Chapter One:
Shinva's feet screamed in pain as he dragged them with all his might. It had been nearly seven months since he had set out on his journey, his eternally dark world having made the trip significantly more difficult. He carefully stepped, using a sturdy wooden staff he carried to check for any uneven ground or turns in the road.
He never thought he would appreciate the Thalassas Republic as much as he now did. The country was dedicated to the art of travel, building massive roadways that were expertly maintained. After having traveled through the wilderness roads of the Zhaoyun Empire for over three months, he found himself thanking the Twin Goddesses for the more advanced roadways provided by the Republic.
Being blind made travel far more difficult than he had anticipated. Cripples were often associated with bad luck resulting in caravans having refused to provide him with passage. The few traders that offered him passage had attempted to charge him an exorbitant price for their services. Being left with no other options, the young man had decided to make the journey by foot, daring to sleep and live in the wilderness with no more protection than just his staff.
It had been arduous, but now he finally found himself only a few days from the city where he could revive himself from this state of weariness and isolation, guided not by sight but by the symphony of sounds, the warmth of the sun on his skin, and the rhythmic pulse of footsteps on the pavement.
Shinva had traveled southwest for countless days to reach his destination. Just to the southwest of the Thalassas Republic lies the Independent City of Eridessa, home to the Thassian Archives. It was one of the few nations in the world that was truly independent of any major power. It also happened to be the only nation in the world that allowed people to access information related to Atherik Sorcery without being taken in by a master of the art or by being born into a family that practiced the art.
As Shinva continued down the path, he could feel the heat of the sun fading as it began to set, night would soon be arriving. He often chose to travel through parts of the night, as he was less likely to run into any other caravans or other people. White traveling he had learned that many caravans did not care if a cripple was blocking their path and would continue past him without making any effort to avoid him. This had resulted in the overhanging base of a wagon crashing into his lower back, sending Shinva sprawling into the dirt.
Despite his preference to continue through the night, he was growing weary. He had pushed himself too hard the previous night hoping to have reached the city of Thanasis by nightfall. Unfortunately, it seemed that his pace had been slower than he had expected. The city would still be a good four hours or so away.
Shinva continued brushing his staff in front of him as he whipped sweat away from his head. He was above average height for a human, being a bit on the tall side for his brothers and sisters in the Zhaoyun Empire. He inherited his above-average height from one of his parents, whom he had never met. Despite being an orphan, he knew he was half Zhao and half Vinerian. His native people were all slightly shorter than the average human with thick black hair, soft yellow-golden skin, and dark eyes that were narrower than average.
Shinva was half a head taller than usual for his people, and while he possessed the same black hair, his skin was far paler and his eyes were bright green. During his military days, he had been clean-shaven and his hair tied back neatly in an imperialistic style bun. These days he did not look much like his former self.
He wondered exactly how ragged he appeared. It had been thirteen days since he had last been able to wash himself at a bathhouse and many months since he had been able to shave his face and cut his hair. He could feel the oily moplike strands of his hair sprawling about and with every step the dust and dirt that coated his white robes rubbed against his skin irritatingly.
Sweat and dust caked over most of his skin, and he desperately wished he could wash the white cloth he wrapped around his head to hide his eyes, which had been slashed through by a blade. He was not ashamed of his scars, but light irritated them in a way that drove him crazy, hence the cloth. He almost considered removing it now though, as it had become so dirty that it too brought his eyes much discomfort. However he decided against it, as it would be night soon, and he could remove it then.
As he walked, he began to hear the bustling sound of people in the distance. Shinva continued to follow the road, heading towards the sound as the sunlight finally faded behind the horizon. The further down the road he traveled, the closer he drew to the sound of other people. Most likely it was a trade caravan that had decided to set up camp for the night. More than likely it used people-drawn wagons, as ones pulled by durnak would be fast enough and hardy enough to make resting pointless this far from the city.
Shinva had planned to stop soon, so he hoped that the group would be kind enough to allow him to camp together with them. While he had experienced the worst of people, he had also met some kind souls who had assisted him during his travels. They had never helped in any way that could inconvenience themselves, but some people, typically those from Zhaoyun, would allow him to rest in their camp.
Those from Zhaoyun would recognize his white robes and his plaque of identification and would take pity on him. At first, Shinva had rejected the offers of assistance, but he had long since abandoned that useless pride of his. The traditional white robes he wore and his identification plaque marked him as a disabled veteran of the Zhaoyun military.
Zhaoyun law mandated that disabled veterans always wear these means of identification and for all establishments within the empire to grant these people free services within bathhouses and other basic amenities.
Shinva approached the sound, reaching the group within the next hour of travel. As he neared the camp, he could hear the shouts and jeers that typically followed the people of Vinterholm. Typically traders from Vinterholm traveled exclusively by boat when coming this far south, as they were even further north than the Zhaoyun Empire. To find them traveling by land would be absurd as the travel costs would negate any potential profit.
As Shinva neared, he could hear them to the right of the road. He had made good time thanks to the phenomenal quality of the road. He hadn't run into any of the usual potholes or overgrowth that typically stalled his progress. The smell of cooked meat and beer danced in the air causing him to salivate against his will.
Even when he managed to spend time in a city he had forced himself to scrimp on food, buying the cheapest rations he could afford, stuffing his pack with the awful food. He had done well in saving his compensation from the army thanks to this, but it left him craving the smells that teased him.
As he approached he heard the voice of a man bark out in Aven, the common language of the continent, "Oi! Hold it there fella. Who are ya and where ya comin' from?"
The man's voice was deep and he had a thick Vinter accent. Judging by the tone of the voice and the commanding charisma it carried, Shinva could recognize the man to be a veteran soldier.
Shinva replied in the same language, his accent also displaying his lack of mastery, "My name is Shinva, I am traveling to the Independent City of Eridessa. I have been on the road for some time and would appreciate it if I could join your camp for the night."
He stood, his mind only seeing infinite darkness beyond as he waited for an answer from his invisible watchman.
"You're one of em wounded veterans from Zhao ain't ya." The man asked.
Shinva nodded, reaching into the pocket on the inside of his white robe. He pulled out a wooden plaque, producing it for the man. The plaque was a small rectangular slab of wood with two tiny gemstones embedded into it, one on each side. Shinva pressed his thumb against the smooth gemstone which he knew to be a shard-colored obsidian black.
Despite being unable to see, he knew that the gemstone closer to the watchman was now gently glowing a soft green color. Veteran plaques were a type of magical device that could read a person's fingerprint. If it was the person who had been assigned the plaque, the second gemstone would glow a light green. These devices were extremely simplistic Ather tools that were cheap and easy to make. Every nation used these tools as forms of identification, often being customized for whatever needs arise.
"Yes sir. Blinded by a slash across my eyes." Shinva confirmed, using a formal address in hopes that it would curry favor with the man. He couldn't help but feel nervous. Sleeping in a camp like this was a rare luxury as it provided a fire for warmth. His thin blanket and poorly woven mat simply made sleeping bearable, but during the night the temperature would plummet. He had already grown sick once, he would hate to do so again right before his final stretch of the journey.
"Hm. I'll see what da boss says." He stated before turning behind him to address another figure whom Shinva hadn't noticed due to his lack of interaction.
The watchman spoke in his native Vinter to the other man who replied in the same language. Shinva had never learned any Vinter except a few curses he had learned from a mercenary soldier whom he had fought alongside once.
After the brief exchange, Shinva could hear the footsteps of the watchman heading back towards the camp. Shinva stood, waiting for the man's return when the other man spoke.
"How long did ya serve?" He asked in Aven. His accent was better than the other watchman's and his voice was deeper with a gruff tone. If he were to guess from voice alone, Shinva would imagine that this man was several years the others senior.
"Four years. I joined the Zhaoyun army when I was sixteen." He shared openly. He had to admit he often missed talking with others during his journey. It was a very different experience from the life he had lived in the army when he was surrounded by comrades.
"I served for seven years in Vinterholm my motherland, been retired for three years now, still can't adapt to the normal life. What's your name boy?" He asked.
"Shinva. But did you not hear my introduction?" He asked curiously.
"I prefer introductions to be intentional." The gruff-voiced man replied. He then paused for a moment before introducing himself. "My name is Harolt Hurnnson. Tis nice to meet another military man."
Shinva had to admit he felt the same. There was something about being around others who understood what it was like to live in an army and to fight on the battlefield that was comforting. Even if they were from a different nation, they still understood.
"Do you not travel with other soldiers?" He asked curiously.
The man shook his head, "No, tis a bunch of men who worked reserves. The merchant is a newer company. They can not afford a full guard of proper soldiers. My friend and myself are the only true soldiers in de group. Well, apart from de commander that is. He is a good warrior."
The two men chatted for the following few minutes, mostly small talk until the first watchman, whom Shinva learned was named Lanen Kestrof. Shinva quite liked Harolt, he was a friendly enough fellow.
Lanen walked over before gesturing at Shinva. He went to speak before pausing and glaring at Harolt as if daring him to say a word to reveal what he had just done. "Eh hem, Da commander has approved your entry into de camp. Cause any trouble, and I be forced to kick you out. You may sleep by fire, use wash buckets, and eat a single bowl of food. Do not ask for more, it will not be provided."
Shinva couldn't help but grin. Even just being allowed to sleep by the fire was already a great boon, getting access to the wash bucket was expected due to how dirt-covered he was, but the food? The food was a wonderful gift.
He couldn't help but bow his head, clasping his right fist into the open palm of his left hand in a traditional salute. "Thank you for your kindness." He formally thanked the man.
Harolt smirked before saying in a hearty voice, "Ha! Lanon is a good man. He seems cold, but inside he es soft. Like a woman!"
While Shinva could not see the look on Lanon's face, he could imagine as he heard Lanon let off a string of curses in Vinter. These only caused a much louder and even more mirthful laugh to erupt from Harolt.
"Come Shinva, I show you the camp," Harolt said, still chuckling at his friend.
True to his word, there had been a sleeping mat prepared by the fire for Shinva. The camp itself was relatively small for a caravan being only around forty-five people, thirty of which were mercenaries.
During his tour, Harolt took extra care to describe the camp to Shinva, who appreciated the man's effort. It was rare to find people who did not mind being around a cripple, and even more so to find a man that was so openly friendly and good-natured. Shinva would not turn away such kindness.
The tour lasted only a few minutes and he was shown to the wash buckets. "Er. Do you…" Harolt said awkwardly. However, Shinva cut him off.
"Thank you for your help Harolt. I will see you in camp tonight?" He asked, confirming that he needed no assistance in cleaning himself.
"Yes. I will come find you in an hour or so, Our shit, it tis almost done." The man confirmed before leaving the tent that kept the buckets.
Shinva kneeled before the bucket he had been shown and slid his pack from his shoulders, letting it rest on the ground beside him. He then reached forward feeling for the bucket. Finding the rough wood, he dipped his hands inside to find warmed water mixed with a little soap. Searching for only a second, he found a cloth that he could use to clean his body.
Drawing the cloth from the bucket, he reached up and loosened his robes, allowing them to fall to the ground around him. When he was done, he would wash it with the remaining water to rid it of the dirt and dust.
Dropping to the ground, the robes revealed a trained and muscular body that had more than a few scars. The skin that was caked in dust and dirt was red with irritation and would be sensitive for a while.
Shiva then proceeded to untie his blindfold, revealing the scar that had crippled him. It had sliced cleanly through both of his eyes and through the cartilage at the top of his nose. Despite having healed for the past nine months, the scar was still red from irritation and still possessed the occasional scab which was currently oozing blood.
Before he washed himself, he cleaned his blindfold in the water, hanging it on a nearby hook to dry as he cleaned himself as he did not wish to make others uncomfortable with his scar, which he was aware to be quite unpleasant to view.
The warm water was soothing to his skin as he scrubbed every inch of his body, cleaning off the dirt and gunk that clung to him. He sighed in relief at the wonderful feeling of cleanliness. It had become so rare for him in the past months. He even scrubbed his head in the soapy waters managing to get rid of most of the oil that had been building up.
Even his beard which had begun to drive him mad was now thoroughly cleaned. Shinva paused, resting with his face covered in the soapy towel. For once, the darkness beyond his sight didn't bother him. Although he lied to himself, he knew that he also wore the mask for the same reason.
He hated the darkness that stole his vision. It felt so wrong to have his eyes uncovered yet to be unable to see. He missed colors, he missed shapes, and he even missed the ugly mugs of his comrades back in the army. How long would it be till he returned home? Till he returned to the army?
He knew the truth. Probably never. Even if he could afford the entrance fee to the Thassian Archives, he would still have to actively learn Atherik Sorcery, an art that was so difficult people spent their entire lives dedicated to its practice.
After a pause, he pulled the towel from his face and returned it to the bucket. He then cleaned his robes in the water, clearing those thoughts from his mind. No. He would not think like that. Just like before, he would put his everything into this, and he would succeed. He had to.
He finished washing his robes before wrapping himself in his blanket which he pulled from his back. He then used his staff to find his way over to the fire, having memorized the route he had been shown by Harolt, he managed to find it without much difficulty.
He tried his best to ignore the whispers from the others around the fire. He slowly made his way to the cot that had been laid out for him, and sat upon it, blanket wrapped around his waist.
He could feel their eyes on him as the sound of their hearty laughter had died down. He hated that. He managed to adjust his pack in a way that he could lay his robes on it so that they would be dried by the fire. Feeling the fire on his skin was wonderful, the pulsing heat helping to dry his skin and repel the cold that so desperately wanted to reach him.
He let himself melt into the fire as he waited for his robes to dry. It was a few minutes after that he heard the sound of someone approaching.
"Hello?" He asked in Aven, feeling unnerved by his lack of ability to recognize this person.
"Here's your food." A young masculine voice said as the sound of a wooden bowl against stone could be heard directly to Shinva's right. "You don't need me to feed it to you do you?" The same voice asked, a hint of scorn and annoyance in the tone.
Not everyone could be like Herolt and Lanen it seemed. The voice didn't have a Vinter accent or much of any accent. At best there were hints of an elvish accent. Judging from the man's haughty tone and near-perfect aven, Shinva guessed that he was a member of the merchant guild rather than one of the mercenary escorts.
"I do not require assistance." He responded, giving the man no reason to engage with him any further. Shinva waited to see if the merchant would engage further with him, but thankfully the man simply grunted before turning and walking away.
As the man left, Shinva could not stop himself from quickly reaching for the bowl and feeling the food inside. He recognized a large brundhog cutlet and a portion of curry rice porridge judging from the feel and smell. How long had it been since he had eaten brundhog? It was a very cheap meat as the animals reproduced at an incredible rate, but that did not mean that the taste was not up to par. The meat was extremely popular amongst those of both higher and lower status for its succulence and hearty flavor.
Shinva could not stop the literal watering of his mouth as he used his utensil to slice through the tender meat. Raising it to his lips, he bit into it. The flavor exploded within his mouth as his entire body relaxed from the pleasure. He wasted no time in devouring his entire bowl, scrapping around the edges to ensure that he did not miss a single bite.
He placed the bowl beside himself, smiling as he leaned back, enjoying a stomach full of a hot meal. He would have to repay the owner of this caravan. Despite his desperate attempts to save as much coin as he could, he could not overlook the kindness of the caravan owner.
As time passed he managed to dress himself back in his robes, the fire having quickly dried them. After this, he simply laid down, enjoying the warmth of the raging flame and the comfort of a decent-quality sleeping mat. With most of the dirt and dust cleaned away, he finally felt a little better, more like the soldier he had once been.
With his stomach full and his body clean, he could not resist the wave of exhaustion that washed over him. The moment he lay upon the mat, his head resting back comfortably on his pack which he used for a pillow, his consciousness was consumed, and sleep took him.