The following morning was a struggle for Izai to get out of bed. His head had throbbed all night, and the worst thirst of his life gripped his throat – dry and unrelenting. No matter how many sips of water he got up to drink that night, the thirst never truly got away. As the sun began to rise, anger welled up inside him – he had barely slept.

On the train ride to work, he followed Olav’s lead and slammed his head against the table, trying to catch a few precious moments of sleep. But the noise of the other passengers made this task impossible. When they did finally arrive at the stadium, a strange grumble came from his stomach.

“I’m done with the fucking potions,” he said as a wall of pain throbbed in his abdomen. “I’m serious. No more.”

“Good morning to you all,” Amar’s jittery voice interrupted.

They were now in a break room – an uninspired, bland space filled with rectangular tables surrounded by plain chairs that squeaked every time someone shifted their weight in them. A mixture of KinFolk worked as guards. Most were Folk, with a decent number being Folkling. Sitting alone, flanked by six empty chairs, was a MegaFolk girl, a Kaisita. Izai recognized her from the GKYA show. She had long tangled white hair. Her skin had the deep blue hue of twilight skies, and her cheeks were dotted with white freckles that emitted a faint, ethereal glow.

This must have been most of the crew as Izai gathered. It was easy to tell who were the Pulsers. Many guards wore boots, surely it meant they couldn’t be Pulsers. The few bootless guards were older, wearing white shirts, and blue blazers instead. The only Pulser in the same blue shirt that Izai was wearing was the Kaisita girl.

Amar proceeded to discuss an incident from the previous night. “Please remember that we are also faces of the stadium,” he tried putting on a bright smile which looked all the more sadder, “We need to be nice to the attendees. Big Smiles. Enough of the frowny faces,” he said, taking a quick glance at the Kaisita girl, who stared at the table absent mindedly.

While waiting for their turn to get coffee after the briefing, the Kaisita girl approached them. “You’re the Pureborn?” she asked in a hushed, and hoarse tone. Izai nodded, and she responded, “Pa says I should take over your Pure-Sap training. Meet me at the Northern Skyway in twenty minutes.” She spoke rapidly, her gaze glued to the tiles.

She left just as it was their turn to get coffee. As they blew on their hot mugs, a chubby Folk approached, wiggling his fingers. He carefully selected the largest pastry from the box and, while chewing, looked at the boys. “You know all Pulopaini Red Nuns keep their hair like that as a show of solitude.”

“Her?” Izai seemed puzzled. “She’s not a Red Nun.”

“What makes you say that?” The Folk’s eyes bulged.

“It isn’t a thing Kin really do anymore.”

“Oh, it isn’t a thing Kin really do anymore,” he said, patting his hands to remove the last crumbs before picking another pastry. “Why? Because the Global Council of Unity banned Blood Magic? They also banned wars after the Divine War, and we still had shitshow less than fifty years ago.” He chewed thoughtfully and, seeing the disbelief still in Izai’s eyes, continued, “Why do you think the cursed marshes keep spreading? It’s because of secret Nun enclaves and Blood Magic.”

“Now, my history might be off here, Bo,” a Folk girl chimed in, adjusting her glasses. “But most of the cursed marshes spread on their own. Right? Am I wrong?”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“Who?”

“The Red Nuns,” he whispered conspiratorially. The small group chuckled. “You jest. But they are getting bolder. Who’s that MegaFolk KY Fighter. The lady with the long hair. Kinda like our spooky friend.”

“Oh,” the girl chimed in, “you mean Letifa?”

“Yes.”

“She’s not a Red Nun. That’s an aesthetic to sell more shirts dumbass,” another voice chimed in from a Folkling. “And that’s where you Folk get it wrong. You follow the easy news. The one that they feed you. Do you think the MegaFolk are the only Red Nuns? Open your eyes! Even your government is controlled by the Red Nuns. Why do you think all politicians wear those pendants around their necks huh? It’s to cover up that they are wearing those same slave necklaces they used to put on serfs back in the day. You put it on, and you’re at the bidding of your master.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Really, smartass?” the girl continued. “Who, then, is the Master.”

“It’s Tatu. She never died. The Red Nuns created an illusion to…” he tried to continue, but loud groans erupted from the small group before they decided to disperse not wanting to discuss religion.

All this talk had Izai doubting his knowledge about the cursed marshes. He knew that when a Pusher takes gallons and gallons of blood, and they manipulate it with the help of other Pushers, they can create an unnatural storm that lasts for days. In the old wars, they would do this to disrupt supply lines or destroy important targets. When those storms die down, the area is forever tainted, turning to a swampy marsh that slowly spreads over centuries. But why would the Red Nuns be creating more cursed marshes? It made no sense. Most realms already disliked the idea of having to throw money at Talentborn to go guard the marshes from Kin going in and the Cursed from escaping.

“Isn’t that right, Yanesu?” Amar was standing in front of him.

“What?” Izai suddenly refocused.

“He was saying your great, great, however many greats, grandpappy fucked the whole southern tip of the Usadu continent,” Bo replied.

“He’s not my ancestor,” Izai corrected.

“Really?” the girl asked.

“True,” Bo continued, “The locals call the cursed marshes there the Yanesu Marshes.”

“He’s not my ancestor,” Izai repeated. “His brother was.”

“The one who was a bitch to the Akilas?” another voice chimed in.

“I guess,” Izai shrugged.

Outside, cold winds swept across the Northern Skyway. They spotted the silhouette of the MegaFolk girl standing still on the other side of the bridge. She wasn’t particularly tall, Izai noted. He had seen plenty of Folk taller than her. Yet, she still towered over the boys.

“You made it,” she said, her eyes looking past them. Her face remained perfectly stoic. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, we got caught in a stupid conversation,” Izai replied.

“I’m not a Red Nun,” she said to herself.

“I… know,” he tried to reply reassuringly.

After a brief pause, she introduced herself. “Laelia. My name is Laelia.”

“I’m Izai, and this is Olav.”

Laelia pulled another vial of Pure-Sap from a satchel.

Izai shook his head. “I’ve had enough with the potions.”

She shook the vial, the gooey contents sliding around in the glass. “It’s weaker. Meant for weaker Kin. Like you.”

Olav let out a genuine laugh, and for a fleeting moment, Laelia's stoic expression softened into a brief smile before returning to its usual stillness.

She began rummaging through the backpack, cradling the various items she pulled out and cradling it in her arms like a child. “Easier. I have things that will make it easier for you this time,” she said, her eyes fixed on the ground.

She laid out a blanket on the ground. It had strange patterns on it, and Izai could recognize that some of the threads woven into it were made of both Solar-Sap and Frost-Sap.

“Stand,” she pointed her long, slender finger at it.

Izai did as was told and noticed a change. He felt warmer, but soon realized that it wasn’t that the blanket was making him war, rather that he didn’t feel much around him anymore. The winter winds that brushed past him barely felt like anything.

Laelia then placed a nose clip on him, followed by a pair of sunglasses that suddenly plunged all of Aradahi into complete darkness.

“Headphones,” she said, waving a pair in front of him. “I’ll put them on you. After you drink the potion, I’ll tell you what to do next.”

Now completely deprived of most of his senses, Izai felt isolated in the complete silence. He could hear the steady beat of his heart, the sound of his own breathing, and even the faint noise of saliva dripping down his throat.

He felt Laelia's larger hand press the vial into his palm. Unscrewing the cap, he let the thick orange liquid slide down his throat. Despite the sunglasses, light began to filter in, and he could suddenly see clearly as if he weren’t wearing them.

He tried to step forward, but Laelia stopped him. “Don’t,” she pushed her palm into his belly. “The blanket is helping you not feel as much.” She glanced around. “How far can you see?”

Izai looked around. In the distance, he could make out a billboard. As he concentrated, he could see the smiling Folk on it and the IronHeart Coproration logo beneath it, along with the words:

‘Leaders in researching Pulse Cells. Promising a near future where everybody can be a Pulser.’

“Try stepping with one foot on the ground,” Laelia instructed.

When he did, it felt strange. The moment his foot touched the concrete, he sensed other things in contact with the ground. He could feel Olav’s slight movements and the faintest sound of a heartbeat. He could even feel the subtle vibrations of a small gate opening and closing nearby.

Despite the nose clip, the few scents that wafted through were strong and distinct. He could smell freshly cut grass, the different blends of coffee from their breaths, and the greasy aroma coming from the stadium. This time, the smells were bearable, and Izai felt as though he could pick and choose which smell to focus on.

“The dosage,” Laelia whispered. “It’s the right dosage for you.”

“What next?”

“For now? This is it. You have to get used to the feeling.”

Izai experimented, trying to isolate Olav’s scent. The ever-present smell of cigarettes clung onto him, along with the cologne he had generously used to try and mask it. When he focused on Laelia, however, he couldn’t make anything out. No scent, no heartbeat, nothing to indicate her presence. Even when she moved, it was as if she wasn’t there, while the slightest shift in Olav’s body language alerted Izai’s senses.