Sightless in a New World

It started like a dream.

Not the kind with stories or voices — just that slow, sinking feeling. Like being drawn forward, gently, by something unseen. A thread pulling taut.

I opened my eyes. Not that there was a point. Darkness was always there. But I felt the faint blue haze of mana layered over the room — Salem's presence nearby, soft and low, the shape of her sleeping form curled close to mine. Her mana brushed mine even now, unconscious and warm. Trusting.

My hand moved.

I didn't tell it to.

Fingers found the edge of the blanket, pushed it aside. My legs shifted off the bed, toes brushing cold stone.

Why was I moving?

My heartbeat didn't race. My breathing stayed calm. That terrified me more than anything. I should have felt panic. But instead I moved in smooth, measured steps — silent, practiced — like I was choosing it.

But I wasn't.

The door opened before I touched it.

A dark blur stood just beyond it — familiar, lean, quiet. I saw only his outline, the shape carved by tightly wrapped mana. It shimmered in polished coils, calm and refined — too calm. Too still. A kind of quiet that didn't belong in living things.

Lycian.

Behind him, two more — faint shapes, shrouded. Students, I thought. Their mana was dim, foggy. Like smoke wrapped in wet cloth. Suppressed.

Like mine.

My limbs moved. I stepped out.

Salem didn't stir. Her mana stayed soft behind me — unaware, asleep, trusting that I would never leave her.

And I was leaving her.

Each step forward felt like falling sideways into water — heavy, silent, too smooth.

I wanted to stop. I tried.

My body didn't listen.

My thoughts screamed — or maybe whispered — Why?

Down the stairs. Through corridors I only recognized by echo and scent. Past the old wards that buzzed faintly when mana touched them.

The stars outside were only a faint mana blur. And Lycian — his outline stayed steady, a cut-glass silhouette against the misted dark. His mana never surged. He didn't need to exert force.

And that made it worse.

At the final archway — where the walls gave way to the outer courtyards — he finally spoke.

"I was expecting resistance," he said lightly, like we were old friends.

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

"But you? No fight at all. It's kind of funny, actually. Everyone sees you as the prodigy. The next Lincoln. The next—whatever. But you? You were easy."

A tremor passed through me. Not physical. Mana-based. A ripple across the sense-field I relied on to see.

He kept talking, as we walked.

"No mental barrier. Not even a thread of defense. You've been wide open this whole time."

I tried again to stop. Nothing.

I couldn't even blink.

"You want to know why?" he asked, his voice dipping close to a murmur. "I figured it out. It's your sight."

I tensed.

"You burn so much of your mana just to see — all those outlines, all that detail — it doesn't leave anything for your mind. No protection. Nothing to push back with."

His head tilted slightly as he looked at me. I felt the heat of his gaze like a spot of light.

"So I whispered."

The words hit me like a slap wrapped in silk.

Tempting Whisper.

I'd heard of it — once. A Devil's gift. A voice that could slip past walls and slip into thoughts. Not by force — by desire. It planted the idea in your head, and let you do the rest.

Only this wasn't an idea.

It was a leash.

And I had let him put it on me.

I let him.

No — not me. My mind was mine. I knew this wasn't my will. My thoughts were still sharp. Still mine. But my body… it wasn't listening.

I couldn't even twitch my fingers.

Lycian's mana brushed close to mine — not to harm. Just to remind me that he was there. That he was in control.

"I feel like…one day you'll understand me," 

he said simply.

I felt nothing. No pain. No fear. Only the unbearable stillness of a body that moved without permission.

And behind me — somewhere far off, distant but fading — was the soft blue trace of Salem's mana.

Still sleeping.

Still trusting me.

And I was walking away from her like it meant nothing.

Like he meant everything.

POV: Salem

The moment I woke, I knew something was wrong.

The room was too quiet. Not empty — just missing the one sound I'd gotten used to without realizing.

Annabel's breath.

I sat up fast, shadows spilling from my skin in sharp instinct. My head snapped toward her bed. Her mana, usually steady as a heartbeat — was gone.

Not faint.

Not suppressed.

Gone.

I reached for her through the bond.

Nothing.

My pulse kicked hard. I scanned the room again. The silence felt wrong. I dropped into the floor's darkness, dissolving into the space between shadows, moving faster than steps could carry me. I swept through the dorm halls, the lower levels, even the sparring yard.

No trace. No outline. Not even a sliver of residue mana.

"Annabel," I whispered through the bond again, forcing calm. "Answer me. Please."

Still nothing.

Terror clawed at my ribs — tight, hot, rising fast.

I surfaced in our room again, standing near her bed. My hand clenched, nails digging into my palm.

Then lower.

My upper arm.

The one she cut off.

Back before we'd been friends. Before we were bonded. The scar was gone, but I pressed into where it had been, grounding myself on the pain I remembered.

My breath hitched — a sob I bit down before it escaped.

No. No time to lose it. Not now.

But I was shaking.

I hadn't been alone since the bond.

I'd forgotten what alone felt like.

And it hurt.

I punched the wall. Hard. Stone cracked like glass.

Then I saw it.

A thread.

A whisper of mana, thinner than silk — barely visible even to me. Leaking like condensation. So faint it could only come from someone with impossible control.

It was hers.

I followed it at a sprint.

⸻

Rōko blinked awake as I threw her door open.

"What the—?"

"Get up," I snapped. "Get your gear. Now."

"Salem, what's going on?"

"Annabel's gone."

That got her moving. Fast.

"She's what?!"

"Taken. Lycian. He's a devil. He's been hiding 

it, tempting whisper. He's used it on her. I don't know how. But—she's not just gone. She's not responding. I can't feel her."

Rōko's face paled, then hardened. "How long?"

"An hour, maybe less. He's not alone — he has others. I think they were students. Brainwashed."

Rōko grabbed her staff, armor half-buttoned. "Lead the way."

I nodded and turned, following the thread.

My throat was dry. My chest ached.

And every step I took away from the dorm felt like running out of air.

I had to find her.

Because if I didn't—

…I didn't know what I'd be without her anymore.