Fear was gone.
I realized it on the third night after the bandit attack.
A shadow moved outside my window. Any normal man would have frozen. I didn't even slow my breathing. I reached for the knife beneath my pillow with calm precision, already calculating angles and distance.
Then the shadow passed.
Only then did I notice something wrong.
I remembered what fear was supposed to feel like—but my body refused to react to the memory.
It was like reading about fire without feeling heat.
"You adapted quickly," the fox spirit said in my mind.
"What else did I lose?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
That silence frightened me more than fear ever could.