See Blindly

A Warm Welcome - Part 1

"The loss of Frey threw me into a desperate search for your family, but every attempt proved fruitless. It seemed that everyone refused to listen to me. Despite this, I decided to raise you as my own daughter, waiting for the right moment to reveal the truth. You are Mey Sueno, the descendant of Frey Sueno. I never wanted to steal her place as your mother, but… I love you more than I can express in words. I'm sorry... Please, forgive me... forgive me..."

The air thickened with biting cold as Astri's words fueled Mey, fortifying her resolve and merging the Banshee's power with her own. An arcane symbol, hidden on her back, pulsed with a violent crimson glow. Her once fiery red hair had turned ghostly white, and Mey collapsed as the transformation took hold. When she awoke at dawn, she could feel everything around her—beyond human senses.

Years of imprisonment had dulled her body, but now her perception stretched far beyond the cell. She could see through the walls, sense the movement of the guards, hear the fluttering of birds outside. Her awareness spanned to the depths of the ocean, every tiny detail imprinted in her mind. But more than that, she felt the presence of her father.

He was just a few feet away, shackled in front of her for the past six years. His once-powerful frame was now reduced to skin and bone, a decaying reminder of the man he had once been. Forced into a vegetative state, he had been made to produce auors under Sigurd's cruel command. Every groan, every scream of pain from him had echoed through her mind all those years, but she couldn't bear to think about him now, not without breaking. She had pushed that pain deep inside her, and even now, with this newfound power coursing through her, she forced herself to focus on everything else but him.

When the maids arrived for her daily bath, they didn't bother to look at her directly—too disgusted by the scars and the torn, ravaged state of her body to meet her gaze. The bath, intended to prevent infections from the wounds inflicted over the years, was routine, but their distaste was palpable. The arcane symbol on her back remained hidden, unnoticed by them. To them, she was still the broken, fragile girl who needed pity, a body too ruined to even warrant a second glance. Their faces twisted in discomfort as they undressed her, unable to stomach the sight of her disfigured form.

But what they didn't realize was that Mey had changed. Beneath the thin veil of weakness lay something fierce, something dark and powerful, waiting to strike.

As they prepared the bath, turning their backs to her for a moment, Mey moved with the speed of a ghost. Her body twisted unnaturally, slipping off the bench in complete silence. One maid barely had time to react as Mey's hand shot out, fingers like iron, crushing the maid's windpipe in a single, brutal motion. The sickening crunch of cartilage and bone snapping filled the air, but no scream escaped the maid's lips. Mey squeezed tighter, her fingers sinking deeper until she felt the woman's neck collapse entirely.

The second maid turned just in time to see the first fall, her eyes widening in shock. But before she could even part her lips to shout, Mey lunged at her, a flash of white hair and pale skin, moving with the deadly grace of a predator. She struck fast, delivering a blow that crushed the maid's sternum. The sound of bones shattering under her fist was sharp, brutal. Mey's other hand followed swiftly, slashing through the maid's ribs, her fingers piercing through flesh and muscle until they reached the fragile heart beneath.

The maid's eyes went wide with terror, but Mey was merciless. With a final twist of her hand, she ended the woman's life before any sound could escape. Blood poured out in thick, dark streams, pooling around her feet, but her heart remained as cold as the air that surrounded her.

The room, now filled with the coppery scent of blood and death, was silent. The maids had treated her like a helpless burden for years, but in less than a minute, they were dead at her feet. There was no hesitation, no remorse. She had waited long enough.

Wiping her hands clean on the apron of one of the dead maids, Mey turned her attention to the clothes waiting for her. They were the usual set, prepared as part of her daily routine. The fabric was wrinkled, worn, and slightly torn in places, a reflection of how little care had been put into maintaining her appearance over the years. She dressed quickly, pulling on the old, ill-fitting garments. The fabric clung awkwardly to her skin, uncomfortable and stiff, but none of that mattered now.

As she stepped into the corridor, Mey moved with the same deadly precision, her senses heightened, anticipating every guard's move before they even made it. She was invisible to them, not by magic, but by sheer control of her newfound abilities. They didn't even glance her way, unaware of the storm of violence that had just erupted behind her.

Her steps were silent, her heart steady—not with fear, but with purpose. She could feel the guards' unease, the subtle shift in their movements, their racing hearts. They were completely oblivious to the predator walking amongst them. Her mind tapped into their thoughts, sensing every moment of hesitation, every glance. She was a ghost in the castle's halls, unseen and unstoppable.

Mey moved deeper into the dungeon, her breath quickening. There he was—Ivar Hell, her father, a hollowed-out shell, his body suspended from chains like a forgotten relic. His chest rose and fell in jagged, uneven breaths, each one clawing at her mind. For six years, she had felt his agony—every rasping inhale a silent scream for release.

Ivar had once been strong, full of life, a man who had loved Astri. But now, his body was kept alive by Sigurd's cruelty, barely human, broken beyond recognition. Mey couldn't see him, but she didn't need to. She felt him. His suffering throbbed in her head, a relentless pulse of pain.

She stood frozen, her heart pounding, each second dragging like an eternity. She couldn't let him live like this. Not anymore.

Her hands shook as she tore a strip from her cloak. No time for hesitation. Every breath from his chest was a knife twisting inside her. She stepped forward, each footfall leaden, and pressed the cloth to his face. His body jerked—a weak, instinctive struggle. There was no fight left, only the dying reflexes of a man who had already endured too much.

His breaths grew fainter. Mey clenched her jaw, her own breath tight and shallow, as she felt the last ragged inhales stutter, then stop. Silence. A silence so crushing it was deafening, swallowing the world whole. Ivar Hell was gone.

Her lips brushed his cold forehead—no warmth, no comfort. The grief that ripped through her was too raw to cry, her body numb with sorrow. But she couldn't stop. She had to move. With a final, trembling touch to his limp hand, she turned away, choking down the grief threatening to paralyze her.

Into the shadows, she melted, her movements quick and deliberate. There was no room for hesitation now. Sigurd wasn't in the city, but the guards were—arrogant, oblivious, their thoughts clouded. She could feel their presence, like a cold hand gripping her spine. She had to escape, had to survive.

Then, a familiar, sickening sensation crawled over her skin. The jailer. The one who had tortured her whenever he could. His presence was unmistakable. He had reveled in her pain, wielding whips, pliers, and methods so vile that even demons would recoil. The c***k of the whip, the burn of his tools—they haunted her every step, a constant reminder of the cruelty she had endured.

His shadow lingered in the corridor, oblivious to her, just another moment in his wretched routine. Hatred surged through her veins, every fiber of her being screaming for revenge. But she forced herself to stay calm, to move past him. Not now. She needed control. She needed to survive.

When Mey reached the courtyard, the sunlight hit her like a whip, burning her pale skin. It seared through her senses, but she pushed past the shock. There was no time for weakness.

She sprinted through the forest, her body moving on pure instinct. She couldn't stop, not even for a second, or the weight of her father's death would drag her under. She ran, her breath sharp, heart pounding, every step a fight for survival.

But that was five years ago.

After a long moment of reflection, Mey allows her thoughts to return to the forest where the boy who discovered her asks a question:

"You knew I was hiding, and now it seems like you know what I'm thinking, that's amazing! Let's test it: What am I thinking now?" the child asks, looking at Mey as if they were playing a game.

A slight smile appears on Mey's lips as she responds, "You're thinking about the warm bread your brother was baking before you left home, aren't you, Caelan?"

"That's incredible! How did you know my name… can I learn to do that too?" the child asks, his eyes full of curiosity.

"Maybe not exactly like me, but you can learn many wonderful things."

"And I will learn! By the way, what's your name?"

"My name is Mey Hell."

Mey and Caelan stood in silence for a moment, the wind from the forest whispering through the leaves around them. The boy's curious expression remained fixed on Mey, though he hesitated slightly, as if waiting for something more. But when the stillness of the night fully surrounded them, he finally spoke, his voice brimming with the boundless energy of a child.

"You need to come with me now," he said, jumping up eagerly. "My brother, Drystan, is making bread! It's almost out of the oven, warm and fresh. And he'll be so happy to meet you."

Caelan's excitement was contagious. Even though the weight of her past still hung heavily on her, something about this simple, human moment — the innocent invitation to share in something so ordinary — felt oddly comforting. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and tragedy she had endured in the years gone by.

"You'll love the bread he makes," Caelan continued, as if revealing some great secret treasure. "And he makes a soup that's too good! You have to try it."

Mey rose slowly, her boots pressing into the cool earth beneath her. Though she couldn't see in the conventional sense, her heightened senses told her everything she needed to know about her surroundings. The air was crisp, the distant hum of the forest lingered at the edge of her awareness, and Caelan's excited movements were unmistakable as he turned and bounded ahead, glancing back to make sure she was following.

"Come on, Mey!" he called out, his small form bouncing along the path.

They left the forest behind, ascending the green hills that stretched before them like a sea of grass. The sky above was a deep, endless blue, and the clouds, so white and pure, looked as if they had been painted into the sky. The wind rippled through the tall grass in gentle waves, and as they climbed higher, the landscape unfolded before them. A shimmering lake glistened in the distance, and small animals darted across the fields.

"Look! Our house is right at the top," Caelan pointed out, his energy never fading. "Drystan always says that no matter how hard the wind blows, our house is the strongest thing on the hill. It might look a little crooked, but it's way tougher than it looks."

From afar, Mey sensed the structure. It was peculiar, large enough for two people to live comfortably, with uneven walls and a roof that slanted at an odd angle, as if hastily constructed. Yet, there was something warm and welcoming about it, like a place that had been built with love and care, waiting for their arrival.

"Drystan built it with his own hands," Caelan said proudly. "He's a bit weird with how he does things, but he put his whole heart into this house. You'll see, it's a special place."

As they neared the house, the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped reached Mey's ears. Drystan, around 23 years old, with broad shoulders and strong arms, was hard at work. His sweat-drenched face bore old scars, his hair tied back in a ponytail, and the muscles in his arms and back spoke of years of labor. There was a calmness in the way he moved, as if the act of chopping wood was as natural to him as breathing.

Caelan, without hesitation, ran ahead. "Drystan! We have a visitor!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the open field.

Drystan paused and turned in their direction. Although Mey could not "see" him as others might, her senses told her enough. His gaze was intense, and for a moment, everything around them seemed to grow quieter, as if the wind and the sounds of nature had stopped to witness their meeting.

Mey approached Drystan with measured steps, her commanding presence filling the space. Her voice, deep and naturally captivating, was calm but firm as she spoke: "Sorry to bother you... Caelan practically dragged me here."

Drystan, caught off guard, couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by her presence. Though she lacked the eyes most would expect, her beauty was undeniable. His heart raced, nervousness overcoming him, and when he tried to speak, his words stumbled awkwardly, "Ah... I... uh... nice... to meet you." He could barely hold himself together, his embarrassment clear on his face.

Caelan, full of energy as always, spun around them, laughing loudly. "She has superpowers, you know? Superpowers! She can read minds and do all sorts of amazing things!" The boy kept chattering away, circling Drystan and completely ignoring his brother's awkwardness.

Drystan, however, couldn't take his focus off Mey. His heart beat faster than he cared to admit, and Mey could clearly feel the warmth radiating from him. Years of interacting with humans had shown her a wide range of reactions — fear, disgust, distrust — but this one was different. There was no revulsion in his eyes, only a shy confusion and what seemed like admiration.

"Please... why don't you come inside?" Drystan finally managed to say, his voice a mix of nervousness and politeness. "The house is simple, but... it's open to you."

Drystan quickly grabbed a towel and began wiping himself down in a clumsy attempt to make himself presentable. After hours of hard work, he was well aware that he wasn't at his best, and in a hurried effort to freshen up, he applied some shaving lotion under his arms, trying to mask the sweat and odor. His movements were uncoordinated and anxious, revealing just how flustered he felt around Mey.

Inside the house, Mey's senses picked up every detail with precision. She could "see" Drystan's every fumble as clearly as if she had eyes. Each awkward gesture was obvious to her, from the way he checked his scent to his hurried attempts at grooming himself. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, amused by his clumsy yet charming effort to impress her.

The house itself felt welcoming. The vibrant colors — green, blue, pink, yellow — were clearly chosen by Caelan, bringing life to every corner. Though the walls were imperfect, they had a unique charm, each stroke of paint revealing the effort and creativity of Drystan.

Candles were scattered around, casting a soft, inviting glow. Plants added freshness to the space, and the handmade furniture, though slightly awkward in design, was incredibly comfortable. The couch, adorned with colorful cushions, seemed to beg for someone to sink into its softness. The beds, covered in bright quilts, radiated an irresistible coziness.

In one corner of the room, a giant, handmade teddy bear added a playful, almost childlike touch. The place felt like something out of a dream — full of imperfections but brimming with warmth and human effort. Shelves were filled with books and small wooden sculptures, crafted with care, though lacking the precision of a professional.

Despite its simplicity, the place exuded comfort and peace. In the midst of this colorful, charming chaos, Mey felt something rare: a desire to stay, to lose herself in a home built from hard work, affection, and creativity.

Drystan made his way toward the kitchen, where the chaos was evident. Utensils were scattered, ingredients out of place, but what dominated the atmosphere was the irresistible smell of soup and freshly baked bread, just out of the wood-fired oven. Even Mey, with her usually impeccable composure, felt her mouth water ever so slightly. The aroma filled the air in an almost magical way.

"Caelan, come here! Time to set the table!" Drystan called.

Caelan ran over excitedly and began arranging plates, cutlery, and cups for three. He did it with a mischievous grin, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Despite his playful manner, the setup was perfect, and soon the table was ready.

As everything was set, Caelan began banging his utensils on the table, eagerly. "I'm hungry! Let's eat already!" he laughed, barely able to contain his excitement.

Drystan finally brought the food, placing the warm, homemade bread in the center of the table. Steam rose from the loaf, filling the air with the comforting smell of wheat and warmth. He then placed a large bowl of soup on the table, the scent so inviting that it seemed to wrap them all in a sense of home.

As Drystan arranged the table, he accidentally knocked over a jug of grape juice. Before either he or Caelan could even register what had happened, Mey, in an almost imperceptible motion, caught it mid-air and placed it back on the table with ease.

"Thanks for the help," Drystan muttered absentmindedly, unaware that the jug had nearly fallen. Mey smiled faintly, saying nothing.

Caelan, ever energetic, grabbed a ladle and began serving everyone, carefully ensuring that he didn't spill anything. "Here you go, Mey! And for you, Drystan!" He beamed, proud of his contribution. "Thanks for the food!" he added cheerfully.

Mey, accustomed to far different forms of interaction, followed his lead. "Yes, thank you for the meal," she said, her voice soft and serene.

Drystan sat down at the table, watching the scene for a moment, a light curiosity flickering in his eyes. "So, Mey," he began, stirring his soup thoughtfully, "we've been isolated on this hill for years. Nobody ever comes around. Caelan's never left, and he's never met anyone but me." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "What brought you here? Not that I'm complaining... you seem kind, so I wasn't worried about Caelan."

Caelan, with his mouth full of bread, nodded enthusiastically, not fully grasping the depth of his brother's question, but happy to have someone new around.

Mey allowed a slight smile to touch her lips. "I'm headed to the Apprentice's Camp in southeast Prisma," she said, her tone casual.

"The Apprentice's Camp?" Drystan asked, his curiosity growing. "So, you're going to become an adventurer?"

Mey let out a small laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Not quite. I was invited by a friend to teach there. I'll be giving a few lessons."

Drystan raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Teaching at the Apprentice's Camp? That's... wow. I've heard people from all over the world go there to learn how to fight, use magic, and become experts."

Caelan, who had been listening intently, frowned. "What's the Apprentice's Camp? Drystan never lets me leave here," he said, glancing at his brother with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "He says there are dangerous people out there, and he only trains me with wooden swords... but what's he protecting me from? I've never seen anyone, and you're the first person I've ever met."

Drystan sighed deeply at his brother's words. "I just want to protect you, Caelan. The world out there can be... complicated."

Mey directed a gentle gaze toward Caelan, her voice calm. "The Apprentice's Camp is a place where people go to learn and train in different skills, like sword fighting and archery. They also study the beasts that grant humans powers, the Arcan."

Caelan blinked, processing Mey's explanation. "So you're going to teach people how to fight?"

Mey smiled again, shaking her head. "No, I'll be teaching other things..."

Drystan, still observing the conversation, was clearly impressed. "You must be very respected to be invited to teach there. I've always heard that the masters at the Apprentice's Camp are the best in the world. You must be... pretty powerful."

Mey maintained her soft smile. "It's a place where learning never stops, both for students and teachers. There's always something new to discover." She turned to Caelan, who still looked intrigued. "And who knows, maybe one day you'll go there too, if you'd like."

Caelan looked thoughtful for a moment, but soon returned to his usual energy. "That would be cool! But Drystan never lets me go anywhere," he said with a playful tone, causing Drystan to let out a nervous laugh.

Through the window, the full moon dipped on the horizon, its soft light illuminating the inside of the house as laughter echoed within. In the reflection of the glass, the scene seemed to come to life, as if a camera was slowly pulling away, revealing the cozy interior where Drystan, Mey, and Caelan shared a meal in relaxed companionship. The warmth of the soup and the aroma of the bread still lingered in the air, as the three laughed together like old friends.

Time passed, and the scene shifted. Now, Caelan was fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in blankets, while Mey and Drystan remained seated at the table, their conversation continuing in softer tones.

Drystan, without meaning to, let his gaze wander. His eyes fell on Mey's arms, where the tight-fitting clothing revealed scars that stretched across her skin. He noticed that beneath her clothing, there were likely many more hidden. As she shifted slightly in her seat, other discreet scars became visible, suggesting that her body bore countless marks. Curiosity stirred within him, and for a moment, he considered asking her about them but hesitated.

Before he could make up his mind, Mey broke the silence with her calm, firm voice: "Don't worry. My scars don't hurt anymore." She adjusted the choker around her neck as she continued. "I have many all over my body, and my clothes hide most of them. Sometimes, they slip out, like now." A small smile tugged at her lips. "I wear this choker to keep people from seeing them. Caelan noticed a few earlier when we were in the forest. He's a very kind boy."

Drystan was slightly taken aback, but slowly, everything started to make sense. He remembered the moment Caelan had been shouting about Mey having "superpowers." While it had been a mystery to the boy, Drystan had met people with powers during his occasional trips to town. He looked at Mey with understanding, realizing there was far more to her than she let on. "You don't try to hide anything, do you?" he asked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Mey let out a soft laugh, her sightless face somehow appearing even more serene. "It's more of a curse than a power, sometimes," she admitted, her voice sincere. "I don't want to read people's thoughts... but sometimes it happens without me trying."

Drystan shifted slightly in his chair, feeling momentarily exposed, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. "I guess there's not much you can do about that," he commented, accepting the strangeness of the situation.

Mey, changing the subject, stood up gracefully. "I need a pair of scissors," she said, running her hands through her hair. "I want to cut it a bit."

Drystan, always helpful, went to a small cabinet and brought out a towel, a pair of scissors, and a hand mirror. He handed them to Mey, who walked toward the mirror to begin cutting her hair. As she moved, Drystan noticed something on her back — a red, glowing mark that resembled a tattoo. The glow seemed to intensify subtly every time he thought about something. He quickly pieced it together — this was her "Arcan," the source of her powers. Each time she read his thoughts, the mark brightened. He also remembered hearing rumors in town: if the Arcan was covered, her powers would be diminished.

Curious but cautious, Drystan asked, almost without thinking, "What happens if your Arcan is covered?"

Mey, without hesitation, responded as she continued to cut her hair. "I perceive less. Not that I 'see' in the usual sense, because, well... I don't have eyes," she chuckled briefly. "But I sense less. I can't pick up thoughts as clearly, and my awareness of what's around me also weakens."

Drystan nodded, absorbing her response. He refrained from asking more questions, not wanting to invade her space any further. He was grateful that she had shared so much but knew that he had already taken enough from her for one night. All he wanted was for Mey to have a moment of peace.

Mey, clearly aware of Drystan's kindness, finished cutting her hair. Her fingers smoothed the now-shorter strands, which fell just above her neck but still below her chin. The shorter style accentuated her beauty in an unexpected way. As she turned, the red Arcan on her back glowed more prominently, the pulsing mark appearing even stronger under the soft light of the house. The leather choker around her neck highlighted her poised stance, while her scars told silent stories.

Drystan, watching her, smiled slightly. "You can stay here tonight, you know? You don't have to camp outside or anything."

Mey faced him, appreciating the offer, as Drystan stood up. He walked over to Caelan, who was still sound asleep on the couch, and gently lifted him in his arms. "You can take my bed," he said, carrying his brother to the bedroom. "I'll sleep on the couch."

With one last glance at Mey, Drystan wished her a good night and carried Caelan to the room, laying him down on the bed. He tucked the blankets around the boy and returned to the living room, settling onto the couch, ready to finally rest as the quiet night enveloped them.

Mey woke slowly, her senses reaching out to the world around her. The ceiling was adorned with drawings and memories, clearly made by Caelan and Drystan. Childish scribbles and personal marks filled the space, giving it a unique and cozy touch. The smell coming from the bed, a mix of wood and sweat, brought Drystan to her mind. Something about the scent made her think of him in a way she hadn't expected.

She stood and, approaching the window, sensed Drystan training Caelan in the field with two wooden swords. Their dedication was evident. Drystan, though not a professional, performed the movements with firmness, and Caelan, despite his small size, showed impressive intensity. His strikes were quick and precise, and his feet were always well-grounded, absorbing every bit of Drystan's teachings.

As Mey focused on their movements, the Arcan on her back began to glow more intensely. She noticed something special about Caelan. The way he held the sword, the speed at which he moved, and his natural ability to adjust his footing with precision were all signs of raw talent. Though still young, he was already able to make Drystan retreat, even though he was half his brother's size. In that moment, Mey knew that with the right training, Caelan could become an incredibly strong swordsman. His work chopping wood had developed his strength and reflexes, making him naturally agile and powerful.

Suddenly, something in the distance caught her attention. She heightened her Arcan's power and sensed a presence at the edge of her perception. About nine kilometers away, at the edge of the forest, three horsemen were approaching. They weren't threatening — merely guards from Prisma, passing through. Mey quickly assessed them: they carried swords and common supplies like food and papers. There was no malice in their intentions, but at that distance, she couldn't read their thoughts clearly. She decided to wait until they drew closer before deciding whether to alert Drystan or take action.

After dressing and gathering her thoughts, Mey walked over to a basin of water and pulled a simple toothbrush from her bag. Keeping clean, after years in rough environments, was a necessity she had learned to value deeply.

When she stepped outside, she turned her attention back to the training session in the field. Drystan and Caelan were still focused on their strikes and parries. Mey approached slowly.

"May I join?" she asked, her voice calm yet firm.

Caelan, always full of energy, beamed from ear to ear. "Yes! I want to see you fight! Bring it on!"

Mey laughed softly and shook her head. "Not against you, Caelan... against Drystan."

Drystan raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised but intrigued. "Me?"

Caelan burst into laughter, jumping up and down with excitement. "Crush him, Mey! Destroy him!"

Mey picked up the wooden sword that Caelan had tossed to her, smiling slightly. "I'm not very good with swords," she said in her soft voice, "but we can try."

"LET'S GOOO!" Caelan yelled, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.