CHAPTER 4: Sensed, Not Seen

CHAPTER 4

ΑΙΣΘΑΝΟΜΕΝΟΝ, ΟΥΧ ΟΡΩΜΕΝΟΝ

Sensed, Not Seen

The sound of rushing water grew louder in Mēlesía’s ears.

She knew what that meant: a river was nearby.

It had been dusk when she had gone blind, which meant it had to be night by now.

She kept her knees slightly bent, her body low—the way she had learned to tread quietly while hunting. The last thing she needed was to stumble and crash onto her knees again.

The wind stirred the leaves above, loud and restless, slightly disorienting her.

Step by step, she moved forward, hands hovering just above the terrain, feeling how the dirt sloped and curved beneath her feet.

As she neared different trees, their distinct scents revealed their identities before she touched them.

She reached out, fingers brushing rough bark.

The tree was thick and solid beneath her touch—an oak or a cypress, she guessed. She traced its texture, mapping her location in her mind. Oaks clustered in the lower valleys. Cypress preferred the ridges.

She adjusted her path accordingly, weaving through the trees as if she could see them.

Just like before, she tripped—this time, over an unexpected dip in the ground.

Her body pitched forward, and she braced for the impact.

Like before, her fall stretched on for a moment too long, as if time itself had stilled.

Then, different this time, something pressed against her forearm, unexpectedly firm.

The nudge set her upright again.

Had she imagined it? Had her body simply adjusted on instinct?

Then she realized something.

She hadn’t stumbled much at all throughout her journey.

Not at all.

She should have tripped far more by now, given the uneven dips in the ground.

At first, she thought it was luck.

Then she thought it was instinct.

She took a step forward—this time, purposefully unbalanced, testing her situation.

The moment her weight tilted too far, something unseen steadied her once more, forcing her upright.

Finally, she reached what she believed was the river’s edge. At least, her ears thought so.

Lowering to her knees, she reached forward.

For a moment, nothing.

Then … coolness.

She was relieved when her fingers met with rushing water, easing the heat of her sweat-dampened skin. Cupping the fresh water in her palms, she brought it to her lips, smiling in relief.

She drank slowly, taking a moment to rest.

She addressed Nýxios aloud, as if he hadn’t left her. “You must be leading me. I can feel it. Why?” she demanded. “What about our bargain?”

It wasn’t an easy punishment she had been given.

Even after being raised as a hunter since childhood, she still struggled to identify her surroundings. To anyone else, this trial would’ve been impossible. Blind? Unthinkable.

After taking a few final moments seated beside the rushing river in silence, waiting for his reply, she gave up on communicating with him.

She picked herself up, ready to continue.

A god helping her? Without payment?

Impossible.

Mēlesía’s father and mother had warned her of an entity who did not belong to the world of men—one who was the unknown itself, shaped only by aether and awareness. The tale, she had always believed, was only meant as a fictional warning.

Yet, here she was, forced to learn how to listen, and how to feel, all over again, blind.

After so many hours, she thought she might begin to understand who Nýxios was.

To her surprise, she felt envious of what he was—free in a way she wasn't.