CHAPTER 3: The Five Divine Senses

CHAPTER 3

ΠΕΝΤΕ ΘΕΙΑΙ ΑΙΣΘΗΣΕΙΣ

The Five Divine Senses

At first, Mēlesía only stood there, breath shallow, fingers curled around the tree trunk.

The absence of sight was a prison of its own. Without Nýxios’ heavy, consuming presence nearby, the unknowable stretched in every direction. The space around her felt impossibly wide.

She was alone for the first time since losing her sight.

Mēlesía crouched low, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle, the other pressing into the dirt, as if making herself smaller might make her safer as she leaned against the tree.

There was no safety without sight. No torchlight to push back the dark.

Somewhere behind her, her bow lay abandoned in the dirt.

What good was a bow when she could no longer see?

Without her sight, her familiar hunting grounds had twisted into something strange.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them once again in front of her face, as if checking one more time, as if the truth might have changed.

As expected, she could not see them.

Panic would not save her.

She had to calm down.

She began to hum quietly to herself.

It was not a prayer for mercy meant for the gods.

It was a hunter’s ritual—something her parents had taught her long ago. A low, steady melody passed down as a family charm, used before every hunt to steady the hands and the nerves. There had never been words, her mother had said, only sound.

As a child, she had doubted the melody could do anything at all. Yet, over time, it had rooted itself within her.

Now, always, she hummed the soothing, familiar sound to anchor herself whenever she was frightened.

She quieted.

She had always relied on sound most of all during her hunts for food.

She had hunted here since childhood, tracking the movements of wildlife day and night.

The animals knew the land better than any human.

The realization struck her. Animals... Habits....

Water always flowed downhill.

If she could find a stream, it would lead her out.

In late autumn, the ground held more water than in the dry months. Early rains had already softened the soil, feeding small creeks that ran low and steady through the slopes, kept alive by hidden springs deep beneath the rock.

One such creek, she remembered, ran through the ring of fig trees and flowed beyond their border.

Yet, even when it traveled far past the ring of fig trees, no one from her village dared touch its waters, believing they still belonged to Nýxios.

She tilted her head, listening.

At first, she heard only the wind shifting through the trees.

She turned slightly, angling her body, straining for any sound beyond the breeze.

Nothing.

She moved a few cautious steps to the left, pausing to listen again.

There it was, thin and far away ... water.

She angled her head, pinpointing its direction.

She would move carefully, step by step, feeling for the slope beneath her feet.

Every few steps, she crouched carefully, placing a hand to the soil, feeling for guidance.

Mid-step, her foot caught on something—a root, a stone—she couldn’t tell until it was too late.

She tripped forward, arms flailing for balance.

She braced for the ground to rush up and strike her—but it didn’t.

Her body fell too slowly, as if something had filled the air beneath her.

The moment stretched.

She felt it—the way gravity paused its grip.

When she finally struck the earth, it was strangely soft.

She should have fallen harder.

She should have felt the shock of the solid ground and roots against her knees and hands—created a bruise, a scrape ... anything.

Yet, nothing remained, only the dampness of dirt clinging to the sweat on her palms.

She stood up easily and kept moving—as if nothing was.

Whatever had just happened—whether a mistake or the impossible slowing of time—she could not afford to question it.

Right now, she needed to find the ring’s border. She needed her sight returned.

She was already trapped in an impossible situation.

Still, the ground sloped downward beneath her feet.

Still, the creek’s voice guided her forward.

For now, Mēlesía told herself she hadn’t lost her way—not yet.