The stolen memory had nested inside his mind like a thorned seed — sharp, uncomfortable, yet rich with potential.
Lee sat cross-legged on the floor of his underground chamber, dim light from bioluminescent fungi casting greenish shadows across the etched stone. His hands rested on his knees, palms up, as if offering something invisible.
But what he offered was attention.
Inside his mind, he replayed the fragments from the shattered spirit.
Koh.
The name alone whispered danger.
Face-stealer. Immortal. Dwelling somewhere between the folds of the spirit world and forgotten time. Even among spirits, Koh was feared — not for power alone, but for unpredictability.
What sort of being stole faces not for need, but for art?
Lee found himself… fascinated.
He now had impressions. Images. Snippets of Koh's lair: a vast cavern beneath a twisted banyan tree; stone faces embedded in the walls; a stream of green mist that flowed against gravity. And always, the click-click-click of his shifting body.
But the memory was old. Distorted. Not precise enough to find Koh directly.
Still…
Lee smirked.
It was enough to start.
He began to test theories.
Using spirits that had encountered Koh or others like him, he traced their emotional residue. Fear, in particular, left deep impressions in a spirit's essence. Lee could now thread those into patterns, then use those threads to triangulate spiritual "pressure points" — places where fear had spiked centuries ago.
It wasn't just spirit-hunting anymore.
It was spirit cartography.
He called this method Emotion Mapping.
Over several nights, he mapped the echoes of terror around ancient banyan groves. One spot in particular — deep in the southern swamps — burned brighter than the rest.
A place the villagers once called "the Stillmire."
It was a spiritual dead zone. Even birds didn't sing there.
Perfect.
If Koh was anywhere… it would be there or somewhere connected to it.
He marked it on a scroll and stored it in a hidden compartment of his robes.
Back at the village, his detachment deepened.
He passed by his old teacher — the retired Earth Kingdom soldier who had once trained him in martial forms. The man raised a hand in lazy greeting, but Lee only bowed slightly and kept walking.
No words. No warmth.
The teacher frowned, sensing the absence but not knowing why.
Lee didn't care.
The boy who needed mentorship was already gone.
He visited his parents only once that week, and even then, he merely smiled and made shallow conversation. His father spoke about taxes. His mother asked if he'd been eating.
Lee nodded, lied, and left.
He had outgrown them.
Not in love — but in relevance.
Everyone was a tool. Even those he once loved. Their purpose was finite.
And when a tool breaks?
You discard it.
That night, he returned to his forest lair. Lit a circle of candles, knelt inside a ring of drawn faces, and whispered:
"Koh."
The candles flickered.
Nothing answered.
He smiled.
"Not yet, then."
But something else heard.
Something else stirred.
A ripple outside his perimeter. Not a spirit. Not an animal.
A human.
Lee's head turned sharply.
A chill passed through him — not fear, but calculation.
Someone was watching him.