Chapter 1
Arima hated new places. Especially new places that seemed to contradict every aspect of the small town she was raised in. She hated the way they smelled, the polluted air practically choking you as you struggled to breathe it in. It didn’t help that it was in the middle of summer, so the humid air of the south clung to her like a toddler to their mother. The vast amount of buildings, ranging from small restaurants to skyscrapers, limited Arima to being able to see a few hundred feet in front of her. It hindered her ability to be able to see danger coming, something she was not used to. Something she was taught could be deadly. Unfamiliar faces stared at her as she wandered the streets of the overcrowded and over-polluted city, Arima misinterpreting their curious expressions for suspicious ones. She saw enemies everywhere she looked. Arima hated all of it.
But the thing she hated the most about new places was their innate ability to make you feel uncomfortable, like you don’t know where you belong. Back in her home town of Sitka, Alaska, the only thing she had to worry about was how cold was it going to get and if anyone new had moved to her small town. And occasionally the deranged and power hungry individual looking to somehow move up in the ranks of her world. She knew exactly where she belonged because there weren’t many things to belong to. There were always distinct separations and if you happened to cross somewhere in between, you made sure to get to a side as quickly as you could.
Her town didn’t appreciate outcasts too much.
You were either rich and powerful or poor and weak. To the majority of people in Sitka, there was no inbetween. And you found out pretty quickly which side of the spectrum you belonged on.
Because the only people who move to Sitka were the ones who were aware of the unnatural, the freakish.
But here, in the crowded city of Nashville, everyone was oblivious to the powerful beings surrounding them, completely okay with putting their trust into absolute strangers.
But Arima knew better.
She knew what most people did not, and that was the fact that Sitka wasn’t the only place the puissants were. Granted, most did tend to migrate to one place, seeing as that was considered the safest option. After all, safety was in numbers. But there were those, predominantly the younger ones, who set off on their own to learn more about themselves, about their powers.
And Arima was among those ranks, much to her parents disapproval.
However, she was seriously contemplating moving back once she saw just what the environment she would be learning in would be. She didn’t understand that this was where she would practice her magic at, the amount of people too extensive to be able to safely train without the overwhelming concern of being caught. But the higher the population was, the more deaths that occurred.
And that was exactly what she needed.
Headed towards one of the busy streets, streets she could clearly see were congested with traffic, she hoped to flag down a taxi. She had seen it done on movies that her parents had allowed her to watch when she was younger and from what she saw, it didn’t look too hard- and she didn’t particularly feel like walking almost ten miles.
But one thing about being in such a busy city was that you were probably not the only person who needed to get places. So after Arima had stood in the same spot for the better part of ten minutes, waving at every possible taxi only to find they were completely occupied, she got a little frustrated. And if it weren’t for the people that were standing around her, she probably would have cried.
“Are you kidding me?” She had muttered to herself, her breath coming out of her mouth in a rushed and harsh whisper. Arima had places to be, and if she didn’t get to those places on time, she knew she would have been better off staying in Alaska. But she was determined to flag down a taxi because she didn’t want to admit that there was something an ordinary, non-supernatural being could do that she couldn’t.
And she didn’t want to be standing outside any longer than she had to with her abnormal amount of luggage. The excessive number of suitcases were causing a few odd looks to be cast her way.
“Excuse me?”
Arima turned towards the source of the voice, her eyes fluttering up to meet the gaze of the speaker before freezing momentarily in unease. He was much taller than she expected, taller than the average human, and she was surprised to find that his hair was almost the complete opposite of hers, a pale blonde color. Something wasn’t right about this boy. She looked back towards the road before he could catch onto her staring. “Yes?” She asked, doubting even a second had passed, a rude tone creeping into her voice.
“Are you trying to flag a taxi down?” His voice was the next thing she truly got to notice. It wasn’t the typical raspy or deep sounding tone, instead taking a very whimsical and airy timbre. Customarily she would be completely disinterested in such a voice but this time it was different. This time it completely appealed to her.
As a particularly strong gust of wind rushed past her, Arima turned her head to try and avoid all of her hair going to her eyes and leaving her momentarily defenseless, catching a glimpse of the stranger’s own hair and how it fared in the wind.
The borderline white strands were positioned unnaturally against his forehead, almost as if the hair was trying to curl in on itself. The pale color combined with his natural skin tone seemed to make him become translucent. She wondered briefly if it was dyed.
As the wind died down, Arima let her eyes travel to his, preparing to answer his question. She sucked in a harsh breath, subconsciously taking a step back as her body sent her warning signals. His eyes were a vivid green color, and the sight of them paired with his other features gave Arima chills. It was like seeing a field of bright spring grass in the middle of a snowy winter.
It took a moment for Arima to become composed again.
“Yes,” She confirms. “But it seems Nashville is a very busy place.” He was grinning at her now, probably taking note of the hesitation. It was like he knew what she was thinking, Arima thought. Arima panicked momentarily, eyes automatically looking around her for possible escapes.
Amusement flashed in his eyes, causing his irises to become impossibly lighter. Fear continued to crawl its way into her but she couldn’t bring herself to become truly afraid. Instead, she wanted to be amused, too.
All the awkwardness and all of the fear that she had felt earlier were dissipating, the choking feeling leaving behind an unnatural peace. Arima felt herself leaning towards the boy. No, she reprimanded herself. This isn’t normal.
Arima didn’t understand why she had all of a sudden felt like putting her trust into this unimportant person, nor why she suddenly didn’t mind staring into his eyes, all uncomfortableness gone.
And it didn’t help that he didn’t look ordinary, either. He looked ethereal, like her, like a puissant.
Immediately, she knew what she found so disconcerting about this boy.
He was an empath, someone who controlled and sensed the emotions of others. There were very few in Alaska, so the information on them was limited. There wasn’t enough to know how to repel individual emotional intrusions, something Arima felt extremely discomforted about right now. And if there was one class who found themselves ‘stuck in the middle’ of the class hierarchy, so to speak, it would be the empaths.
Like in most power classes, the amount of power you possessed varied. But whereas a viatorum had a limit to how far they could travel back to, some being able to go back hundreds of years, others only able to go back minutes, empaths were different. Empaths had restrictions on which emotions they could control.
The ones that controlled levels of happiness or despair were less valued, while the ones that controlled anger and hate were more highly regarded due to the fact it was very easy to manipulate people with those emotions. And unlike viatorum, or travellers, who are ranked in a high class no matter how far they could travel back, empaths were both ranked in low and high classes depending on the emotion they controlled. This caused most of them to settle away from places that had a high number of puissants as residents.
Most empaths preferred to stay away from Sitka not only because they realized they would be put in lower ranks, but because the puissants in Sitka were known to treat the lower classes terribly. A lot of them ended up joining the military because they felt their talents were better suited for it, able to manipulate enemies into a detrimental position. But they almost always preferred to travel alone.
This empath looked to be no different.
He was grinning at her now, probably taking note in her conflicted emotions. Arima coughed awkwardly, realizing that in her study she had yet to answer his question.
She turned away from him, thinking that if he wasn’t looking into her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to tell just what she was feeling. Arima knew she was just lying to herself because she didn’t want to accept the fact that she seemed any amount of weak in front of this stranger.
“It’s extremely obvious that you aren’t from around here.” The mystery boy observed. He then added, “Or anywhere with major traffic for that matter. Everyone knows it would be quicker to Uber.”
Arima was dumbfounded.
“Uber?” She questioned, twisting back around to look at him. This time the boy was not looking at her, but instead engrossed in his phone. How incredibly rude, Arima thought. This is why millennials have such terrible reputations. She was seconds away from walking away from the boy and abandoning the stress of finding a taxi when he looked up and shoved his phone in her hands.
“That is an Uber. Well, that is the process of getting an Uber.” He explained. “All you need to do is tell them where they need to pick you up, pay with a card, and they will drop you off at where you need to be. It is just like a taxi but there are probably more Ubers around than taxis.”
Arima pretended she had an idea of what he was talking about.
“You must live a ways away.” He commented, unaware of how right he actually was. “I’m not from here, either. I moved to Nashville when I turned 20. Been here for about six months. I understand what you’re feeling.” Quite literally, Arima dryly added. She also took note in the fact that he wasn’t just a mere boy, but almost a man.
“Is that so?” She feigned surprise, not wanting him to know that she was a fellow puissant. “Thanks for the reassurance.” But she didn’t feel reassured. She was suspicious. He just happened to be here when she was trying to make it to the registration? That seemed like a really big coincidence. Too much of a coincidence.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she willingly allowed him to feel all of her hesitation towards him. She wanted him to know she wasn’t going to be easily fooled.
Arima noticed that his eyes widened minutely, something that no one would have noticed if they weren’t looking close enough. His smile became more forced. “I’m Castin.” Castin holds out his hand, patiently awaiting Arima to take it. Arima continued to look at him, not making an effort to accept his offer at introductions. Physical contact led to affection, affection led to trust, and trust led to betrayal, Arima thought.
“Castin. That’s a nice name.” She continued to stare at him, her piercing gaze never faltering, and slowly Castin retracted his hand back to his side, rubbing the back of his head stiffly. She found it ironic that the empath was the one acting awkward.
“I guess.”
Arima smiled, her pearly white and slightly crooked teeth gleaming in the harsh sunlight. “You don’t sound too confident.” She was intentionally trying to make him uncomfortable by allowing herself to become relaxed. She wanted him to be affected by her. Although, she was a little surprised by his actions.
She would have thought that someone with control of everyone else’s emotions would have some control over their own.
“I’m not.”
It was very uncommon for a puissant to admit to someone that they weren’t completely sure of their actions in fear of that person using their uncertainty against them. We were taught from a very young age that fear was a weakness, and that telling someone about that weakness was as good as being defeated by them. Maybe he wasn’t trained, she thought. There was a brief moment of pity for him, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.
But then she realized he never said where he lived before moving to Nashville.
He was only older than her by a few months, so she was sure he hadn’t lived back in Alaska. Everybody knew everybody back home, and they would have been particularly interested in a new empath. But he was too experienced with his powers to not have been trained. It was very rare you were able to master them to the extent that you could not only control the other person’s emotions, but force your own emotions onto them as well.
“I’m sorry about that.”
Castin looked at her in confusion. “Sorry about what?”
Arima then looked at him with bewilderment. Was he not actually paying attention to the conversation they were having a few moments ago? “About you not knowing whether you like your name or not.”
Castin just gave a slight grin, his head tilting to the side, causing a piece of hair to fall further down his forehead. The expression made him look a little more inviting, Arima noticed. “Is it a bad thing to not know whether I like my name or not? And technically, I didn’t disagree with you about it being a nice name. I just don’t think it’s for me.”
Arima would have replied with an equally smart reply if it wasn’t for the sudden loud blaring of a horn. Her head jerked around quickly, startled by the noise. And there, to her surprise, was a taxi. The driver was looking at the two of them impatiently, and Arima realized they were now the only people standing on the side of the road, the previous group having dispersed as her and Castin were conversing.
The passenger window was rolled down and the taxi driver leaned forward slowly, eyebrows raised in annoyance. “Do you need help getting your luggage?”
Arima shook her head hastily, starting to pull her bags towards the trunk. “Just pop the trunk, please.” Castin helped her handle her luggage, and she could tell he released some hold on her emotions as some of the awkwardness came back to her as they were loading the suitcases together.
Once all of her things were loaded, Arima completely disregarded manners as she dove towards the taxi, jerking the door open. She didn’t even want to look at the time. Before her brain could tell her to shut the door and get out of the sketchy situation, she looked back briefly at Castin. He looked a little flabbergasted, and Arima felt a sting of guilt for so rudely departing, but that feeling was gone when she thought of what would happen if she was late.
“Hey, Castin!” She called out to him, acting on impulse. He met her eyes, clearly surprised. She gave him a little smile. “It’s Arima, by the way.”
There was a momentary look of puzzlement but realization soon took over his face and he let out a small grin, nodding his head as if he was accepting her name.
Turning her back on him, Arima clambered into the car, her clumsy, long limbs knocking against everything in their path. The driver looked at her, a shadow of a beard on his dark face. “Where to?” He inquired, starting to pull off into the road.
Arima looked behind her before she answered, as if she that Castin could somehow hear her from inside the moving piece of metal, but he wasn’t standing there anymore. Probably got another taxi, Arima thought.
“The Tennessee State Prison.” Arima said surely, pulling out the paper she was mailed weeks before from her overused purse. The crinkled edges took away the formality of the content and she sighed as she unfolded it.
The taxi driver hesitated, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “You know that prison is abandoned, right?”
Arima smiled, her eyes skimming back over the paper she was holding. Her heart beat in anticipation, the abnormal rhythm burning a hole through her chest. “ I have a very important person I have to meet there.”
