The dog, a mess of matted fur and trembling limbs, looked up at Leo with eyes full of a pain that was more than just physical.
Its spiritual aura was a frantic, jagged storm. It was a creature caught in a feedback loop of fear and agony, its own spiritual energy turning toxic.
Leo knew that even if he freed its leg, the spiritual trauma would remain.
He needed a specialized tool.
He pulled out the Codex. As he focused on the dog's plight, on the need to calm it rather than just empower it, the book's pages shimmered with a gentle, blue light.
A new function displayed itself on the screen, one he hadn't seen before.
'Spirit Soothing' Protocol Initiated.
Below the title, a new recipe appeared. It wasn't for a potent energy brew like the standard Spirit Dew. This was different. The Codex listed a series of common, mundane ingredients.
Crushed Chamomile Flower (calming agent).
A sprig of fresh Lavender (spiritual sedative).
A drop of honey (binding agent).
Combined with a base of purified spring water and the user's own calming spiritual resonance.
Leo felt a surge of relief. These were things he could actually find. His mother, an avid herbal tea drinker, had a veritable apothecary in her kitchen cupboards. He'd made sure to grab a few small bags of her supplies for a "go-bag" of his own, a paranoid preparation that was now paying off.
He pulled a small kit from his backpack. He had a tiny mortar and pestle, a bottle of the same imported spring water Goldie demanded, and small baggies of dried chamomile and lavender.
He knelt on the dusty floor of the nursery, a safe distance from the growling dog.
Milo sat nearby, watching with a critical, supervisory air. He was the project manager on this impromptu spiritual intervention.
Leo carefully crushed the dried flowers, the fragrant, calming scent filling the musty air. He added the herbs to the spring water, then a single drop of honey from a tiny vial.
The final ingredient was his own spiritual resonance.
He took a deep, calming breath, clearing his mind of the day's chaos. He focused not on power, but on peace. He thought of quiet mornings, of the soft weight of a sleeping cat, of the simple, mundane joy of a perfectly brewed cup of tea.
He channeled that feeling, a gentle, whisper-soft stream of his own spiritual energy, into the mixture.
The liquid in the bowl swirled, glowing with a soft, warm, golden light. It smelled like a summer evening.
He placed the bowl on the floor, a few feet from the dog.
"Hey there, fella," he said again, his voice low and soothing. "It's okay. You're safe now. Just… breathe. This will help. Just a little sip. You've been through a lot, haven't you?"
The dog stopped growling. It eyed the glowing bowl with suspicion, its nose twitching. It could smell the chamomile, the lavender, but beneath it, it could smell the potent, calming magic.
Its fear was warring with its deep, instinctual need for relief.
Slowly, painfully, it dragged itself forward, its trapped leg scraping against the broken wood.
It reached the bowl.
It hesitated, its frightened eyes flicking from the bowl to Leo.
Then, it dipped its tongue into the golden liquid.
A visible tremor ran through its body.
The frantic, jagged storm of its aura began to soften. The sharp edges smoothed out. The chaotic flickering slowed to a gentle, rhythmic pulse.
The dog drank the rest of the Spirit Soothing dew, its movements less frantic now.
When the bowl was empty, it let out a long, shuddering sigh, a sound of profound relief. The tension seemed to melt out of its body.
It looked at Leo, the terror in its eyes replaced by a deep, soul-weary confusion. Then, a flicker of something else. Gratitude.
It licked his hand, a soft, warm touch.
"There now," Leo said softly. "That's better, isn't it?"
Now for the hard part.
With the dog calm, Leo could finally examine its trapped leg. It was twisted at an unnatural angle, but it didn't seem to be a clean break. More of a sprain, and badly stuck.
"Okay, this is going to hurt a little," he warned, his hands moving to the broken floorboards.
The dog whined, but it didn't struggle. It seemed to understand he was trying to help.
With a sharp crack of splintering wood, Leo managed to pry the boards apart, freeing the trapped limb.
The dog yelped in pain, but then fell silent, licking at its swollen ankle.
It was free.
It looked up at Leo, its tail giving a single, tentative wag. It then limped over and nuzzled his hand, a soft whine escaping its throat. It looked up with eyes that seemed to ask, How did you know? My pain… it's less now. Are you… my human?
Leo felt his resolve crumble. He couldn't leave it here. Not now.
"I guess you're coming with me," he said, a feeling of weary resignation settling over him. "But you need a name."
He looked at the dog. It was quiet, observant, its movements now almost silent. It had a strange, ethereal quality, as if it were half-made of shadows and silence.
"Whisper," Leo decided. "I'll call you Whisper."
The dog, Whisper, seemed to understand. He licked Leo's hand again, a silent acceptance of his new name and his new life.
Leo gently scooped up the surprisingly light dog. Whisper was skinny, but he wouldn't be for long. Not if Milo had anything to say about the household food distribution policies.
With Whisper in his arms and Milo trotting silently at his heels, Leo turned to leave the nursery.
The room, now free of the dog's psychic pain, felt just like what it was: an old, dusty, forgotten room. The haunting was over.
With a final, trusting look at Leo, the dog he'd named Whisper followed him out of the decaying mansion, leaving the 'haunting' behind for good.