The Blind Sage
In the calm ocean, waves were rising and pushing a basket forward, guiding it toward its destination.
Sometimes it sank, sometimes it rose, yet as if an invisible hand steered its course, the basket drifted steadily toward the shore.
There lay an island, surrounded by tall bamboo groves and wild trees.
At its center stood a broken, old hut.
By the door sat an old man—dressed in white robes, his face carved with countless wrinkles, his eyes cloudy and lifeless.
He was blind.
The old man played a flute.
Its melody was slow, sorrowful, and lonely, drifting across the bamboo forest like a whisper of forgotten memories.
Suddenly, thunder roared across the skies.
The old man lowered his flute.
He tilted his head slightly, as though he had sensed an unseen presence.
Step by step, leaning on his staff, he walked toward the shore. His feet knew the earth well, and his heart guided what his eyes could not.
There, the basket drifted onto the sand.
The sage bent down, touched the wicker, and from within came the soft, trembling cry of a baby.
A faint smile crept across his wrinkled lips.
"Hm… so the waves have brought me a gift today."
He lifted the basket gently.
The child quieted in his arms, soothed by his touch.
The old man drew in a long breath, his cloudy eyes turning toward the heavens.
"Your life-force… it is not ordinary.
No strength, yet full of brilliance…
But your fate… feels unbearably heavy."
The baby gave a faint smile.
The sage paused.
"You must be given a name.
And since I feel a small flame burning within you…
your name shall be—Shiv."
As he turned back toward the hut, the blind sage whispered softly, his voice fading into the forest wind—
"Shiv… perhaps your destiny is to change Sumeru itself."