So fresh, it felt like waking up a second time.

So cold, his head went numb for at least a minute afterward.

In a word, it was perfect.

He took an immediate left. The entrance wasn’t far from here. It made sense logistically, for if you placed a mill at the opposite end of an entrance, one would have to lug their wheat, or barley, oats, and so on all the way across the village. Grain and dried grasses would ceaselessly litter the city streets. What sense would that make?

Of course, the mill was placed on top of a sizable hill, which didn’t do much to facilitate transport. Not everything in Donnegal was entirely logical.

Then again, the village hadn’t grown any of those crops for years. So absolutely all of this was pointless to dwell over.

Maedoc thoroughly enjoyed running the gears in his head over every speck of a subject, pointless or not, even if he had done it a thousand times before. He had to mull over something, didn’t he?

To be awake AND empty-headed was not a luxury the boy believed to be possible.

However, during this morning in particular, these thoughts served double duty. Whenever hurt, just fill your head with fluff until you forget all about it. Never fails.

The road that led outside the East entrance sprawled beyond the village for miles. It was sandwiched between the various fields Maedoc knew all too well on its left, and the serene stillness of the great lake on its right. The docks were located through the Western and Southern entrances, thus the travelers who used this road were typically individuals or small groups hailing from who knows where. Small-time merchants or those looking for a single night’s lodging were most common.

Squinting his eyes, Maedoc was able to make out a few travelers making their way towards the same entrance he was approaching. At the moment they appeared to be tiny dark smudges, though he was unable to tell what was on their heads. Something colorful was all he could make out.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Donnegal found itself without visitors. The boy hoped they were here to sell something sweet. Sugar was rare in these parts.

One year a visitor from the Southeast brought marshmallows to trade. His life hasn’t been the same since.

Crossing through the East entrance, Maedoc carefully made his way through the gnarled roots of the willow tree, having tripped many a time before.  The generous foliage covered the bend in the stream with shade, and this made it the coolest point in the village to draw water from.

The lad stopped short of the stream, for he had become aware of a new sensation fluttering within his palm. For whatever reason, the Ray had begun to increase in its output. And not in an aggressive way, either. It actually felt quite pleasant. As if a wheel within it was being slowly spun.

He reached the bank of the stream, where the sensation then reached its full strength. Maedoc stood there, transfixed, as he dreamily partook in this strange new phenomenon.

It felt like . . . the stream!

In an instant, Maedoc remembered something from yesterday. Early in the evening, Cynwrig had mentioned that Aether would reach further plateaus of power when surrounded by greenery and moisture.

He had failed to mention this marvelous feeling one felt when next to running water.

It was like having an invisible third arm.

One which effortlessly reached into the stream before him, fingers branching out to their maximum. Entirely adrift in the meandering flow of the water.

Closing his eyes, he hovered in place as though he were a lily pad. Feeling wide awake just a moment ago, he felt like he could go to sleep just as he was. There was no need to sit or lay down at all.

He might’ve stayed like this for an uncomfortable amount of time if he had not felt this feeling slip away.

Its replacement, unfortunately, was not one bit pleasant.

A sudden tremor had wriggled its way into his head, pulsing and pounding against the inside of his skull. It grew in strength to a beat of its own.

Pound. Pound. POUND.

Maedoc couldn’t help but wince at it. His eyes opened, curious to see whether a spider had landed on his head. What else could it be?

A typical headache would at least give a little warning before attempting to ruin his day.

He whipped his hands through his hair, shuffling it thoroughly to rid it of any inhabitants. He looked to the ground for movement of any sort. Nothing to be found.

However, upon raising his gaze, he found himself locking eyes with a man he had never seen before.

It appeared to be one of the travelers he had seen approaching from the distance. His clothes were dark, consisting of blacks and grays. This contrasted somewhat with the man’s hair, which was a bizarre algae green. Clean-shaved on the sides, his head was akin to a rock with moss sprouting from the top.

The man appeared to be in conversation with the second individual, a woman, who had her back turned to Maedoc. Sporting only a single streak of red in her otherwise pitch black hair, she prattled on about something indecipherable, gesturing with her hands a great deal.

But the man appeared to not notice her at all.

He had eyes only for Maedoc.

Standing there as stiff as a statue, he looked at Maedoc with eyes opened wide. The boy couldn’t detect a singular emotion from this look whatsoever. All he knew is that when their eyes made contact, his insides felt like someone had stomped on them.

Blinking fast, he gaped at the stranger. After a split second had passed, the man meandered in his gaze, shifting it to the branches above Maedoc’s head. He blinked slowly, now acting as though he had no idea the boy was there at all.

After a moment he returned his gaze to the woman, suddenly quite aware of what she was discussing. With an intent nod, the man slowly began walking into the village. The woman continued speaking as she walked alongside him.

The boy followed their exit with his eyes, utterly mystified at what to make of the past ten seconds. It took him another ten to realize that the headache had nearly vanished. Only a faint ache remained.

Who was this bizarre looking fellow?

Before he had even finished the thought, the back of his mind provided an answer.

He was warned this would happen, after all. Who else could it be?

This village will soon be swamped with those whom have palpable ill will towards you.

Maedoc shook his head from side to side. No need to jump to conclusions.

Maybe the man was an N.O.B. Sure.

Did that mean an army was about to land? No.

Sharing a village with a man who conjured headaches was an occasional pain he could live with. This was nothing to panic over. Deep breaths, an iron mind. Leave all worries far behind.

Nodding to himself, Maedoc took a breath and collected himself. Remembering his Ray, he reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around it. The energy made its way up his arm and through his head in record time, scrubbing his skull clean of all residual ache.

It was as though the headache had never happened!

The boy smiled, certain that this new convenience would never lose its charm.

Turning back to face the stream, he knelt down and dipped his head until it was inches from his face. The water was impeccably clear — every rock and root at the bottom could be seen with little trouble, their positions long since memorized.

Leaning forward carefully, Maedoc placed his mouth directly upon the stream’s surface. As always, this foray chilled him considerably. Lips going numb, teeth screaming, he proceeded to drink. Gingerly at first, then with vigor once his face hit full numbness.

There were more peaceful ways to enjoy this stream — for example, the use of a cup — but the crisp jolt it provided when tackled head on made him feel born anew.

Sometimes he was tempted to let go and fall into the stream entirely. Just to see what it was like. He knew it was painfully cold glacial water. Yet the tiniest seedling of desire —of unflinching curiosity — could not be snuffed.

Maybe another day.

Returning to his feet, Maedoc took a few hazy steps and emerged from the shade of the willow tree. He found himself a little dazed from the cold, though it typically lasted only a moment. The warm sun felt welcome as it shone on his considerably chilled face.

A vulgar, gut-oriented groan cut through the silence.

Maedoc was hungry. Not surprising. In his rush he had skipped breakfast, crammed his head full of dizzying facts, and ultimately learned of his inevitable doom.

Who wouldn’t find themselves a little peckish?

While the tavern had its share of food, the boy was literally a stone’s throw from the fields. Carrots and potatoes, mix in a little parsley, salt, and boil it all in some fresh water over a fire — boy, that sounded nice.

His stomach catching wind of this, the boy’s legs began walking of their own accord. The belly trumps the brain near every time. Knowing this full well, Maedoc marched onward and harbored no resistance.

If he was lucky, there might be an extra beet around to sweeten it up.

Taking all of thirty steps, he walked alongside the stream until it veered off to the left and trickled its way into the lake. Before him lied Donnegal’s various fields, all of which were currently stripped bare. The summer’s harvest had just wrapped up, and most of it was being stored in what Maedoc jokingly titled “shallow graves.”

In reality they were simple underground burrows, which were dug tall enough for a man to walk through with little difficulty.

It might be more accurate to title them mausoleums.

For whatever reason, this job of shuffling wares downstairs was left to the adults. The tilling, planting, weeding and picking were fine work for children, but the storage of the bounty was a different matter.

Thinking upon it for another moment, he remembered all the steps that went into the pickling process. A majority of the harvest went this route. There was the boiling of the jars, the mixing of vinegars and spices in precise amounts, the careful organization of said jars so they wouldn’t topple over . . .

Alright. It made sense.

Maedoc made his way down the steep dirt walls of the road into the field below. There was a gently sloping path one could walk down with ease, but what fun was that? He was making record time as he slid down on his heels, only to be betrayed by a stubby, knotted root near the end of the descent.

So determined was this root to ruin Maedoc’s day, it warped his momentum enough to make him spin around and fall right on his butt. It could have been worse — far worse — but the boy was wise enough to know that the clay-heavy soil would leave a stubborn mark on his backside.

Just perfect.

“Hawh.”

Maedoc craned his neck to see his favorite fellow laborer, Morrick, pointing at him with a bored expression.

“You fell like a sack of potatoes.”

“Wow, you’re right. Thanks for noticing.”

The boy couldn’t explain it, but there was something strangely charming about the simple, blunt nature of his friend. Honest, straightforward. Easy on the brain.

Just what he needed right now.

Getting to his feet, Maedoc brushed what little dirt he could off his bottom and made his way over to Morrick.

“What’s a guy got to do to make a stew around here?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

“Oh . . .  we don’t let dirt into the kitchen. You should know better,” Morrick lectured as Maedoc walked past him towards the storehouse.

“This kitchen IS dirt.”

It was the truth. Next to the storehouse was a crude fire pit made of loose stones, and a simple metal stand that held a single pot. No wooden floors or even a rug were present.

At the very least there was a roof, which jutted out from the hill Maedoc had become solidly acquainted with. Logs had been sawed in half, tied with rope, and filled in with peat and soil. Four logs were used as vertical support, rising up from the ground to keep the roof sturdy. No one would say it was aesthetically pleasing, but it kept the storehouse dry and the fire pit operational.

Walking past the line of shade, the boy hopped down into the storehouse and grabbed his desired ingredients. There was even a few beets to be had. Never one to overindulge, he took a single beet — the smallest one — and considered his miniature raid concluded.

Arms stuffed with various goods, he made his way back up to the world of the living. His eyes adjusting to the light, he was surprised to find that others had joined their little twosome.

Squinting hard, he recognized Peet, the lead field worker and what Maedoc considered his other boss. The man next to him, however, he had never seen in his life. Morrick stood next to them, face looking sheepish as he slumped more than was typical for him.

Most notable of all was the growing unpleasantness the boy found brewing within his heart.

“Ah, Maedoc! You’re here just in time to see our new help. Name’s Dearg. Don’t be rude now, be a lad and shake his hand.”

Arms stuffed, he found this to be difficult to perform. Shifting the potatoes over to his left arm, he freed up his hand and stuck it out. Dearg, giving it a look, remained motionless.

“That’s one dirty hand, Maedoc. I can’t imagine a person alive who would want to shake that.”

The man’s eyes were an icy blue, void of emotion or malice. Yet malice was the only thing Maedoc could perceive from him.

The boy didn’t need his Aether in hand to know that he, too, was a newly arrived N.O.B.

Peet laughed, slapping Dearg on the back. “Hah, this guy’s a real jokester. His family just strolled in this morning. He used to run a large farm further east. I’ve been there. One hell of an operation.”

Dearg smiled as he continued to look at Maedoc with unblinking eyes. “Oh Peet. I’m just a simple man doing the best I can.”

“Such modesty. Well, he’s in charge now, so you guys treat him right, you hear?”

Maedoc couldn’t help but drop his jaw.

“This guy’s in charge now?! What about you, Peet?”

Peet’s face hardened. “Hey Maedoc, you show some respect! Either call him by his name or call him Boss.”

Never one to remain serious for long, he relaxed and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“As for me, I’m out of this dump. Some new arrivals came into the village today, and naturally they’ll need some houses made for them. Some even want a few boats constructed! So I’m hopping into the construction industry,” he finished with a proud, toothy smile. “No more dirt for me. I’m done with the stuff.”

“Maedoc doesn’t seem to mind dirt at all. It’s like you were born to muck around in it,” Dearg said with a smirk, cueing a chuckle from Peet.

Stepping forward, he placed a hand on Maedoc’s shoulder as he turned to face the former field boss.

“We’ll be just fine here, Peet. I think we’re all going to get along swell.”

A sickening vibe seeped down the youth’s arm and chest. He was beginning to think that he wouldn’t like this new arrangement at all.

Taking a step back, Maedoc wished only to escape.

“Well I — I look forward to it. I just remembered, my, uh, secret ingredient is back at the bar. I think I’ll cook this up at the kitchen instead. I’ll see you guys later!”

Bustling away with as much speed as he could convincingly make look casual, he made his way out of the shadowed enclosure and into the bright sunlight. He wasn’t sure if they called after him or not. It wouldn’t have mattered, for all he could hear now was the blood churning in his ears.

This is going from bad to worse.

First the stranger on the street. Now the fields. Just how far reaching would this turn out to be?

Maedoc marched his way through town, being careful to dodge the swelling numbers of villagers now occupying the main road. The morning had long since given way to high noon, and everyone was busily attending to their daily routines.

Though his mind was aflame with the worrying developments of the day, he couldn’t help but overhear the excited chatter taking place around him.

“I’ve never had a neighbor before, I’m quite excited . . .”

“Can you believe that shack actually sold? Buyer must be bonkers.”

“I’ve already sold an entire week’s worth, just this morning!”

” . . . though she had a funny look to her. Is that a new style, you think?”

Though he did his best not to, he couldn’t help but think they were all talking about the same thing.

The village’s new “element.”

If that were the case, no one seemed to be complaining. Far from it — they seemed overjoyed at their arrival.

New business. More jobs. Increased diversity. It all sounded fine and good.

Maedoc wondered if anyone else was aware that these newcomers were potentially the epitome of toxicity.

His shoulder was still feeling the ache of that man’s touch from earlier. He longed to set his bounty down so he could give it a stretch and rub some circulation into it.

A hazy plan was forming in the boy’s head . . .

Perhaps he could cobble together a pair of shoulder pads, which would protect his shoulders from any further energetic intrusions. Right? No more shoulder pats then.

Though he had pads on his shoulders, someone might just pat him on the head. He would need a helmet made, too. But then his back could be slapped.

Oh dear. What would he do about his back?

This concern so wracked Maedoc’s brain that he walked directly into some stacked crates, causing a few carrots to bounce off the top of his food pile. Blinking with surprise, he shifted his eyes left and right, hopeful that no one saw.

“See, I told you he was a drunkard.”

Oh no. Not them.

“I’M NOT DRUNK,” Maedoc droned loudly as he escaped the scene with max haste. The carrots would have to stay put.

The last thing he needed right now was another teenaged girl grill session. The boy could already feel his mental stitching coming loose. The trio might very well cause it to snap altogether. Without lifting his gaze he powered forward, doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone.

His last spurt was enough to bring him within view of the Glen, at last. Maedoc exhaled a sigh of relief. Finally, a place where he could sit in silence, take a breather, and attempt to piece all of this together.

He hurried his pace, the veggies now melodically bouncing within his arms with each step. The last carrot of the bunch careened its way off the top of the pile, finding its way back into the dirt from whence it came. Rather than tempt fate by slowing down, Maedoc convinced himself that he wasn’t all that into carrots anyhow. It was for the best.

The front door of the bar was almost before him when it swung open with a loud croak, narrowly missing Maedoc and his cargo. Out of the darkness stumbled Stollin, who was looking even more gloomy than usual. His hair looked disheveled, and a slight sheen of sweat could be seen across his brow.

Mumbling to himself, he strode out into the daylight, his eyes furrowed and directed at his feet. Upon seeing the boy in front of him, against all odds, his face lit up with tangible happiness.

“Maedoc! You’re here. And you’ve brought food, that’s . . .  that’s perfect. Give it here.”

After being met with an eerily cheery Stollin, Maedoc couldn’t help but smile. His arms were getting sore by this point, and he was happy to have the help.

“Thanks Stollin! I’m just about to cook it, make us some —“

“You, cook these? No, no, I’ll take care of that. I’d prefer to be back in the kitchen today.”

His face darkened. All remnants of his cheer vanished as quickly as it had materialized.

“Well, we’d better get started. Ready for an interesting day, boy?”

Maedoc’s smile faded slowly as the gears in his head began to turn. Something about this whole interaction seemed. . . off.

After a long exhale, Stollin swiveled towards the door and pressed it open with his shoulder.

As it creaked open, a riotous scene presented itself. A murmuring became a chatter, which became a chorus, then a cacophony.

His eyes adjusting, Maedoc sought to make sense of all the commotion that sprawled before him.

Each and every seat in the bar was loaded up with people he had never seen before. Luggage and personal items were strewn across the floor as children ran shouting across the floor. Men and women, young and old — all walks of life were present at the Glen on this day.