Years ago.

I clutch fistfuls of sand and let them pass through my fingers like an hourglass. Kiah sits further up the beach; cross-legged, soundless and meditating. I could almost feel her tranquil aura reaching me. How she can remain so calm before such a big decision in our lives, I'll never know.

The Sun teeters on the horizon far off in the distance. Rays of orange, purple and red are cast over the flowing waters. They make gentle crashing noises as they collide with the rocks and fold over themselves. A flock of birds flies by, chirping as they pass the two sole occupants of the beach.

It's so... peaceful. I'll miss you, Pantai Cahaya Bulan.

I make my way towards Kiah, leaving small footprints behind me as I amble. She stirs as I reach her side and sit down. As always, she leans her back on my shoulder and I extend an arm to support myself.

"How are you feeling, Harmony?"

I gaze at the Sun. It's almost setting now.

"I always thought I'd be happy to leave this damn place, but I'm not so sure now."

Kiah smiles at me. No amount of conjured fire from my hands can make me feel this warm.

"It's never easy leaving your home. It's a new chapter, hm? We have to keep turning the page, even if we don't know what's coming."

I smile back. She takes a last glance at the scenery and stands up, but not before I tug at her hand.

"Oh, you want something, Harmony?"

"Yeah. Before we leave, how about..." I hold her hand tight,

"...a last bonfire?"

>>

"We still have no idea on whatever happened to you at Zakwan's place."

I rub my hand on my inai. The new design—the spiral flower is indeed queer. It doesn't even look like it was drawn on with a henna cone. Visually, it's like it was stenciled on, or printed akin to words on a newspaper. No faults, no crevices, no crookedness.

Real information and knowledge relating to the supernatural and sorcerers are sparse in Malaysia, given their view towards things of that sort. There were some old magazines called Mastika that published stories pertaining to ghosts, spirits and other spooky entities, but most of it was rubbish. They were always focused on entertainment more than truthfulness. If you were to read them for actual research, it would remind me of a certain Malay saying.

Melepaskan batok di tangga. Doing something that serves zero purpose.

"Maybe it's a problem with yourself, Kiah?"

"Hah? What do you mean by that?"

Casey stretches on our shared bed. Harmony's hogging up the entirety of the other one, sprawling her limbs out to their maximum capacity and snoring. The cold from the air conditioner makes me tuck myself in deeper into my blanket. Well, our blanket. This is weird.

"Do you have some type of animosity towards people like Zakwan? Buried deep inside?"

I scoff. "Come on. I meditate often. I tap into my own feelings and emotions more times than any normal person does. People like Zakwan aren't high up on my shitlist, the JAKIS people are."

Casey yawns and turns to his side. "Alright, alright. I didn't mean to offend you, was just asking." He places a hand under the side of his head and shuts his eyes. "Sleep tight, Kiah."

I nudge his forehead with my knuckles, earning a sheepish grin and an affectionate curse from him.

>>

I'm roused from my deep sleep by nothing in particular. My eyes are out of focus, but they dart around and finally become normal again. I reach for my phone on the bedside table and see that it's 6.00 in the evening. Damn, I slept for like, 4 hours? That mind possession on the receptionist, although short, must've taken the wind out of me.

Casey's not by my side, though. Thank heavens I didn't wake up to him accidentally spooning me or anything. Judging from the sounds of running water in the bathroom, he's having a wash. By coincidence, he pops out of the bathroom that instant. He's got a gray hoodie on with a red shirt underneath and a pair of black jeans.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Did you take your piercing out? And cut your hair?" I point out.

He sighs. "I'll get made immediately if I didn't."

While previously his hair had reached the upper half of his back and the left side braided near the scalp, it now barely reaches his shoulder and he had undone the braids. His ponytail's nowhere to be seen.

"Ala, you don't look half bad la Case. By the way, I know it's risky but I'd kill for some food right now. Maybe we could go out to the night market?"

He thinks for a moment, but his stomach grumbles betray him. We both have a slight chuckle at that. I start tapping Harmony's cheeks to wake her up.

>>

Even in front of the motel here, the wonderful smells from the night market reach us. There are still many things to be proud of about Malaysia, and one of those things is the food. Every race, every background and every ethnicity here shares their food with one another without prejudice. One of the easiest ways to experience this diversity is by going to the weekly night markets, or pasar malam.

Casey's GPS says it's about 5 minutes from here to there on foot. He pulls his hoodie up to mask his face. I came prepared with a long-sleeved shirt and wool gloves to hide my inai. It's still suspicious, but it's better than just showcasing my ink for everyone to see. Harmony wears a beanie over her head.

We brought all of our weapons and bags with us just in case. It would be a shame to have them stolen as we leave them unattended in our room.

The things we do to stuff our mouths with Malaysian food.

We reach the parking lot where this pasar malam's being held. Oh, the aromas... my mouth is salivating. Cars upon cars pass us by trying to find a parking spot, not to mention the occasional motorcycle slipping through.

Harmony rubs her hands together in excitement. "So, what we getting?"

"Let's go round the place first, see what's in store," suggests Casey. That's how I always do it. Circle the entire market first and keep in mind the locations of stalls I like. On the second round, I'll go to those stalls and buy my food. Systematic, just the way I like it.

The pasar is cramped this time of day. It's nearing sunset, which is the time where Muslims will perform their Maghrib prayers. Everyone's rushing to do their business before Maghrib arrives.

We slither our way through the crowd. I mouth "Sorry" in Malay to an elderly couple since I nearly collide into them. As we walk through the busy and loud market, I hold my Chinese friend's hand to make sure she doesn't stray off on her own.

You'll always find some religious Muslim men standing around in their clean white garments and holding a donation box in the night market. Most of the time, the donations are used to help the poor and to build or renovate rundown mosques around the area. A little girl slips in a 1 ringgit bill and the man thanks her. He cups his hands and reads a prayer, no doubt for her wellbeing and safety.

A fried chicken stall grabs Harmony's attention. We stand and watch as the seller hacks the fried chicken fillet with flawless technique. He puts the pieces into a plastic bag and hands it over. I had to remind Harmony not to eat it then and there.

Casey eyes a nasi lemak stall next. The coconut-infused rice, grilled chicken and sambal seem to have piqued his interest, so he orders two from the chatty lady in charge of the tent. One for me and one for himself.

To top it all off, we get some otak-otak. If you translate it literally, it means brains which has always amused me. Anyway, otak-otak is a long red fish cake made out of ground fish and a variety of spices. It's commonly encased in a banana leaf and then grilled over a fire.

The seller in front of us knows what he's doing. He wafts his fire with a huge hand fan to keep it lit and burning. He places some raw otak-otak on the grill, but it's raised to the point that the fire doesn't have direct contact with the banana leaves. This ensures the meat doesn't get burnt, which is a common mistake when preparing otak-otak.

We pay for a dozen of the fish cakes and start to leave the place. We squeeze through the crowd as usual.

What the–a tingle crawls up my spine out of nowhere. I straighten my back to try and get it out of me, but to no avail. And what's with this sensation in my head? Outlines of words pop up in my peripheral vision. I can even hear some of them, like they're being yelled and whispered at the same time by an androgynous voice. The hustle and bustle of the market becomes quieter and quieter as it becomes overpowered by this mysterious voice.

Be... careful?

"Kiah? What's the hold up?" Harmony asks, pulling on my arm. The voice disappears, everything gets loud again.

"Oh, nothing." I wince at the discomfort in my head. "Maybe we should just hurry up and get back to the motel."

"Yeah, I'm starving too." She takes a peek into her plastic bag, giggling. "Oh man, I can't wait to–"

...

It's the man with the donation box from before, standing in front of us. He points a wicked finger and starts shouting.

"Tu! Tu ah! Ahli sihir yang lari tu! Tangkap dia, tangkap!"

Fuck.

>>

"You sure those are the culprits?" I ask my two companions standing behind me. Behind a couple rows of stalls, I see them running for their lives. Well, that all but confirms it.

"Yah." I hear the crunching sounds of fish crackers. Someone's enjoying the kerfuffle those three are making. My friend replies with her mouth full still. "They tried to their hearts' content to disguise themselves, but any old idiot with even one eye missing should be able to tell from the get go."

"It's always better to be safe than sorry, Ramya. You'll have to learn that the hard way eventually if you don't listen."

She rolls her eyes. "Ooh, look at pretty boy over there." She points to one of the three we've been eyeing for the past few minutes. That must be Casey Reid.

He notices smoke from a close by grill and starts waving his hands at it. The smoke funnels into a cone and gets thrown into a police officer's face, stunning him momentarily. Good use of vapour manipulation. 

He gathers some more smoke and slams his palms onto the ground. This generates four identical lifelike illusions to appear from the smoke. The illusions start fighting off some more officers while the real him runs away, shoving away everyone in his path.

Impressive. Not many vapour manipulators can project consciousness like that, especially in the midst of a tense situation. The clones aren't intangible either. They're dishing out hard blows to the cops. 

My eyes—well, eye, scans around for his friends. I spot a Chinese girl with a beanie covering her short hair nearby. That must be Harmony, if the news got her name right.

She's donning a pair of sizeable brass knuckles on her fists. She bobs and weaves past the officers' batons and dishes out vicious lefts and rights. Doesn't look like she has any powers that I know of. 

That's before I make out her hands changing colour to a bright red. Yellow fluorescent smoke leaks out her mouth. Ah, this one's a heat manipulator.

She heats up her brass knuckles until they melt and form them into pure metal hammers. She swings the hammers with her full body weight straight into one of the officers' ribs. He falls down, clutching his side and gasping for air.

"Not running," mentions Xiao from behind. He never says too much of anything, so when he does, it's usually something to be noted.

"Indeed. Internal and external fire."

The woman, Harmony, squares up with the rest of the police officers as well as some JAKIS operatives in the back who just arrived. 

"You want some more, huh?" she taunts. "Come fucking get some la, sial!" She flips them off with both middle fingers before getting into her boxing stance.

Before they could engage in another bloody brawl, another person comes up behind her; a Malay woman, just like me. That has to be Masyitah. I cross my arms in anticipation for her abilities.

She has three sacks attached to her waist. One's brown, one's blue and one's red. She takes her gloves off and rolls up her sleeves to reveal an intricate inai design. It starts glowing a bright blue.

Telepath. A rare breed nowadays.

The brown sack opens by itself courtesy of her telekinetic ability. Sand shoots out of it and disperses into the crowd of law enforcers like a fine powder. They try to get the sand out of their eyes by aimlessly swatting the air in front of their faces, but they get facefuls of high-velocity marbles before they can recover. She aims them right between their eyes with precise flicks of her wrist. The marbles seem to have come out of her blue sack.

She hovers her hand above the red sack. It stays there for a second, almost for two. Analysing the sorry state of her assailants with her blue eyes and focused look, she shakes her head and pulls her hand away. With that same hand, she pulls her brawler friend Harmony away and makes haste.

"Ala... she was gonna pull some sick and twisted shit out that red sack, you just know it," comments Ramya, mouth still full.

"She has restraint. A common trait in skilled and proficient telepaths, not to mention careful." I press hard on the last word. "You should've learnt a thing or two from her."

Xiao releases a small snort from his nose covered by his mask. Ramya's not at all pleased, but she brushes it off.

"Yeah yeah, whatever Makira. Let's just save these idiots and get them back to base."

__

Ala (AA-laa): Malay equivalent of "Aw, darnit" or something of that sort

Sial (SEE-ull): Malay equivalent of fucker