Shawn tracked his fingers over the final lines of the tutor's letter, desperately hoping the man had left something else behind. A hidden clue. A desperate warning. Anything at all that could offer him a shred of hope. Unfortunately, the parchment held nothing more.
With the weekend looming, Shawn buried himself inside the library, spending almost every waking hour engulfed by the scent of old paper and leather. The shelves that once seemed like an endless, daunting maze gradually grew familiar under his touch. One book after another vanished into the perfect vault of Eva's memory. By the time Sunday night bled into Monday morning, he had already consumed more than half the collection.
The following day found Shawn sitting cross-legged on his bed, letting the quiet hum of meditation ground him.
Then, a familiar set of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Morgan.
Shawn's jaw tightened instinctively. But before he could even sigh in annoyance, a second, unfamiliar pair of footsteps reached his ears. They were different, heavier, more deliberate, and entirely new to him. His brows knitted together as a sudden thought crossed his mind.
Another tutor?
Morgan had already forced one teacher upon him, so it wasn't impossible for him to drag in another. And though Shawn despised the man's brutal methods, he couldn't deny that the knowledge had carved a dangerous advantage into his mind.
"Is the bad man coming?" Eva's voice asked softly, a tiny ripple in his thoughts.
Shawn managed a faint, inward smile.
"Yeah."
"Will he hurt us?"
He hesitated, letting the silence stretch between them for a brief moment before replying,
"I don't think so."
Whether he actually believed those words was an entirely different matter.
A moment later, the heavy door groaned open.
"I trust you've been well, Shawn," Morgan said, his voice carrying its usual smooth, irritating warmth as he stepped into the room.
Shawn ignored the greeting entirely. His attention had already shifted toward the silent, unfamiliar presence in the room beside Morgan. The stranger hadn't uttered a single word, yet standing before him felt entirely different. It wasn't just a physical presence. It felt as though an invisible weight had settled over the room, quietly laying bare every secret Shawn harbored.
Who exactly is this person?
Morgan seemed to read the rigid curiosity in Shawn's posture.
"The man beside me is Grandmaster Boulder," he said, pausing just long enough to let the name carry weight. "One of the finest Forgers on the continent."
Shawn let out a sharp, faint scoff.
"So you've brought another one of your friends."
Morgan merely smiled, his coat rustling.
"You could say that."
Throughout the exchange, Boulder remained entirely silent, his gaze fixed firmly on Shawn. He wasn't wasting time observing the boy's face, his clothes, or even his sightless eyes. Instead, his attention locked onto the smallest, most telling details: the steady rhythm of Shawn's breathing, the subtle tension coiling within his muscles, and the slight, defensive twitch of his fingers. He noted how instinctively the boy's head turned toward every minute sound.
After a long, suffocating silence, Boulder finally spoke.
"Is he the one?"
The question completely bypassed Shawn.
Morgan simply nodded.
"He is."
Boulder continued to study the young man, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips.
"I can feel his hostility. What exactly did you do for him to hate you this much?"
"You'll understand soon enough," Morgan replied, his voice flat and calm.
Without another word, Boulder's boots clicked against the floor as he slowly approached the bed. The faint, sharp scent of treated leather filled the air as a pair of heavy black gloves materialized around his hands. Stopping just inches away, he extended a hand.
"May I?"
"No," Shawn spat back instantly. Whatever these two were planning, he wanted absolutely no part of it.
Morgan gave a quiet, patronizing chuckle.
"He wasn't asking."
Suddenly, the surrounding air turned to stone. An invisible, crushing force pressed against Shawn from every direction, pinning him ruthlessly to the mattress. He struggled immediately, his muscles straining against the pressure, but no matter how hard he fought, his body refused to yield even an inch.
Boulder's gloved hand moved with practiced gentleness, taking hold of Shawn's wrist. Two heavy fingers pressed firmly against his pulse point.
A calm, icy wave of foreign energy flooded into Shawn's body, spreading through his veins.
The entire room fell into dead silence.
One second passed.
Then five.
Then ten.
Boulder's stoic expression didn't change, but Morgan watched him with intense focus. During the days they had spent together, the Grandmaster had always spoken with absolute certainty. Whether he was discussing the intricate arts of forging or ruthlessly correcting failed experiments, hesitation simply wasn't in his nature.
Yet now, he remained completely still, lost in thought.
Morgan's brows slowly furrowed, a trace of unease entering his posture.
"What is it?"
Boulder didn't answer. Instead, he slowly lifted his heavy gaze toward Shawn's sightless eyes.
"How long have you been blind?"