"Sir, this is the list of individuals I compiled. Potential candidates we can try inviting to our university," a calm, soft-spoken voice echoed in the cluttered office of Ragnarok's representative. It belonged to a young boy—sixteen at most—his demeanor unnervingly composed as he stood holding out a sheet of paper.
He wore a white blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes. Nathan—born without the gift of sight—yet moved as though the world lay clearly mapped before him. His steps were sure, unhesitant. Though he lived in darkness, he maneuvered like one who could see everything.
Across from him sat a large, disheveled man slouched in a battered leather chair, puffing lazily at a half-burnt cigar. His grizzly beard was unkempt, hair even worse—untamed, sprouting wildly in every direction.
