Being the only non-Folk in her friend group often made Katalia feel out of place. Her three friends were sprawled out on her townhouse floor, watching the Folk boyband – Sly, perform on the TV. They were dressed in matching bright neon shirts and white shorts, their wrists adorned with glowing bracelets as they waved their arms in sync with the crowd on the screen.
One of the Folk in the boyband, briefly ran his hand through his long hair revealing icy blue irises that made her friends swoon. The only other Kin in the room not impressed was Kenai, who sat on the couch facing the ceiling.
“You should totally see Wings of Woe live,” Katalia spoke, noticing Kenai’s band tee. “They actually play their own instruments, you know,” she teased.
Ela, one of her friends on the ground, turned to them with a finger to her lips.
“They once stayed at the Laracasa,” Kenai spoke, pointing at the boyband on screen. “Terrible little fucks. You wouldn’t like them after you have met them in real life.”
“Still,” her other friend Helvi, turned around. “I thought we agreed, no more trash-talking them. They were probably tired.”
“Yeah. Sure, that’s the reason,” Kenai sighed, rolling her eyes and looking back at the ceiling.
Katalia now remembered that Kenai had been fired. She’d been blamed for letting in two Folk teenagers who ended up setting fire to the halls and jumping off the roof. When the police interviewed her, Kenai insisted she’d been Pacified and that the Folk were searching for someone. She distinctly remembered being shown a photograph by a Porenadi. But the hotel dismissed it as a bunch of rowdy teens sneaking by what should have been a vigilant Kenai. The case had been closed.
“How’s the job hunt going?” Katalia asked.
“Kind of tough,” Kenai admitted. “I need something that fits around college. Laracasa was perfect – they paid well, and I only had to work four evenings a week.” She took a sip of her drink. “The only other lead I have is an assistant to some Alchemists down south.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Eh,” Kenai tilted her head to look at Katalia. “Being around all those Saps being experimented on isn’t something particularly healthy for a Regular like me. Plus, you know how those Alchemists act. They still think we’re in the Dominion Epoch and they can just do whatever they want. They promised me if I work for them, they’ll give me Talents before I turn 40.”
“But you have to have a natural Talent-birth to have Talents.”
She shrugged again. “How’s the Kai-Yo?”
Before Katalia could answer, the phone rang. She excused herself from the room, moving into the kitchen where the house phone sat.
“Hello –" she began, but a voice promptly cut her off.
“It’s me,” she yelled. “Your Aunt.”
“Oh, hi –"
“Your Aunt Lucia Feroz.”
“I know. How –”
“Listen, little dove. I’m in town for the week, doing some promotional appearance for the WKYE Academy, you know how all those young fighters look up to me. Anyway, I was thinking since Kaelo called and said something about you not being satisfied with your Pushing, I could give you some pointers.”
“Yes, I’ve –”
“Well, you should come by tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great, Aunt Luci. Exactly what time –”
The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Her aunt had hung up.
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The following morning, Katalia made her way to the WKYE Academy. Helvi had driven her, and as they crawled through the morning traffic, Helvi bobbed her head to the same Sly album that always played every time she was in her Gale-Cart.
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The WKYE Academy was grand. ‘This is where the GKYA got it wrong,’ Katalia thought. Unlike the GKYA, which didn’t have an academy and relied on past fighters to find and train the young ones, the WKYE clearly wanted to guide their fighters from their Talent-birth to their debut in the ring. The entrance leading up to the academy was flanked by two small stretches of green, with benches, fountains, and charmed birds flying around whistling their melodies.
Inside, it was just as impressive – decorated in the same corporate blues and purples she had been seeing everywhere. All the furniture inside had been a pristine white.
A Taur and a Folk sat on a funky looking white couch. Despite being different Kin races, they looked eerily alike. The Taur was of Pukara origin, with two ribbed horns curving down to the sides of his mouth, his coat a pure white. His friend, a Porenadi Folk, had pale skin and blonde hair matted into two thick strands that resembled the Taur’s horns. Everything about them was the same – from their simple cargo shorts and sleeveless t-shirts to their body types, both pudgy with faints hints of muscle.
Katalia squinted; certain she recognized them. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
The Taur stared at her deadpan, then stood up and began flexing his muscles.
Katalia took a step back. “Woah,” she spread apart her wings as wide as she could, “what are you doing?”
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“Bofa the Butcher never forgets a foe. No, no, no,” the Taur spoke.
“Nor does he forgive,” the Folk chimed in.
“Especially not ones who’ve had Tatu’s luck on their side and managed to steal a victory from right underneath my horns.” He stuck out his hand smiling, “so, Rohala girl, how about you and I go down into one of those training rooms and settle this like real fighters?”
Katalia tucked her wings. She looked at the Folk puzzled.
The Folk stood as well and began rubbing the Taur’s shoulders. “She fears you, Bofa. She fears you indeed. I can taste it on my tongue and feel it on my skin. But it’s not worth it. No, no, no brother. It is not. For we must fight only worthy battles.” He pounded his chest so hard that it echoed throughout the room. Katalia was certain he had used his Pulse. “Never forget the name –”
“The Butchers,” they both said together.
“That’s really cute,” Katalia replied, her attention already stolen by a magazine on the table. On the cover was her mother, with the headline:
‘What-If of the Week: Mariya Feroz in the WKYE.’
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” a voice spoke from behind.
Katalia turned to see her Aunt Lucia. The Butchers promptly stood and touched their right ‘horns’ in respect before offering a quick bow.
“Lucia Feroz,” Bofa said still bowing. “If I had known she was your relation, I would have shown her the proper respect.”
“Huh,” Lucia seemed amused. “What are your names?”
They stood to face her. “I’m Bofa,” the Taur said, “and this is Baylas. We’re the Butchers.”
“Butchers?” she leaned on the back of the couch, elbows resting, fingers interlocked beneath her chin. “Where’d you get that name from?”
The boys exchanged embarrassed glances. “Our opponents are often left in such disarray, it’s like a butcher had their way with them.”
“Come on. You can tell me the real truth.”
“The real truth?” Bofa’s voice trembled slightly.
Katalia noticed her Aunt’s feathers vibrating slightly.
“Yes, the real truth,” her voice sounded harsher.
The boys’ embarrassment had turned into a lock of paralysed fear, their eyes wide, brows raised. Bofa gulped loudly, his breathing rapidly increasing, before admitting, “My mother thought it would be a cool name.”
Lucia’s feathers stopped vibrating, and the boys slowly regained their composure.
Her aunt turned towards her now, planting a gentle kiss on her beak. “I’ve missed you, little dove. Look at how much you’ve grown.”
“Thank you.”
“You look just like a taller version of your mother. Such as shame your father’s gaudy frame ruined your potential petiteness. You would’ve broken all the Kin’s hearts, just like she did,” Lucia cooed, wrapping her arms around Katalia.
“Thank you?” Katalia responded, trying best to hide the fact she had been offended. The Pushing lessons were worth a slight jab at her ego.
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Not long after, they entered a brightly lit training hall, sunken a level below, where passersby could watch fighters from above. Her aunt had insisted Katalia change into her gear. She wore her usual black pants and a black crop top. Lucia Feroz, however, came out in something entirely different: a one-piece jumpsuit with brightly coloured tassels hanging from the sides. Her jumpsuit was a checkered pattern of pinks, yellows, and greens that made Katalia feel more nauseous the longer she stared at it.
“Ready, kid?” Lucia asked, bouncing in place. A small crowd had gathered, leaning on a chrome railing, their eyes now glued on the aunt and niece.
“I guess –”
Before Katalia could finish, a Vine snaked around her ankles, constricting them, before yanking her into the air and then slamming her hard to the ground. ‘Ouch.’ When she opened her eyes, Lucia was standing above her.
“What am I supposed to be teaching you anyway? What do you know so far?”
The back of Katalia’s head throbbed. She answered. “The basics.”
‘1 = 0.5 + 0.5 = 1’
She then explained how the first 1 is the Essence you dedicate. The first 0.5 determines the intensity of the Push. The second 0.5 determines the range of the Push. And the final is the total Essence a Pusher has used.
“And what changes the total Essence?” Lucia asked.
“The range. Every 0.1 added to the range is a 0.2 added to the actual Essence.”
“And this is significant because –”
She waited for Katalia to answer. Her vision was still a tad out of focus. “Oh,” she finally replied. “You lose more Essence.”
“Good.”
Katalia tried to stand, but her aunt pressed a foot on her chest, slamming her back to the ground. The small crowd above gave a small chuckle. “So, you know some theory. Tell me more about intensity.”
Her aunt’s foot made it harder and harder to breathe. “The longer you hold it, the less range you have.”
Lucia pressed down harder. “And the different intensity levels?”
“It goes up to 60,” Katalia managed. “A Flow Push for us is Water. At 1, it’s powerful enough to push someone back. At 10, it can sweep even Divine Pulsers off their feet. At 60, it’s strong enough to cut through rocks.”
“Good. How about a Firm Push?”
“A Firm Push for us is a Vine. At 1, it can lift small items. At 5, it can lift a person. At 60, it’s strong enough to tear regular buildings apart.”
“Good. And what’s the golden rule?”
Katalia struggled to think as her aunt’s talons dug into her chest. ‘What other rule’ she wondered, feeling a wave of wooziness suddenly hit her brain. A sign her Valour and Vigour Core had dropped immensely.
Her Push Essence churned in her stomach, and anger within her intensified for some reason. Before she knew it, she had blasted her aunt into the air, sending her flying above the spectators. She landed gracefully back on her feet to the applause of the small crowd.
“I don’t appreciate cheap shots, my dove,” Lucia said, brushing herself off.
“You were hurting me,” Katalia replied as she stood.
“That’s the Vasotoro method.”
‘That’s the Vasotoro method,’ Katalia thought. It struck her as strange; most Rohala like them no longer claimed the former Empire now turned Republic. Instead, they had always identified with Levarato, hopelessly dreaming a day would come when a free Levarato stood on its own on the Usadu continent. Even her parents had been billed as from Levarato much to the chagrin of the Vasotoro government.
“What’s the other golden rule?” Lucia asked.
“The Intensity and Range, they can never be reduced to be below the natural sum of the previous level.”
“Huh?” her aunt craned her neck.
“It’s like this,” she breathed out. “We start with 1 right? The inner sum of 1 Essence is 0.5 + 0.5. For 2, it’s 1 + 1. For, 3 it’s 1.5 + 1.5. It continues all the way to the 2nd Dominion Pushers who can do a 60 = 30 + 30 = 60,” she spat out, feeling her body grow heavier. “Where was I?” she muttered to herself trying to adjust her vision. “Right, So the inner sum – the intensity and range – can never be lower than the previous sum. So, when you’re using 2, your Intensity can’t drop below 0.5. At 3, it can’t go below 1.”
“Not the entire inner sum kid. It’s only the intensity that can’t go lower.”
“Right,” she rubbed her chest to ease pain.
“You’re pretty smart,” Lucia smiled. “Just. Like. Your. Mother.”
“Thank you,” Katalia murmured, wondering what was wrong with her aunt that day.
“You know what your problem is?” Lucia asked.
“What?”
“You’re too stiff.”
“Too stiff?”
Lucia walked slowly toward her, then suddenly spun through the air, sending a Vine snaking toward Katalia’s neck. Katalia pivoted, dodging it just in time.
“I see Malo’s still obsessed with Belna,” Lucia snarked.
“You’re going to put me in Cell-Lock if you keep attacking me,” Katalia warned.
Lucia suddenly stopped. Her face turned sour. “Well, I know where I am appreciated. Tell your brothers I said hello.”
She leapt into the air, unfolded her wings, and used her Pulse to hover as she spoke to the small crowd.
Katalia looked up, unsure what to make of what had happened that day.