The village lay silent under the soft veil of twilight, houses settling into shadows as night prepared its quiet reign. Iyi's footsteps were light on the winding path that led toward the outskirts where the old healer's hut stood—a place wrapped in stories whispered by the wind and guarded by the stubborn roots of ancient trees.
As he approached, the faint scent of bitter herbs and smoke reached him, mingling with the earth's cool breath. The door was slightly ajar, creaking softly with the movement of unseen spirits.
Inside, the air was thick with the weight of years—ancient wisdom woven into every corner, every bundle of dried leaves and jars of unknown remedies. And there, seated quietly by the flickering candlelight, was the Blind One.
She was called so not because of the absence of sight but because of the sight beyond eyes—the vision of truths hidden beneath the surface, the perception of worlds unseen by mortal gaze.
Her hair was silver like moonlight, her face etched with lines that spoke of laughter, sorrow, and centuries of knowledge. Her hands, gnarled yet gentle, moved with practiced grace as she prepared a poultice, whispering incantations that rose and fell like the rhythm of the river.
Iyi stepped forward, bowing his head in respect.
"The Blind One waits," she said, her voice a soft echo that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"I have come," Iyi replied, "to learn, to listen, and to prepare."
She smiled, a knowing curve of lips that held both warmth and challenge.
"There is much you must see before the journey's end," she said. "But first, you must face the blindness within."
Iyi felt the weight of her words settle deep inside him. Blindness—he understood—was not simply the absence of sight but the refusal to see, the denial of truths too painful or too dangerous to face.
The Blind One reached out, placing a cool hand on his forehead. A warmth spread through him, and his vision blurred—not with darkness, but with swirling images and voices.
He saw the faces of those he had wronged, moments when pride had led him astray, times when fear had sealed his heart. He felt the sting of regret and the ache of lost chances.
But amid the shadows, flickers of light appeared—acts of kindness, moments of courage, glimpses of hope.
"You must walk through this darkness," the Blind One whispered. "Only then can your eyes open to what truly matters."
Iyi steadied his breath, embracing the storm within. The Blind One's touch was a beacon, guiding him through the maze of memory and emotion.
When the vision faded, his eyes opened to the world anew—clearer, deeper, more alive.
The Blind One nodded. "You carry more than burdens. You carry the power to heal—not just yourself, but those around you."
Iyi felt a quiet strength settle over him, a calm born from surrender and understanding.
The night deepened, but inside the hut, a light burned steady—a promise of sight beyond sight, and a path forward through the shadows.