In the endless expanse of years, I've roamed this world, a wanderer ensnared in perpetual darkness, relentlessly seeking the elusive remedy to my sightless existence. In search for a cure to the shadows that cling to me like an unyielding shroud. As I tread through the tapestry of time, I can't escape the haunting question – is this affliction the penance for the souls I've callously ensnared in my past?
The echoes of my merciless actions reverberate through the corridors of my conscience, and I'm left to wonder whether the abyss that envelopes me is a retribution, a manifestation of the sins that were committed by my once-mortal soul.
Perhaps it's the cruel irony of my remembrance, a cruel gift that grants me vivid recollections of a life I've lived before being born again. A life where vision wasn't a hollow chamber, but a vibrant spectrum of colours dancing in the sun's warm embrace.
For the past twenty-four years, I've navigated the world in darkness, accepting the pity and enduring the disgust directed at the horror my eyes seem to evoke. In the eyes of others, I become a spectre, akin to the monsters whispered about—sinister entities that devour everything in their sight.
The ribbon I wore, concealing them, wasn't a choice I made out of desire but a necessity to shroud the horror dwelling within the hollows behind those ribbons.
Though my lack of vision didn't entirely cut me off from my surroundings, I could sense the souls of the living around me. Their emotions and intentions were laid bare, an intricate tapestry of feelings woven into the fabric of my awareness.
A locomotive of mechanical engineering prowess pulled into the station, billowing pure white steam into the air. The resonating clang of compressed steam escaping from the iron beast echoed through the surroundings.
Passengers waiting at the station boarded the train, one by one. Observing the scene, I took a deep breath before stepping onto the platform and boarding the train.
I recalled the number of my chamber number, but navigating the expansive train on my own proved to be a challenge.
"Welcome aboard to the Gilded Express, Sir!" A soothing, feminine voice reached my ears as I stepped onto the train.
"Good morning, Miss. Would you be so kind as to guide me to my place?" I fiddled inside my coat's pocket and extended a small paper slip – my ticket to the train.
"Of course, Sir. Please follow me," she replied, leading me through the aisle. Her attentive guidance ensured there were no obstacles in my path. It struck me that this level of consideration wasn't entirely necessary, but I didn't mind.
People were either remarkably kind to me or inclined to outright ignore my presence.
"Here is your chamber, sir. If you need anything, just ring the bell on the table, and someone will be there to attend to your request," she said, guiding me into the chamber. Before leaving, she added, "Meals will be made available within an hour, sir. Enjoy your journey."
The resounding sound of sliding wooden gates echoed in the chamber as she departed. I placed my silver cane beside me and opened the windows of the train, inviting the fresh air inside. The atmosphere was slightly humid and cold, carrying a scent reminiscent of the moments before rainfall.
My journey was set for Silvermere, the distinguished capital of Aetheria—a nation renowned for its formidable military prowess and housing a multitude of highly-ranked mages and swordsmen acknowledged globally.
In the realm of Aetheria, these ranked individuals stood as the pinnacle of strength within their respective specializations. The rankings, ranging from 10 to number one, had remained unshaken for the past forty years. To challenge any of the top-ranked individuals, one had to undergo their rigorous trials, often involving contests against their formidable subordinates. Yet, no one had successfully navigated these challenges and surpassed the esteemed rankers.
Life proved to be a formidable challenge for common people across the world. The weight of nobility's suppression pressed heavily on the shoulders of the commoners. The hurdle, however, was not solely the dominion of the aristocracy; many commoners struggled to excel as magicians or swordsmen. The barriers were multifaceted—ranging from scarce resources to a bloodline that rendered their bodies incompatible with mana.
In stark contrast, nobles experienced a comparatively smoother journey. Even those holding the lowest hereditary title, a baron, enjoyed an abundance of resources. This enabled them and their offspring to pursue paths as mages, swordsmen, courtiers, and more, securing a life of relative ease and opportunity.
I closed my eyes as the train's horn echoed through the air, signalling the commencement of the journey to the city of Silvermere—the next chapter of my life. With each passing moment, I held onto the hope of finding the eyes I yearned for, a pursuit that would shape the narrative of my unfolding destiny.
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In the city of Hartsworth, within the walls of the Duke's Mansion, the elite security personnel of the highest military order, Deathraven, stepped into a scene of unspeakable horror. The mansion, usually a haven of opulence, now bore witness to a massacre that had claimed the lives of every soul within its walls. From servants and children to chefs, women, and the duke's own family—all were mercilessly slaughtered. Not a single guard or knight remained alive to defend them.
"This is horrendous... if news of this tragedy spreads, the entire kingdom will be plunged into turmoil," muttered one of the Deathraven members. The enormity of the atrocity left everyone present speechless, yet they managed to maintain their composure in the face of the grim reality unfolding before them.
"Seal the area immediately. We must buy time; news of this is bound to spread," commanded the captain of the Deathraven squad. His age, coupled with a domineering presence, emanated authority. His voice, hoarse and bold, held a power that demanded obedience.
"Who could be capable of killing the duke himself? Putting military powers aside, he was the second-ranked swordsman in the world," the lady beside the captain voiced her thoughts. She was the vice-captain of the Deathraven squad. Her words, while measured, conveyed a sense of disbelief and urgency.