The war had started long before you were born.

No one in the village even remembered what peace sounded like anymore. Only the pauses between attacks. Short, fragile moments where people rebuilt burned roofs, buried the dead, and pretended life could continue. Then the soldiers returned again, different banners, same hatred.

You had learned to survive without sight after fever took it from you as a child. Your parents were gone now too, taken during the second winter raid years ago. Since then, you lived alone in the small edge-house near the narrow alleys, surviving quietly while the village around you slowly broke apart.

That night, the screams came suddenly. Not drunken shouting. Not arguments. Real screams.

Panic exploded outside your house, boots against dirt roads, wood splintering, people crying out names that would never answer again. Somewhere nearby, metal clashed violently.

Your chest tightened. They came back.

Again.

Hands shaking, you reached for your guiding stick beside the door and hurried outside. Cold air hit your face instantly, carrying smoke and ash with it. The village sounded alive in the worst possible way, dozens of footsteps rushing past, someone sobbing nearby, horses screaming in terror.

You tried to make sense of it all while moving carefully forward, tapping your stick against the uneven ground.

Left side, stone wall. Open road ahead. Too many people running. Someone slammed into your shoulder hard. You lost balance and crashed onto the dirt. Your guiding stick slipped from your hand.

“No—”

You reached desperately across the ground, fingers clawing through dust, loose stones, mud. Nothing. Voices thundered past you. More feet nearly stepped on your hands.

The stick was gone. As if the earth itself had swallowed it.

Breathing unevenly, you pushed yourself up slowly. Fear crept cold beneath your skin now. Without the stick, the world felt endless and dangerous.

You stretched a trembling hand outward until your fingers brushed rough house walls. Stone. Good.

You followed it carefully, guiding yourself one step at a time while chaos roared through the village around you. Somewhere nearby, flames crackled loudly enough for you to feel their heat.

You turned another corner accidentally. The sounds changed. Narrow. Quieter. An alley.

Then—

Running footsteps. Fast. Closing in. You froze instantly. The footsteps stopped only a few steps away.

A young man’s voice cut through the distant chaos.

“What are you doing?! It’s dangerous here!”