Arin had lived all his life in darkness. For as long as he could remember, the world had been nothing but sounds, scents, and textures beneath his fingertips. He could tell who was coming by the rhythm of their footsteps, or where the wind carried the smell of roasted bread from the baker's stall. His world was smaller than most, confined within what his senses could reach, yet somehow richer too. But tonight, everything was about to change.
The village of Liora was buzzing with tension. For weeks, people had whispered about raiders seen on the far side of the river, strangers who carried weapons of bone and iron, whose eyes glowed like coals in the night. The elders had postponed the summer festival because of the fear that gripped the people. And though Arin couldn't see the frowns etched on their faces, he could hear the unease in every hurried conversation and feel it in the stiff way they moved around him.
Arin didn't care much for the festival. He had never seen the lanterns strung across the square, nor the dancers weaving patterns of fire. But he loved the music. He loved how the drums shook the ground and the flutes curled in the air like threads of wind. Tonight, though, the music never came. Instead, he heard shouting, running, the clash of metal, and the sound of something burning.
"Arin!" It was his sister Leira, her hand grabbing his wrist tightly. "We have to go, now!"
Her breath was fast, her voice thin with fear. Arin let her pull him, stumbling over uneven ground as screams rose around them. He could smell smoke, sharp and bitter, and the tang of blood carried on the wind. The ground vibrated with heavy boots. Something whistled past his ear and cracked into wood.
"What's happening?" Arin shouted.
"Raiders," Leira gasped. "They've come!"
They pushed through the chaos. Arin's world spun with sound—swords clashing, mothers calling for children, the roar of fire eating through timber. He hated how helpless he felt. He had always been dependent, but now more than ever, he was a weight his sister had to drag along.
Then it happened.
A flash like lightning burst behind his blind eyes, but it did not fade. Instead, shapes burned into him—blurry at first, then sharpening. He staggered, clutching his head. For the first time, the darkness cracked. He saw faint outlines glowing in silver-blue light: his sister's figure outlined against the fire, the shapes of men running, sparks carried by the wind. His heart pounded so violently he thought it would break through his chest.
"Leira… I can see." His voice broke. "I can see you."
Leira pulled at him harder. "Not now! Run!"
But Arin couldn't move. He was transfixed. His sight wasn't like other people's. It wasn't daylight—it was like the world was painted in shifting lights and shadows of energy. He could see the pulse inside people, veins glowing faintly like rivers beneath the skin. He could see threads curling from them, weaving together, stretching out into the night like a great invisible web.
A raider appeared before them, taller than any man Arin had ever touched, his face marked with ash and his eyes glowing red. He raised a jagged blade. Leira screamed. But before the blow could fall, something inside Arin shifted. The threads he saw wrapped around the raider. With an instinct that wasn't his own, Arin pulled.
The raider's body seized. His blade fell short, clattering to the dirt. The man's glowing eyes dimmed, confusion etched into his face as though his own strength had betrayed him. Arin fell back, gasping, the vision fading for a moment before returning sharper than before.
Leira stared at him, eyes wide. "What did you do?"
"I… I don't know."
More raiders poured into the square. The villagers scattered. Arin and Leira ran. But even as they fled, Arin's new sight revealed things he could never have imagined: the energy of animals hiding in the grass, the glow of roots drinking water beneath the soil, the shimmering haze of heat rising from the burning houses. The world was alive in ways he had never dreamed.
Yet the power frightened him. The more he looked, the more the threads tangled, until he could feel them tugging at him, whispering, tempting him to pull again. It felt like a river rushing beneath thin ice—one crack, and he would be swept away.
When they finally stopped, hidden in the forest, Arin collapsed to his knees. His chest heaved, and his hands shook. Leira crouched beside him, holding his shoulders.
"Arin, talk to me. What happened back there?"
He struggled to form words. "I've never… seen before. But tonight—something changed. I don't just see light and shadow. I see… everything."
Leira's breath caught. She was silent for a long moment, then whispered, "The stories. The old ones talk about eyes that awaken in times of great danger. They say those who bear them are cursed—or chosen."
Arin lifted his head. In his new sight, even her fear glowed, a pale trembling light. "I don't want this," he said. "I just want to be me."
But deep inside, he knew he could never go back. The world had opened itself to him, and whether he wanted it or not, the threads were tied to him now. Somewhere in the distance, he could sense movement—not with his ears, not with his nose, but through the web itself. The raiders were regrouping. And beyond them, something darker stirred, something that watched through the fabric of the world itself.
The night would not end quietly. It was only the beginning of what Arin's eyes would show him.