect, not tradition.
This was not some old spiritual practice.
It was a trap.
A spirit field. His own invention.
Weeks ago, Lee had tested his resonance theory on weak spirits. But now he needed more. Stronger prey. Not just for power, but understanding. He needed to learn how the spiritual laws broke. Where their edges frayed.
And he needed to be ready. Because something in the world had changed again.
The moon had flickered.
For just a second — two nights ago — he had seen it shimmer, like a ripple across a pond. Most people would've ignored it.
But Lee was not most people.
It was subtle. Faint. But unmistakable. Something in the spiritual realm had shifted.
A stir before the quake.
Could it be Aang? The iceberg cracking beneath the sea?
It didn't matter.
He would be prepared.
In his hand, Lee held a curved sliver of crystal — a spirit fragment, condensed from a soul he had compressed last month. It wasn't a full being — more like a tooth left behind after a beast vanished.
He dropped it in the center of the seal.
Then waited.
It didn't take long.
The wind thickened. The trees bent slightly, though there was no breeze. Shadows stretched.
Something was coming.
Something intelligent.
The trap began to hum.
Lee extended his aura slowly — fear laced with anticipation, with the faint echo of sorrow. A carefully woven emotional chord to attract entities who fed on dread but stalked those who felt regret.
It was a gamble.
But it worked.
From the edge of the clearing, a shape emerged. Not a beast, but a figure. Human-like, and yet wrong. Its body was wrapped in veils of smoke, with no clear limbs, only suggestion. Its face was a hollow disc — white, with a smile drawn on in ink. No eyes. Just the grin.
It didn't speak.
Lee didn't either.
He raised his hand, and the trap activated — not with light or thunder, but silence. All sound in the clearing was swallowed. Even the wind stopped.
The spirit froze mid-step. It twitched. Shuddered. Then screamed — but no sound came out.
Lee moved quickly. He stepped within the seal and pressed his palm to the edge of its form. Energy danced across his skin — not hot, not cold — but ancient.
He began the threading.
But this time, he didn't just pull.
He pushed back.
He fed the spirit a loop of false emotions — doubt, fear, hunger, belonging — then traced its reactions. Patterns emerged. Weak spots in its essence. He identified a cluster of memories and twisted slightly.
The spirit convulsed.
It shattered.
Not physically — but spiritually. Its form burst into spirals of light, sucked into the seal and condensed into his core.
He staggered.
Not from exhaustion, but from the sudden influx of knowledge.
This one had been old.
And it had known Koh.
Images danced in his mind — a cave of faces, crawling limbs, an eye that stared without blinking.
Lee inhaled slowly. His heart beat once. Then again.
He had seen the predator.
And now, he was going to hunt it.
That night, as he walked back to the village edge, something occurred to him.
He hadn't thought about his parents all day.
Or his teacher.
Or the boys who used to walk beside him.
And that wasn't strange anymore. That was just… normal.
He wasn't one of them.
Not anymore.
He passed a mirror inside his family home — caught a glance at his reflection.
Still that soft face. That calm smile.
He stared for a moment longer.
Then tilted his head.
Smiled wider.
"Still useful," he whispered to himself.
For now.