A voice of lament echoed through a desolate street. Its terror and suffering could almost be tasted, its agony present in every scream of horror. Accompanying it, a thunderous sound created a grim symphony.
The source lay hidden in a shadowed corner of the city, away from the lights. Intriguing, that such sobs could exist on such a beautiful day. For some reason, no one else seemed to hear them—or those who passed the alley were indifferent.
The voice began to form words: "W-what… what's happening to me?!" it cried hoarsely.
Near the alley, the source became visible: a young man, no older than his twenties, dressed in blue. His most distinctive feature—he looked like a ghost, not entirely human.
As his agony continued, the color of his being faded into darkness, his essence glowing—until, in an instant, he vanished, leaving only his clothes behind.
In a dark void, a voice resounded: "The Void… a place stripped of matter, adorned by soft, colorful energies. They surround all that was, all that is, and all that will be."
The young man now drifted aimlessly, his body no longer human but a glowing blue sphere of energy. He heard the strange voice, but his lethargic state prevented him from understanding. The words echoed again and again, until the space turned blindingly white. The sphere grew red, unbearably hot, burning itself—then vanished in a blink, the voice still echoing.
A warm sensation coursed through him. He felt everything: the breeze, the birdsong, the soft bed of wet grass brushing his bare skin. "Wet grass?" he thought. "Why is everything dark?"
He tried to open his eyes again and again. His other senses worked fine, but his sight remained void. Alarmed at the loss of vision, he began to hyperventilate, nearly falling into shock—until warmth spread through his head, calming him.
His mind steadied, he asked himself: "How can a healthy, athletic 22-year-old lose his sight? Wait—how did I even get here? Where is here?"
His questions stopped when his instincts screamed at him to dodge. He leapt aside, feeling claws—or something sharp—graze his abdomen. Pain seared him. He clutched the wound, cried out, then rolled away and fled.
He didn't understand what was happening, but whatever it was, it was hunting him. He could sense it—dangerous, armed with claws. His instincts saved him again, forcing him to dive and roll. This time, he fell into rushing water.
The current dragged him. He fought to breathe, to swim to the bank, but the flow was too strong, and his wound weakened him. Still, he struggled until the lack of oxygen made him faint.
In his mind, the Void's words repeated like a mantra: "The Void… a place stripped of matter, adorned by soft, colorful energies. They surround all that was, all that is, and all that will be."
The more they repeated, the calmer he felt, the pain fading—until something pulled him away from that place. His eyes twitched, his hand rubbed his face. He remembered his situation and moved quickly, but something was different. The air smelled dry, like a house.
He touched his body—clothed now, in rough fabric. His wound no longer hurt. Confused, he muttered: "Wasn't I just drowning in a river?"
Guided by his sharpened senses, he realized he could feel obstacles ahead even without sight. He followed the path, muttering: "Smells like smoke… and coffee."
Moments later, he found a door. Relieved, he opened it. New scents rushed in: roses, food, beer, people. Then, a beautiful song reached his ears.
He approached a figure—tall, strong, foul-smelling. Not threatening, but imposing. Politely, he asked: "Excuse me, but… where am I?"
The man turned, cleared his throat, and answered: "Well, pretty one, you're in the TYA Tavern, in the city of Moros."
The boy frowned at being called "pretty," but let it slide. "Do you know how I got here?"
The man smirked. "I brought you. Saved you from the waters. Shouldn't you reward your savior?" he said in a disgustingly suggestive tone.
Alarm shot through the boy. His senses screamed danger. He tried to pull away—but suddenly, someone else lifted him, princess-style. This new presence radiated power.
The boy sensed another man—stronger, but not threatening. He smelled clean. This man set him gently on a chair, standing protectively before him.
"How dare you steal my girl? We were having fun!" the first brute snarled.
The protector replied firmly: "This lady does not want your company. Didn't you see her trying to escape your filthy hands?"
The brute rose, furious. The blind boy, disgusted, thought: "Idiots… don't they realize I'm a man?"
Before blows could be exchanged, a calm voice cut through: "Do you intend to fight in my tavern?"
The atmosphere froze. The blind youth turned toward the woman who spoke. Her aura radiated death, her perfume of roses contrasting with her delicate steps. The men trembled, retreating with each step she took.
"Terrifying…" whispered the boy.
The cowards fled—or so he thought. Still bewildered, he muttered: "Why the hell did they call me a lady? And where on earth is the city of Moros?"
He rubbed his chin unconsciously, lost in thought.
Then, the aura that the woman radiated vanished, and the boy no longer felt any danger coming from her. Suddenly, she disappeared from his radar and reappeared right in front of him. It startled him, though he didn't show it on his face. Without knowing her intent, the lady spoke: "Thank you for saving me."
She stared at him for nearly thirty seconds. The boy grew nervous—even without that overwhelming aura, he knew this woman was dangerous. Without another word, she grabbed his arm and led him to her room, where she began to study him closely.
Confused and uneasy, the boy spoke again: "I… I didn't mean for them to fight in your tavern, Lady Rosa."
His nose was overwhelmed by the scent of roses, dizzying him.
The dazed boy felt her raise her hand toward his face. He tried to pull away, but she persisted. Not understanding, he asked why she was doing this, but she ignored him and touched his cheek. He felt her sadness as she whispered: "Marín… is it you? My eyes aren't deceiving me, are you alive?"
Her words left him blank. He had no idea how to respond—he didn't know this woman, nor could he even see her face. Why was she saying this to him? Was it some kind of game, a cruel joke? Why him?
The woman, too, was full of questions, trembling with anticipation of his answer. Alarmed, he blurted out: "I don't know who this Mary is. My name is…"
But he couldn't remember. "Damn it, I don't remember my name. I'm doomed if I don't think of something… come on, think, think… I've got it."
He dropped to the floor, pretending to be dead. His sudden action left the woman confused, lost in thought. Seizing the chance, he rolled across the floor toward the wall. Rising, he felt the breeze of air and, without thinking, leapt.
"Oh God, what have I done? Here I come, Saint Peter," he muttered as a tear slid down his cheek.
But it didn't last—his body moved on its own, flipping gracefully and landing perfectly. Shocked, he exclaimed: "Wow… since when can I do that?"
He left the thought for later and began to run. Meanwhile, the tavern mistress snapped out of her confusion and realized that her possible acquaintance, Marín, had escaped.
The slippery blind youth ran until his legs gave out, collapsing to the ground. With a burst of skill, he rolled again and ended up near a river. Feeling the fresh water, he drank deeply, regained his strength, and continued walking.
The people of Moros watched curiously as a blue-haired boy wandered aimlessly, exploring the city. He discovered much: the place was vast, its people smelled of flowers and perfumes—but none carried the rose scent of that woman.
Exhausted, he rested on what he perceived as a bench and accidentally overheard a conversation.
"Hey, can you use your element yet?" asked a voice.
Sitting nearby, he heard them clearly, though he tried not to listen out of respect. Still, the topic intrigued him.
"You shouldn't talk about this here… but to answer your question, yes, I can. What about you?" replied a finer voice.
Trying to distract himself, the boy decided to test the limits of his abilities. He extended his senses beyond his feet—tedious at first, but soon he could feel nearly a meter away. He was astonished at what he could detect: the grass, the ants working within it, subtle shifts in the wind.
His other senses sharpened too. His smell became so acute he could detect what random passersby had eaten, even three meters away. His hearing picked up faint signals, reproducing them as if they were right beside him—the buzz of a fly, footsteps six meters away. He was ecstatic at the sensations his ability gave him.
Distracted, he tuned back into the nearby whispers, now curious to see how far he could push his skill. "I feel dizzy… don't vomit, resist…" he muttered inwardly, then listened again.
"No," said the deeper voice, embarrassed. The blind boy sensed the speaker—a young man, harmless but troubled.
The boy's friend spoke again: "I just don't understand how to access my element," he said, head bowed.
Our blind protagonist smiled, surprised at how clearly he could perceive him.
The finer voice explained: "Relax, it's simple. Elements are the affinity of your inner energy, unique to each person. For example, I have water—high grade, two stars. It means I can be calm like the sea, but also terrifyingly strong. There are many natures, ranked from useless to celestial, scored by stars."
Intrigued, the blind boy focused on the other speaker. It was harder, but he discerned she was a cheerful, slightly dangerous woman. His mind raced with questions about why some individuals felt dangerous and others did not.
Before he could dwell on it, the conversation continued: "But that doesn't help me unlock it," the young man said, discouraged again.
The girl cleared her throat and replied: "Don't worry, that's why I'm here. To unlock your power, you must circulate your energy through your meridians and make it explode."
She glanced toward the blind boy with powers—but by then, he was gone.
As our young blue-haired boy walked, guided by his sharpened senses, a surprised expression crossed his face. He couldn't believe there were weirdos here. "Oh damn… are these people geeks?" he thought, annoyed, but gave little importance to the discovery.
Without wasting more time, he used his ability again across the bustling city. Approaching a crowded place, he sensed strong presences everywhere. This reminded him of his first time here—his encounter with those guys who mocked his manhood. A frown formed on his face as he wondered why these presences felt so dangerous.
Suddenly, dizziness struck harder, the world slowed, and he stumbled—falling onto someone. By accident, he had bumped into one of those dangerous passersby. Embarrassed, he rushed to help and apologized.
The person tilted her head, stood up, and looked at him. He looked back. To his shock, the girl's eyes widened. "Marín… is that you?" she said, stunned, and without hesitation hugged him. He tried to break free, but it was difficult.
"Not again," muttered the boy as she grabbed his wrist. "I'm being dragged against my will… this is so embarrassing," he thought, as she pulled him at incredible speed.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him, his senses shrinking to barely thirty centimeters. "How can she be so fast?" he wondered, frightened. By her touch, he could perceive she was dangerous—but cheerful.
Minutes later, he felt them enter a place filled with presences similar to hers. Alarmed, he heard greetings directed at them. The girl, however, was overjoyed. She greeted everyone and shouted with all her strength: "You won't believe it—Marín is back!"
Suddenly, those presences rushed toward them, embracing our protagonist. All he could manage to say was: "I'm suffocating… air… please…" His face turned blue from lack of oxygen.
End of Chapter.