“But without any spiritual power, you’re vulnerable to all sorts of diseases. Are you not concerned? What about your lifespan?”
“I am not sure,” I answer honestly. Technically, at my age, one would gain immortality after advancing to the third level. As it stands, with my nonexistent levels, I am not sure how my lifespan will be affected in the long run.
“I see.” He smiles ruefully. “I’ve never heard of someone with no spiritual power, so I was curious. I hope I did not ask any uncomfortable questions.”
“No, no. It is alright,” I quickly add. “At least I can do this job, no?”
“Right…”
I quickly go back to my station to finish my work for the day. From that last exchange, I realize everyone must be wonderinghowI got the job in the first place, or even how I’ve survived to be three thousand years old with my lack of abilities. Regardless, Ihavemade it—on my own strength too.
I try not to let it bother me and I wrap up my work for the day. The symptoms have not gotten worse, so I can go to a mortal apothecary to find some medicine.
I wrap up my day with no further issues, though as I leave, I notice that everyone still keeps their distance from me. I don’t understand why. Is it because they truly believe I might be contagious, or is it meant as a mockery of the fact that I have nothing to defend me from these common illnesses? Whatever the reason, I keep my head down and try to ignore everything around me.
The Central Administration office is quite a long way from home, so I take a short detour through the mortal sector. I usually avoid wandering there too much. Some mortals still hold a poor opinion of my kind, and simply being in the same space as them can bring unnecessary conflict. Normally, I would never risk it—but today, I’m forced to.
As I walk toward the mortal district, I wonder if I might also find a book shop and pick up the latest volume of my favorite book, since I’m already taking the risk of passing through the area. But I feel worse with every step, and all I really want is to get home and rest. I decide against it. I’ll just go to the apothecary, buy some medicine, and head straight home.
That’s exactly what I do.
I ignore the stares as best I can. This is a close-knit community, and they always frown upon seeing a new face. That’s how they know I don’t belong. To them, I’m an outsider.
Inside the apothecary, I ask at the counter for whatever they have for the common cold. The person in charge hands me a concoction that costs a whooping fourslovacoins. I reluctantly part with my money, and the looks from those around me tell me this isn’t the usual price. Being an outsider comes with a premium.
Yet the moment I ask for cold medicine, the tension in the room eases. No immortal would ever need a cure for the common cold.
I let out a dry laugh to myself.
I don’t wait until I get home to drink it. I need it immediately to ease the symptoms. I still have an hour and a half of walking ahead of me before I reach home. The moment I exit the apothecary, I chug it down and hurry out of the mortal district, hoping not to draw any more attention.
I’m only a few blocks from the boundary between the mortal district and the rest of the city when I notice a commotion ahead.
At first, it’s just a couple of people arguing. Slowly, it turns more violent. One of the males shoves the other to the ground and then quickly disappears. I tell myself not to get involved, but instinct takes over.
I reach for the man on the ground and ask, “Are you alright, sir?”
He looks at me—and that’s when I realize something is wrong.
His eyes are bloodshot. The whites are streaked red, webbed with black veins that creep down onto his skin. Something is terribly wrong. He stares at me with a crazed expression, and before I can react, his hands clutch the lapels of my coat, dragging me down with him.
A guttural noise tears from his throat as he lunges forward, mouth open, as if he’s trying to bite me.
What—
For a second, I’m too terrified to move. When my survival instincts finally kick in and I try to shove him off, he only grows more aggressive. The first punch is the worst. Blood floods my mouth. The second barely registers, or maybe my body has already adapted to the pain.
He pummels me, shouting over and over that he wants me to give him something.
“Give it to me. Give it to me now.”
I don’t know how I disentangle myself from his grip. I only know that once I’m free, I take off running at full speed.
At some point, my mind still foggy, my body filled with pain, I reach home. And the sight that greets me in the mirror horrifies me.
Black and blue spots. Blood pouring from my nose, some caked around my face.
“As if I could be more unlucky…” I whisper to myself with a sigh.
