Three silent, neatly kept rooms awaited upstairs, echoing the quiet utility of the single room she'd noticed downstairs.
Sena still wondered why a roadkeeper could possess such ample space, especially one who was blind and, by the quiet stillness of the place, very much alone.
Her chest ached at the word 'alone', a familiar pang recalling its bitter taste.
The robust floorboards on the stairs offered not a single creak under her weight, leading her silently to the upper landing.
A short, straight hallway stretched before her, framed by three identical, unadorned wooden doors lining one wall. At its far end, bathed in a soft, ethereal light, stood a grand French-style door, hinting at an outdoor vista.
Drawn by the promise of light, Sena approached the French-style door. Its panes of glass, divided by delicate wooden frames, offered a tantalizing glimpse of the outside world.
Even through the glass, she could discern vast, emerald trees stretching as far as the eye could see, a panoramic sweep of Elioudra unlike anything she had witnessed from the ground.
This higher vantage point offered a breathtaking clarity she hadn't anticipated. Unable to resist, she gently pushed the doors open, stepping out onto the airy balcony to fully embrace the magnificent scene.
Looking up, the sky was a vast, unbroken expanse of brilliant azure, so clear and deep it felt like a perfectly polished gemstone.
The high noon sun hung directly overhead, a blazing, white-hot disc that poured down an intense, almost blinding light, making everything below sharply defined.
Yet, defying the sun's fiery presence, she felt a steady, invigorating breeze swept through the air, carrying a crisp coolness that kissed her skin, offering a paradoxical relief against the midday glow.
Through her eyes, the world shimmered with a bright, clean clarity, all shadows short and sharp, under a sky that felt both endless and intensely present.
From a distant, she could see the bordering walls running through the edges of her view.
Hmmmm. That must be the gates of Azarette, she thought to herself.
Stepping back inside, Sena pushed open the door closest to the balcony.
A soft, inviting glow instantly embraced her. Sunlight filtered through the delicate sheers of the French-style windows, bathing the room in a serene, diffused light.
To her right, a pair of tall French-style windows, their glass panes gleaming, offered glimpses of the endless trees beyond.
Heavy, richly woven drapes, gathered neatly and tied back with thick cord, framed the views, hinting at cozy nights.
To her left, an imposing queen-sized bed commanded attention.
Its dark wooden frame rising into an elegant, four-post canopy. Luxurious light cream fabric, cascaded from the canopy, creating a private, inviting alcove.
Directly opposite the door, a polished, dark-wood study table stood, its surface uncluttered and gleaming. Beside it, a single, elegantly carved bookshelf stretched almost to the ceiling, its shelves laden with an impressive collection of leather-bound volumes, hinting at deep knowledge.
Nestled beside the room's entrance was a tall, two-door wardrobe crafted from the same sturdy, dark wood as the other furniture, its simple lines promising ample storage.
"Ah, this must be the room with the study," she chuckled to herself, a sense of immediate comfort settling over her. "Better choose this one then."
She closed the door softly, drawing a deep breath to fully savor the enchanting refuge the room promised. A small smile touched her lips as she removed her worn cloak and hung it carefully on a hook near the entrance.
Crossing towards the study area, she extracted the glass tumbler that had felt almost forgotten in her pocket and set it gently on the table.
A moment later, she moved to the bed, letting her weight fall with a soft sigh onto the remarkably plush mattress. The sheer comfort threatened to pull her into immediate sleep, an urge she firmly resisted.
One by one, she began to unpack her few belongings: her books, neatly folded clothes, and a small pouch of herbs and spices gathered for her journey.
From another corner, she pulled out a small bundle of dried fish, leftovers from her earlier picnic.
Finally, she unhooked the wooden sword and katana from their leather straps, laying them carefully on the floor beside the bed.
Leaning back on her hands, planted behind her, she allowed herself to relax.
A subtle warmth, a quiet happiness, unfurled within her chest.
This moment, this unexpected welcome, the lingering warm touch of Idris's kind hand, was an encounter she hadn't anticipated. Not after...
A sharp, fragmented memory flashed: two old faces, their features a blur, smiling warmly then twisting into disgust and dismissal.
An envelope, an ID card…
Brief, jarring images that felt like shattered glass, perhaps real, perhaps merely echoes.
The pain and rejection were visceral, sharp, yet the faces and names of those who inflicted it remained stubbornly blank.
Forgotten.
Driven by the unsettling flicker of those memories, she rummaged through her knapsack.
Sure enough, nestled among a small stack of pens and papers, was the envelope. Inside lay a letter and a small, blank identification card.
Her gaze fixed on the letter:
"Anima Amara, enclosed is a blank identity card. May it assist in your endeavors."
A wave of confusion, tinged with the ache of those fragmented memories, washed over her.
She instantly considered showing the letter to Idris, hoping he could shed light on its meaning and guide her on how to get the ID card approved.
Then, with a soft slap to her forehead, she muttered, "Right. He's blind." A self-deprecating shrug followed.
She decided to ask him once the students arrived the day after tomorrow.
But far from the safety of that upstairs room… back in Aurea Reach, foot soldiers assigned to inspect the rubble of the devastating calamity that had just engulfed the valley discovered a truly grotesque trail.
Across the ravaged land, leading towards the forest, snaked a glistening, tar-black streak, thick with a viscous, unnatural sheen.
Following its chilling path with his eyes, one foot soldier stared in horror at the forest just ahead.
The trees weren't merely wilted; their bark was dissolving, their branches brittle and ash-grey, as if life had been violently sucked from them.
Flowers and grass were not just withered; some were reduced to a fine, pungent dust, staining the ground like a spreading blight.
Unfamiliar with this horrendous corrosion, the foot soldier looked closer at the unsettling, blood-like streak on the ground.
He spotted a desiccated, grayish digit, eerily like a human finger, protruding from the soil. Believing it to be a gruesome body part, he cautiously reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed against it, the "finger" didn't just crumble; it disintegrated into a noxious puff of greenish-black spores that erupted outward.
The spores instantly clung to the exposed skin on his arms and neck, like a corrosive cloud.
He gasped, inadvertently inhaling some, and a violent, ragged cough tore through him, the taste of decay burning his throat.
Frantically, he tried to brush off the spores, but where they had settled, his skin began to blister and darken, tiny, blood-red fissures appearing as if his very flesh was weeping.
Horrified, he watched, as his flesh quickly decayed…
He shrieked at the top of his lungs as the horror transpiring in the valley slowly unraveled.
With a desperate, almost impossible surge of will, he lurched forward, his movements jerky, cadaverous.
Each limping step was a testament to agony, his body visibly deteriorating, patches of skin sloughing away as he staggered towards another foot soldier nearby.
Heaving, each breath a ragged rasp tearing at his shattered lungs, he forced out a raw, guttural whisper:
"Don't... touch... the fingers..."
His bloodshot eyes, swimming in desperate tears, were wide with a final, horrific plea.
His body, now a patchwork of blackened, decaying flesh, gave way.
He crumpled to the ground… A final, shuddering exhale escaping him as life fled his eyes…
The other foot soldier stood frozen, a statue of pure horror.
Then, a raw, choked gasp escaped him.
He instinctively stumbled backward… One trembling hand clamping over his mouth, his eyes wide and vacant with shock.
The sheer terror urged him; he scrambled, fighting against his own paralyzed limbs, desperate to flee the unfolding nightmare.
That evening, Idris set up a simple dinner to be shared with his new stray, Sena.
With practiced, unhurried movements, he navigated the familiar layout of his kitchen.
He moved to the dining table, his fingers tracing its smooth surface to gauge its center, then precisely placing down two solid, earthenware plates.
Next, from a nearby counter, he retrieved the steaming bowls of carbonara.
The rich, cheesy aroma wafted gently as he set each bowl carefully onto a plate.
On top, nestled amongst the creamy strands of pasta, were generous scatterings of glistening, golden-brown bacon bits. Thick-cut and savory.
He was glad to have now made use of the cured meat from one of the wild boars he occasionally hunted.
The scene was simple, yet inviting, a quiet promise of warmth and sustenance laid out with thoughtful precision.
"Hope she likes it." he murmured to himself, proud of his accomplishment.
Sensing Sena quietly walking out of her chosen room, he called to her, "Come, let's eat. I can't wait for you to try these!"
The subtle scent of creamy pasta and savory pork filled the air.
As she descended slowly from the second floor, allowing the inviting aroma to fill her lungs, Sena wondered.
How could a man be so profoundly blind not only live alone, but bake bread and cook with such incredible skills? On top of that, he may not only be a RoadKeeper, but even a teacher too?
His fortitude and capabilities deeply impressed her. These made her even more eager to know more about Idris.
Settling into one of the cross-back dining chairs across from Idris, Sena found herself unable to resist staring at him for a quiet moment.
With the small bundle of dried fish and a tiny pouch of herbs and spices in hand, Sena felt the urge to offer them in kind to Idris.
She nervously extended her hand, the humble offerings held aloft.
"Uhm… I want to give this to you," she said, her voice a little hesitant. "It's not much, but I gathered these while I was in the forest."
Sensing Sena's presence and the gesture of her extended hand, Idris offered a soft smile. "Thanks," he murmured, reaching out to accept the offerings.
He then gestured towards the plates before them. "Shall we?" he invited, urging her to eat.
"Aren't you going to pray? Or, uhm… give thanks?" inquired Sena.
Idris's brow arched in confusion, though his gaze remained fixed on the table.
"You're free to pray if you like," he stated plainly. "I don't pray." With that, he began to eat his meal.
Sena let out a small "Oh…" wondering why she'd even asked.
A curious sense of déjà vu washed over her; she pondered why she had expected Idris to pray before his meal. She shrugged off the thought.
She carefully placed her hands together, palms pressed, and bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you for the meal," she murmured.
But just before she began to eat, her gaze lingered on the pasta in front of her.
A nagging, unsettling suspicion that it might be poisoned troubled her. A cold trickle of sweat began to form on her forehead.
"It's not poisoned," Idris stated, his gaze still fixed on the table.
"Eggs, cheese, cured meat, pepper. Pasta from the same flour I used for the bread. That's all it is." He offered the reassurance she desperately needed, without habing the need to ask.
Sena looked abruptly at Idris, marveling at how effortlessly he offered such profound assurance without the need to see her expression or hear her spoken fears.
Perhaps, she guessed, it was years of dealing with countless wanderers and lost souls that had honed his ability to provide such calm, unwavering comfort.
She took a deep breath, shrugging off the remaining fear. After a sip of water, she finally began to eat.
As they ate their meal in comfortable silence, Sena voiced a question that had been tugging at her since meeting Idris.
"How can you be so skilled at everything despite being blind?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Idris as he patiently finished the food in his mouth.
Idris, accustomed to such inquiries, offered a slight smirk.
"Please don't take it as an offense," Sena quickly added.
"I truly am amazed by everything you can do."
"Oh? I hear that a lot. I am amazing, aren't I?" Idris replied, a soft chuckle escaping him, laced with sarcastic pride.
Sena crinkled her nose, blowing out a breath in mock contempt, yet a faint charm sparked within her at his witty retort.
Sensing the lingering tension between them had dissolved, Idris mused, "I haven't been blind long. Just a couple of years, really."
He finished the rest of his meal, then continued, "I already knew this house before I lost my sight."
A sudden wave of intrigue washed over Sena. Wanting to prod him for more, she bit the side of her lip.
Sensing Sena's piqued curiosity, he let out a short "Heh!" and teased her.
"Let's talk more tomorrow," he said. "Why don't you shower for the night and head to bed? You must be exhausted," he added, his tone surprisingly paternal.
"I am not a child, Dad," she retorted, rolling her eyes as she finished her meal.
"I'm twenty-five! I'm not old enough to be a father!" he exclaimed, a hint of genuine dejection in his voice. "Do I look that old?" he fretted, clearly bothered by her calling him "Dad."
"Haha! You look good, don't worry," she laughed. "And yes, I'd love to get out of these dirty clothes. Too bad you're blind; I look excellent in these garments," she added teasingly.
A faint blush crept up Idris's neck. He looked down, saying nothing, then gathered the plates and bowls and walked away towards the kitchen.
"The washroom's down the hall. Towels are in the cabinet inside. I'll be checking the perimeter after this, so… goodnight," Idris said dismissively, unwilling to indulge her banter further.
What is wrong with me! My filthy mouth! What the heck! she fumed inwardly.
As she headed towards the washroom, badgering herself for her stupidity, Sena winced. She must have sounded like a swamp in drought with that remark.
Stepping into the washroom, she was immediately greeted by a massive wooden basin, shaped like a tub, positioned directly opposite the entrance.
Behind it, a wide French-style window was obscured by wooden blinds.
Just above the window, a long, rectangular pot of philodendrons hung. Its vines gracefully cascaded down the wooden blinds, creating a living curtain that seemed designed to adorn the entire washroom.
To the tub's right, a smaller basin held a wooden dipper. To its left, a counter featured a sink. Beside it, a white flower vase displayed a slim bouquet of pink and white blooms, with neatly folded rows of towels stacked underneath.
Adjacent to the counter, separated by only a half-wooden wall, stood a ceramic-looking toilet. It boasted proper plumbing, complete with a classic flushing mechanism operated by a long chain and pull.
Sena closed the door shut, noting a small woven hamper tucked beside it.
She began to remove her clothes one by one, the layers peeling away like a second skin. Just as she reached for a towel under the counter, a flash of her own reflection caught her eye.
Hung on the wall adjacent to the toilet was a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
She stared intently at the woman in the reflection.
Slowly raising her right hand, she realized this was the very first time she had truly seen herself.
She stood there, stunned.