Okay. I took this off at the beginning of summer because I wanted to do an experiment. Now, I realize how miserably I failed at said experiment. So it's going back up here. Since I took it down, I wrote six more chapters to it. It is currently my largest story, with just over 32k words at this moment. That's about 24 chapters. I'll be posting them in sets of four over the next six days until I get caught up here.

Anyway, this has gone through some edits since I took it down. None of those who read it back when it was up here before noticed that the twins switched instruments between chapters two and sixteen...I inserted a chapter between ten and eleven (the chapter is now chapter eleven). And I've made some other minor changes. But those two are the biggest ones.

For those new to this story, it's about a band I made up. Their picture can be found on my profile page. They're called Aleena. There's four members. I'm not going to explain too much more, though.

This story is rated as such because of future sexual content, swearing, drug use, and other adult themes. It's nothing too graphic. I just thought I'd give a fair warning.

So here you go. Enjoy.

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“Hey, Jess. It’s me.” Me was my best friend, Keith Raanot, and his voice was a welcomed contrast to the monotonous voice of the Kyoonyt government official I had been listening to for the past hour. “Have you heard?”

“No, Keith,” I replied sarcastically, sitting on my sofa and turning the television down. “I’ve been dead for the past few hours and only came back to life to hear your lovely voice.”

“What do you think?” he asked, ignoring my comment.

“You’re asking again? I would’ve thought I made it clear the first five times you asked me.”

“Ah, but now we’re out. For real. Think about it, Jesse. Think about it in the perspective that it has happened.” He laughed. “Jesse, this is amazing. Think about it. This is history. This is something that we have been taught to prevent all our lives.”

“Which is exactly why it should never have happened,” I argued.

We spoke of Kyoonyt, hidden community and secret society. For centuries, it had remained just that: hidden and secret, held in our hearts like a human’s native country is to them, relying on the people who lived in it to keep it a secret. But for the past year or so, Kyoonyt’s government decided that we had hidden for long enough.

I had been against Kyoonyt’s “coming out” since the beginning. It was a bad idea to begin with, and if the human world took the news badly, the revelation was irreversible. I just didn’t think the human world would be able to sanely handle the fact that there is more to the world than what they can see.

Keith thought differently. He, along with my other two friends, thought the revelation was a wonderful idea. It would mean no more hiding (obviously), no more keeping the secret and hiding our abilities, both mental and physical. It would mean a new start, joined with the human world as one. There would be no more insecurity as to the safety of Kyoonyt, no more inhibitions to worry about. We would be “free,” as Keith put it.

“Turn to channel four,” Keith told me.

I did as he said, switching from the news conference to one of the local stations. They had somehow gotten footage of a human news channel as it announced Kyoonyt’s revelation. While the newscaster seemed to be indifferent in his tone, I noticed an underlying sense of discomfort in his body language, as if he either didn’t believe what he was reporting or he was frightened by it.

“He doesn’t look too happy,” I commented aloud, tossing the remote into the air and catching it.

“He doesn’t believe it,” Keith replied. I knew him well enough to know he was smiling. “This isn’t like the formation of a brand new country. This is about a place―places, actually that have been around since the Roman Era, scattered all over the world. Although it’s not like anyone but us knows that yet,” he added. “Everyone is affected in some way, no matter who or where they are. This is a shock. This is new. Strange. Totally different from anything and everything else.”

“Okay, Keith, I get it.” I focused on the newscaster again. The human news had been turned off, and he was now reporting on the effects of the revelation. “I’ll talk to you later,” I told Keith. “I want to hear the news.”

“All right, Jess. See you later.” He hung up.

I changed the channel back to the news conference, which was amazingly still going on. The government official speaking was one of the heads of defense for one of the largest Kyoonyt cities in North America, which explained the early time of the conference because he was on the East Coast and I was in Idaho.

“We are not asking every Kyoonyt person to reveal themselves,” he was replying to a reporter’s question. His words were displayed in subtitles on the bottom of the screen in the language of Kyoonyt. He spoke English as his first language, which explained his lack of an accent like Keith’s or mine. Actually, to Keith and I, he was the one with the accent and we weren’t. But it wasn’t unusual for someone from Kyoonyt to speak English as a first language. In fact, the population was split about half and half. “Individuals or even entire towns and cities may choose to remain hidden, and will receive the same type of protection as has been known since before this happened.”

“Good,” I said to the screen. I would rather not have been known for what and who I am. Yes, I am from Kyoonyt. Yes, both of my parents were telekinetic, therefore passing the ability down to me. But still, I could go into a human city now and barely be noticed. Why would I want to change that?

Another question was asked to the head of defense.

“Within the next few days,” he began, “a law will be passed which states that no―that’s daafh―powers or abilities will be used on a human unless it is for the good of the human to have the power used upon them.”

I grinned at his use of the Kyoonyt word for ‘no’ as emphasis. For a second I wondered how long the law would last. Then about how many people would actually listen to and obey it. We were normally pretty good at obeying laws passed by our government, and that is one of the main reasons Kyoonyt has remained hidden for so long. But this new situation may cause people to act irrationally. Especially if the humans took the news the wrong way.

“No matter what happens,” he went on, “this law will be enforced. If we want a relationship with the outside world to last, we must cooperate with them to settle any and all differences we may have. A punishment has yet to be…”

I stopped listening. The whole ordeal was more trouble than it was worth. In the short hours from about three in the afternoon to where I sat at six, there had been more news conferences, more broadcasts, and more sirens outside than I had ever heard in all the years I had lived in Lěnk, Idaho. It was obvious that both the human world and the people of Kyoonyt weren’t taking the situation well.

Now, there’s nothing we could do about it. There was no way to take back the announcement, which had officially been made in the United States capital of Washington, D.C., at noon their time. We were in this for life, both the humans and us. It had the potential to bind us together or tear us even farther away from each other than we had been for the past few centuries.

There were many, many more humans than Kyoonyt citizens. If they were desperate enough, the humans could wipe us out forever, and we’d be laughed at in our graves by those who were against the revelation from the beginning. I was sort of one of them, the ones who were against it, but not wholly, like many were.

Turning off the television, I stood and threw the remote onto the sofa. Stretching, I decided to get ready for the concert my band and I had scheduled for seven-thirty. I had to meet Keith and the other two members at the club by seven.

Quickly, I showered and dressed. I paid even more attention to myself in the mirror, subconsciously looking for differences in my appearance that would set me apart from a human. There were none that I could see. I have a pale face, dark blue eyes, and dark hair, the latter being a characteristic many Kyoonyt citizens have. The only thing that had the slightest possibility of getting me stared at were the few very thin strands of dark purple streaked into my hair, but I’d seen humans with even weirder hair than I’ve ever seen in Kyoonyt.

Ninety-nine percent of Kyoonyt citizens appear physically to be exactly like humans, the other one percent appearing to have tattoos of a foreign language or of just of designs on their skin. Those are the prophesized ones, who have had stories told about them and legends written as to when they will return. Others have wings, be they black or white or brown, bird-like or bat-like. But there are spells and jewelry and other things that can aid in the concealment of such appendages.

The true difference between humans and those from Kyoonyt lies in our genetics, the different types of genes passed down from generation to generation. The whole process and reasoning of the inheritance is really confusing. Basically, there is something in our genes--like eye color or hair color--that determines what type of ability each person will have.

For example, someone with a pyrokinetic mother and a telekinetic father would end up possessing both abilities. A person can have up to four abilities in their “blood,” as we call it, as long as they have at least twenty-five percent of the genes for the particular ability. Any less than that and the genes are void.

As long as a person was one of the ninety-nine percent and kept their ability hidden, they would have no problems passing as human. Luckily, everyone I knew was part of the larger percentage.

When I was satisfied with the lack of physical differences, I picked up my guitar case and made my way through the middle-class apartment building and out into the street.

The walk to my car was relatively quiet and calm for the first time since before two years ago, before my band became one the most popular bands to ever hit Kyoonyt, if not the most popular. That’s no lie or exaggeration: we have the record sales and sold-out concerts from as far away as the Kyoonyt cities in Poland to prove it.

At the club, I could barely make my way through the parking lot to the back where the band members were supposed to park. There had to be at least a hundred people outside the club, whose capacity was about double that. I got a strange sense of fantasy as I drove past, as I always did whenever I saw that many people waiting for us to play. Which was often, mostly on a much, much larger scale.