Mali blinks rapidly, her hands still trembling as she clutches them tightly to her chest. Her unsteady gaze sweeps across the now-silent room, trying desperately to make sense of what had just happened. Her eyes dart back to Valencia, who remains unfazed, as though the unsettling events were nothing more than a routine part of her day.
Valencia’s eyes lock on the blank space near the dying plants. Without warning, she shifts her focus back to Mali, breaking the heavy silence.
“Oh, and take this.”
Valencia reaches into her suit's inner pocket and pulls out a small yellow sticky note. It appears ordinary at first glance indeed, but as Mali takes it, there is a faint warmth pulses through the paper, almost like a living being.
“What… is this?” Mali asks, unsure whether to be confusing or concerned.
“It’s a protector,” Valencia replies vaguely. “Carry it with you until I’m finished. It’ll keep you safe.”
Mali stares at the sticky note, uncertainty written on her face. She wants to ask more, but before she can utter another word, Valencia is already ushering the occupant of the room toward the front door.
“Now, go take a walk. Maybe grab some snacks from the convenience store,” Valencia said firmly, leaving no room for argument, “I’ll be done by the time you’re back. You’re safer outside.”
“What? Wait– Miss…!” Mali’s protest is cut short as the door is shut in her face.
“Lotus…”
Left with no choice, Mali makes her way downstairs, her mind still racing with a thousand questions. Each step feels heavier than the last as if the very thick air around her is filled with unseen eyes, watching her every move, waiting. The creepy sensation of being observed crawls along her skin, leaving goosebumps and a cold chill.
She glances down at the yellow sticky note clutched in her hand, the faint warmth and strange subtle pulses from it are still there, a mystery item she couldn’t make sense of. It’s a subtle reminder that whatever was happening in her apartment, including Valencia's identity, was far beyond her comprehension.
With a deep breath, she steps outside the building, the cool night air hitting her face. For a moment, only for a brief moment, she feels a strange sense of freedom. It’s like she has escaped from the curse of her apartment. She shakes off the feeling and begins walking toward the nearest convenience store, her mind still tangled in uncertainty and concern.
Meanwhile, inside Mali’s apartment, a well-lit room began to shift. The light flickers purposefully, illuminating shadows rippling along the walls like waves on a dark ocean. They move with a disturbing rhythm as if they are alive, each one imbued with a sinister personality.
The temperature drops profusely, the air thick with a bone-chilling cold. Frost crept along the furniture and glass windows, its crystalline tendrils spreading and freezing the room from the inside out.
And then, they emerge.
Four figures materialise from the shadows, their form twisted and burnt, their skin blackened and peeling like used charcoal. Deep cracks run across their bodies, exposing glowing embers beneath the surface that pulse like the beats of lava.
The first figure slightly stumbles forward, headless, its uneven neck stump emitting blackened smoke. Another has limbs contorted at grotesque angles, its skeletal fingers twitch unnaturally and violently, and it appears like it is desperate the grasp anything within reach. The third is cloaked in a shroud of ashes, its eyeless sockets leaking smoke as its eyeballs dangle grievously. The last remains eerily sill, but its upper body twists to face Valencia directly, its spine audibly snapping as it rotates. Its lower half, however, contorted in the opposite direction.
“An…Ability…User…” one of the figures hisses, its voice an aggressive rasping echo.
Valencia’s lips curl into a small, signature smile. She could feel their presence long before they manifested, each one of them now aware of her identity, what she was.
“Oh?” Her voice is smooth, unbothered by the four-countable entities circling her. “Are we famous in the nonliving world now? That term you use…‘ability user’… feels inadequate for describing the ancient forces that flow through our veins. For your limited understanding, we now called ourselves ‘Bounders’”.
The figures pause, their movements hesitant, weighing their next actions. Then, like shadows coiling in on themselves, they tighten their circle around the woman. One lunges forward, its form flickering as it tries to strike, but it’s stopped short, repelled by an invisible force. Then impact sends the entity gliding back, its distorted shape quivering from the failed attempt.
Valencia looks down on the pitiful spirit, unimpressed. “A lower-middle rank,” she says, her voice dripping with disappointment. “Entities like you can’t cause any real harm. You’re nothing but a parasite, feeding off the fear of the weak, toying with human minds.”
“Pathetic.”
She steps forward, a quiet storm of power that seems to swallow the air around her. The spirit recoils, body trembling as it shifts uneasily.
“You can’t even lay a finger on a human,” she continues, savouring the pain in the spirit’s impotent struggle. “Let alone touch me.”
The entities let out a low hiss, a sound that resonates with something dark—rage, perhaps, or the frustration of being powerless. The noise vibrates through the living room, an ominous prologue to their looming wrath.
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With no word, Valencia raises her hand, her fingers stretching slowly and deliberately, weaving an unseen thread through the air. The floor beneath them trembles faintly, then shimmers, the blazing light spread outward in a sudden radiant surge. The blinding beam intensifies as the figures writhe and shriek in agony, their form distorting, trying to escape as the light engulfs them.
In an instant, they are gone—burned away by the wave of mysterious energy, their forms disintegrating into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest remnants of ash that quickly fade into the ether.
Valencia lowers her hand, the light on the floor tiles fading from her palm as the room returns to stillness. Her otherworldly eyes seem to hold the last remnants of the glow. They are azure blue, luminous and clear, with a faint tint of light lavender radiating from the irises. For a moment, her gaze focuses, as though she’s listening to the story behind the four entities – the whispers of what they once were, only she can hear. The vivid hues of her eyes flicker, and her expression returns to a calm, unreadable mask as the story ends.
With a small indifferent sigh, Valencia turns and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She walks to the small windows, despite their securely shut frames, a simple flick of her wrist unlocks them with ease.
Cool night air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of damp soil and distant city light. Valencia takes a long, steadying breath, her eyes lifting to the full vigorous moon hanging high in the sky. Its silvery glow casts soft shadows across the quiet room, catching the waves of her light blue hair, which falls to her back in a smooth-flowing curtain. Her bangs frame her face, glowing delicately in the moonlight like threads of rare silk.
Leaning lightly against the windowsill, she watches the moon in quiet contemplation, its light reflected in her azure-lavender eyes. She waits patiently knowing her client will return soon, so she pulls her phone from her pocket and scrolls through her contact list. Pausing at the name “Yei – Agent Y,” she taps the screen. As the line rings, her gaze still fixes on the moon.
“It’s done.” Her voice is calm.
A voice from the other answers with a sharp click. The line goes dead before she can say another word. Valencia lowers the phone, slipping the device back into her pocket, and the stillness of the stranger’s room wraps around her once more.
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Abilities were defined as mysterious forces, both gifts and curses. They were passed down through bloodlines that stretched back for millennia. Each individual’s power was as distinct as their lineage, shaped by a combination of ancestral influence and personal characteristics. Some inherited the ability to manipulate elements—fire, water, and others—while others were gifted with the power of healing. In certain cases, people exhibited powers that bridged the ancient powers, with few manifesting more contemporary, unconventional abilities.
Despite their prominence, the prevalence of these abilities was estimated at less than 0.15 per cent of the world’s population. Yet, this little fraction wielded an outsized influence that shaped the course of this world’s history. Ancient texts speak of ability users who once wielded their powers in brutal battles to eliminate anomalies—abnormalities that threatened the world. These battles were not always fought among enemies; at times, the gifted clashed with one another in greed, and fierce conflicts to protect their kind and their secrets.
In the present day, their roles have shifted slightly, though their duties remain vital. Most now deal with spirits and anomalies—although, in many ways, the two are similar. This delicate balance is managed quietly by certain groups, often operating from the shadows, as ability users are careful to keep their powers hidden from the public eye.
Generations of folklore passed down among the gifted speak of “100 rituals conducted under blood moons, traded for the godly ability. Oaths are sworn to never reveal these powers to society, for to do so would bring calamity upon humanity...” As time has passed, those who wield these abilities—known as Bounders—have learned to live in the shadows, concealing their powers from the public eye.
In bustling places like this vibrant capital—where supernatural occurrences were frequent and thrived on being known to the world—some Bounders live quietly as healers or normal lives. Others, like Valencia, embrace the hefty responsibility of maintaining the fragile balance between the two worlds.
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Mali returns to the apartment after a quick detour to the convenience store, her nerves still on edge as she clutches the yellow sticky note, now cool to the touch. The vibe feels different, and as she steps back inside Valencia is already at the door, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she motions for Mali to follow her as they move toward the living room. The atmosphere is noticeably different – calmer, peaceful, and easier to breathe.
Valencia stands near the door, watching her, a small reassuring smile on her face. “The spirits are gone,” she says softly. “It will be a peaceful night from now.”
The words settle over Mali like a warm blanket, and for the first time, she feels a sense of relief. Mali exhales slowly, feeling lighter. The relentless fears she’d been carrying for half the year seemed to melt away. She looks at Valencia with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Valencia gives a slight nod, but her expression changes when Mali adds, “I should probably apologise to my neighbours next door and downstairs, though. All the noise must have also driven them crazy.”
Valencia’s brown furrows confusingly. “What are you talking about?”
Mali blinks, surprised by the astonishment in her voice. “My neighbours? I had a noise complaint, again, just a few days ago from the woman next door, and the student living downstairs.”
Valencia ponders for a brief second, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Mali...” she begins cautiously, “there’s no one else living in this building.”
Mali freezes. “What? That’s not true. I’ve been interacting with my neighbours this whole time and I’ve even seen them during the day–.”
Valencia shakes her head. “I spoke to the landlord before I came here. You’re the only tenant left. Everyone moved out many months ago, right after the incidents started in your apartment. No one could take the disturbances and most were afraid of your story. And…” Valencia hesitates before continuing in a calm voice, “…they think you’ve gone mental because of it.”
“No,” Mali mutters, her voice shaking. “That can’t be…I just…I was just talking with them recently…”
Valencia reaches out, patting Mali’s shoulder gently. “Mali, you don’t need to worry about those ‘neighbours.’ I reassure you they mean you no harm. You don’t have to think too much about the world that you don’t belong to–at least, not yet.”
Mali’s doubt deepens, but her vendor doesn’t elaborate either. Instead, she straightens and steps back, her expression unreadable.
“Get some rest,” she adds with a faint smile. “I’ve already received the payment. And Goodbye.” Without another word, she turns and walks toward the door.
Mali tries to follow her as the door shuts, but when she opens it, Valencia is already gone. The quiet hallway outside is empty, there is not a sign of her anywhere. Mali stands frozen for a moment, her hand still on the doorknob, scepticism creeping into her thoughts again. Was she another ghost? The question hangs in her head, but the cold yellow sticky note in her hand grounds her in reality. That’s not possible, but how did she disappear so quickly? Confused, Mali shuts the door and turns to face the once-haunted apartment, now quiet and peaceful in the moonlight.