The video call came from someone Kaura never expected to hear from again — her former academic advisor, Ayura Nayan. Their relationship had fallen apart long ago; or rather, it had first taken shape and then unraveled once the haze over Kaura finally lifted. Ayura had been a shameless manipulator, tirelessly pushing her esoteric ideas — something that irritated Kaura deeply, as a true adherent of objective scientific knowledge.

Before answering, the ecologist froze for a moment: her fingers hovered over the call icon, her breath catching — the unpleasant past had suddenly drawn too close. She routed the call to the external projector — a thin matte-glass panel with a floating image mounted above the shelf. It projected the caller’s face and voice almost at life size.

“Hello, my dear!” the familiar woman began in her coaxing voice. “How are you? Such a nightmare this is! I hope none of your loved ones were harmed in this dreadful catastrophe.”

“Hello. Just my cousin — a bit. She broke her arm and lost her home.”

“My sympathies! It’s all so hard. But that’s nature, you understand — no pity, no compassion, only natural processes. You can’t go against them; they must happen, yes.”

What is she even talking about? Kaura thought irritably. Get to the point already — she’s hardly calling out of concern for me.

“My dear, do you remember how I told you that you’re an unusual, gifted person? A guardian type?”

Kaura nodded. A cold sting shot through her solar plexus; the muscles of her neck and back tightened in a defensive reflex, a sharp alertness ringing inside her.

“Tell me, please — have you noticed any signs of your… unusual nature in the last couple of days? Two, maybe three?”

Of course. So this bitch knows, the ecologist realized at once. And she is absolutely the last person I’d tell anything to.

“Unusual nature?” Kaura repeated, wearing the expression: what nonsense are you talking about. Her former advisor watched her intently, as if probing every tiny movement of her face.

“There’s nothing unusual about me. I’ve had more than enough unusual things around me. This catastrophe shook not only the central regions — it’s rattled all of us.”

Kaura carefully reproduced the same cold, irritable distance she used to wield during her research days.

“Kaura dear, if something ever does manifest in you — and I know how you feel about all this — just remember: I can help you manage it. And if you don’t wish to manage it, I can help you get rid of it. Just let me know. That’s the important part.”

It was impossible to tell whether Ayura believed her or not — she was clearly pressing.

“What exactly are you talking about, Ayura? You’re being completely unclear,” Kaura said, doing her utmost to look genuinely bewildered.

She went on as if she hadn’t heard a word:

“Were you anywhere near the disaster zone? Or perhaps helping victims here?” she asked, in the tone of someone who believes they’ve just stumbled upon an idea. “Or maybe you recently gave someone first aid unrelated to the catastrophe? Eh… your sister didn’t have any life-threatening episode that required your intervention, did she?”

Kaura suddenly understood: Ayura was talking about her saving Auran in the Rings.
Was Ayura there? — the anxious thought hammered through her mind.

“You’re asking strange things,” the girl replied sharply. The prickle of wariness had already tipped into a full sense of danger.

Ayura fixed her with a piercing, focused stare.

For a fraction of a microsecond everything froze — sound, air, even her pulse.

Then the world burst outward with light: between Kaura and the shelf holding the projector, a massive shield of her energy-form unfurled — amethyst, aquamarine, and gold-orange blending into a dense, gently curved plane of light. Something crashed to the floor behind it.

At the same instant, a doorbell chimed on Ayura’s side of the call, pulling her attention from the screen. Kaura seized the moment and cut the connection at once.

“Wow… that’s powerful…” Kaura touched the lingering trace of her energy-form. Her curiosity steadied her mind, and the shield vanished at once.

“What’s going on in here?” her sister’s grumpy voice made Kaura flinch.

“Uh… this is…” Kaura scrambled to invent something, panic fluttering in her chest.

Without waiting for an explanation, her sister tried lifting the fallen shelf with her uninjured arm.

“Heavy thing! So what happened?”

“I don’t know. I walked in — and everything was already a mess,” Kaura blurted out, unable to come up with anything better.

“Well? Don’t just stand there. Help me clean this up!”

Kaura still felt her hands trembling from what had happened, but she forced herself to move calmly, as if nothing at all had occurred.

After they finished tidying up, the cousins sat down for dinner.

“I need to find some good romance series,” her sister announced, “to pass the time while my arm heals — and to distract myself.”

They began recalling the shows everyone had been talking about, scrolling through descriptions on the large kitchen display. At last, Gayana settled on one.

“You’re probably not going to watch it with me, right?” she asked her cousin. “I’m planning to binge all day tomorrow — I’ll get way ahead.”

“No, I won’t,” Kaura replied. “I’ve got work and other things to do.”

The cousins retreated to their separate rooms.

Silence settled over the apartment like a heavy blanket. Only the faint ringing in her ears reminded her that the energy inside was still raging.

She hadn’t even stepped fully into the studio — her temporary bedroom while her sister was staying — before she started typing a message to Laura. She was bursting to share the strange new experience, and at the same time the uneasy realization that the repulsive Ayura likely possessed a high-level psychoform of her own and, worse, seemed deeply knowledgeable about it. Kaura was certain nothing good could be expected from that woman — especially if she had powers; though what exactly the danger was, she couldn’t yet grasp.

Laura didn’t reply.

Waiting for an answer, Kaura wandered onto Auran’s channel page to watch his recent videos. The latest upload was a segment about the URCC, posted the same evening they’d gone for that walk.

The report turned out to be strangely dull — rushed, uninspired. A basic tour of the URCC base: what was located where, some bragging about the technologies; then Tirak again, broadcasting slogans. His presence made Kaura feel a touch of disgust, even though he presented himself as the last bastion of order and resolve.

She noticed that the aidmen brought to the base fell into two groups: some were exhausted and openly bored — clearly they’d rather be resting than attending this excursion; others listened to Tirak with keen attention. They liked him, and they nodded approvingly at the lines he delivered with that aggressive emphasis.

Kaura couldn’t help noticing that after posting the latest video, Auran hadn’t logged into his page again. Normally, he checked in a few hours after uploading and actively replied to viewers’ comments — but this time, nothing.

Laura still hadn’t replied, so Kaura decided to meditate while waiting — to step out onto the Rings and look around, just in case Ayura might be there. She closed her eyes — inside, the echoes of the shield were still pulsing, like afterglow lingering on the retina.

She couldn’t concentrate at all: her mind kept replaying the possibility of running into Ayura on the Rings — and she wanted that less than anything. This strange Energy Field was an exhilarating adventure, something new, unknown, a mysterious protected realm. And that was exactly why the thought of that spiteful Ayura showing up there irritated her so much — in ordinary life Kaura preferred to keep as far from her as possible, and now there was the prospect of encountering her even in meditation.

Annoyance flared and flared, and Kaura couldn’t extinguish it. She stood up abruptly and headed to the kitchen, ordering herself two cocktails at once and some buns. While waiting for the snack, she absent-mindedly checked Auran’s channel again — he still hadn’t shown up there.

Kaura admitted to herself that she was worried about him — and immediately decided to write. Back at that old ecology conference, they had exchanged personal channels; they’d never actually messaged each other since, but she clearly remembered she still had his.

A moment later, the message “Hey! How are you?” was sent.
And the instant it flew off, she realized it was already late at night — any normal person would be asleep.

Barely awake, the reporter heard: “Message from Daim Kaura,” — and jolted upright. He glanced at his bracelet, surprised to see a message from her, but answered at once:

“Ended up in the hospital, heart acted up.
And why are you writing? And at this hour?”

A chime. Kaura flinched. For a split second she hoped it was Laura — but no, it was Auran. She read the reply and flushed, suddenly unsure what to say.

Why do I always act first and think later?
She scolded herself for sending a message at such an absurd hour to someone who was, in essence, almost a stranger.

Auran reread his own message and realized it had come out a bit harsh — why had he even mentioned the time? He’d simply been surprised, and truthfully, pleasantly so — but it looked like a reproach.

He quickly sent another:

“Sorry about the time thing, it’s all good — I was just surprised.”

A couple of seconds later he added:

“Pleasantly surprised.”

Seeing his second message, Kaura exhaled, slipping out of the knot of embarrassment and self-reproach. Smiling a little, she replied:

“I don’t even know. Sorry, I didn’t notice how late it was.
I’m sorry you’re in the hospital. I hope the danger is already past?”

“Yeah. Just the weakness left. Weird feeling — I don’t remember ever being weak.”

“Hugging you,” she answered instantly — and again, thoughtlessly.

At the exact moment she sent it, a message from Auran came through:

“They’re forcing me to sleep, the brutes. Good night.”

“Good night to you too.”

Kaura rose from her makeshift bed and walked to the kitchen. From the far corner of the glass cabinet she took out a bottle of strong liquor — quarn, kept mostly for guests. She poured herself a glass, stared at it wearily, then reached back into the cabinet and took out a bottle of juice from the lower shelf, topping off the quarn. She repeated the simple ritual twice more, then returned to her sleeping spot and passed out.

The surge of energy that had burst through the apartment hadn’t vanished — it had woven itself into the fabric of the Psychofield, searching for resonance. The Psychofield shuddered, recognising a familiar frequency.