The wind howled through the ruined shrine, carrying the scent of ash and something far older - something the world had forgotten to fear. A young boy knelt alone in the centre of the broken stone floor, his hand trembling as he clutched the thin blindfold tied around his eyes. It wasn't meant to hide darkness.
It was meant to contain it.
"Breath," a voice whispered behind him - deep, ancient, almost inhuman. "Do not fear what you sense." - but soothing.
"But... I can't see anything," the boy murmured. His voice cracked, softer than the falling of dust. "Master, why am I like this?"
The boy flinched. Not from sight. From instinct.
"You are not blind, Vihaan," the voice said, circling him like smoke. "You see differently and what you carry, the world is not ready to understand." Vihaan swallowed hard. The cold shiver ran through him - not of fear, but if the truth he didn't yet grasp. The floor beneath him glowed faintly, faint blue cracks spreading like veins of light.
"Master, what am I?" He whispered.
The dragon's silhouette hovered over him, vast and silent - it's breath warm against his skin.
"Something that should not exist," the voice answered. "Something that will change everything."
A pause. Heavy. Reverent.
"My pupil."
And then - as the light burst upward, swallowing the shrine whole, the boy's blindfold fluttered against his cheek... As if something on the other side was finally waking up.