SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 31: Blind Man’s Prophecy

Chapter 31: Blind Man’s Prophecy

The night was eerily silent as Morvane, Drevon, and the child spirit, Mykal, made their way toward the secluded village. The forest thinned, revealing a cluster of modest houses scattered across a misty valley. The village was far removed from any city—a forgotten place, where time seemed to stand still.

As they approached, Mykal pointed to a small, worn-down house with dim lights flickering inside. "That’s my house," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Morvane hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the situation. He stepped forward and knocked on the wooden door. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a frail-looking woman with hollow eyes and disheveled hair. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days.

"Yes? Who is it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"We don’t mean any harm," Morvane said gently. "We just... have something to tell you."

The woman frowned, glancing warily at Morvane and then at Drevon, who stood a few steps behind with his arms crossed. She called out, "Harlo! Someone’s here!"

A man appeared behind her, his face stern and his eyes sharp, though exhaustion was evident in his expression. "What do you need?" he asked, his tone firm but not unkind.

Morvane took a deep breath. "Do you... happen to have a son who passed away recently?"

The couple exchanged uneasy glances, their faces clouded with pain. Harlo, the man, asked cautiously, "Why do you ask?"

Morvane met his gaze and spoke slowly, knowing how absurd it would sound. "I know this might be hard to believe, but... he’s here. With us."

The mother’s eyes widened, but Harlo’s face hardened with anger. "Stop this nonsense!" he snapped. "We don’t have time for cruel jokes. Leave, now!"

Harlo moved to slam the door, but Drevon’s hand shot out like lightning, holding it open. His crimson eyes glinted dangerously as he smirked. "Maybe listen first, old man."

Harlo’s anger flared, and his hand ignited with fire magic, ready to attack. But before he could strike, Morvane’s voice cut through the tension. "His name is Mykal," he said firmly. "He died drowning in the river."

Harlo froze, the flames in his hand flickering before they vanished entirely. The mother clutched her chest, her voice breaking as she asked, "How... how do you know that?"

"Because I can see him," Morvane replied. He turned slightly, looking at the spirit hovering by his side. "Mykal, do you have anything you want to say to your parents?"

The child spirit’s form flickered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Tell them... I want to hug them. I miss them so much. And... I’m okay now."

Morvane repeated the boy’s words to his parents. The mother broke down, sobbing uncontrollably as she reached out toward the empty air. "Mykal? Mykal, can you hear me?" she cried.

Her voice cracked as she continued, "The man who pushed you... he was caught! He was a crazy drifter, but the village caught him. I’m sorry... I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, my baby."

Tears streamed down Harlo’s face, though he tried to keep his composure. He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, his voice shaking as he said, "Mykal... we miss you so much. If only we could’ve protected you."

The spirit began to glow brighter, his form flickering as if it was fading. He turned to Morvane and smiled. "Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for helping me. I don’t have to stay anymore."

Morvane nodded, his chest tightening. "You can rest now, Mykal."

The boy gave one last look at his parents and whispered, "I love you." His form dissolved into soft, glowing light, scattering into the night.

The mother fell to her knees, her sobs filling the silence. Harlo helped her up, his own tears silently falling. He turned to Morvane and said, "Thank you... for giving us the chance to say goodbye."

The couple offered food and shelter, but Morvane declined, saying they needed to keep moving. After bidding farewell, he and Drevon left the house and began walking toward the edge of the village.

As they neared the outskirts, a deep, raspy voice echoed through the night.

"Hey, you... markless one," the voice called. "He who can bind spirits!"

Morvane and Drevon froze, their eyes scanning the darkness. An old man stepped forward from the shadows, his tattered robes billowing in the wind. He was blind, his milky-white eyes staring straight through Morvane, yet there was an unsettling wisdom in his presence.

"You carry the power to bridge the living and the dead," the old man continued. "But beware... such power comes with a price."

Drevon’s smirk faded, and he stepped protectively closer to Morvane. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The old man ignored him, his sightless gaze fixed on Morvane. "The spirits you help... they leave their mark on you. Tread carefully, for the more you bind, the heavier the burden. And the burden... will one day break you."

Morvane’s heart pounded, but he kept his expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

The old man chuckled softly. "You’ll see, markless one. The spirits will guide you... and so will your destiny. Whether you like it or not."

The old man gestured for Morvane and Drevon to follow him, his movements surprisingly sure for someone without sight. "Come," he said. "We can’t talk here. My home is close by."

They walked through the narrow paths of the village, the blind man leading them with an eerie sense of direction. Morvane glanced at Drevon, who shrugged, clearly unfazed but still on edge.

Eventually, they arrived at a small, weathered house tucked away at the edge of the village. The air around it felt heavy, as though the house itself was steeped in ancient secrets. The old man opened the door and ushered them inside.

The interior was dimly lit, with shelves overflowing with old, dusty books and strange artifacts. Jars filled with unknown substances lined the walls, their contents glowing faintly in the low light. A gnarled staff leaned against the corner, and the air smelled faintly of herbs and ink.

Morvane’s eyes roamed the room, taking in the peculiar surroundings. When a beam of light from a lantern hit the old man’s face, Morvane noticed the cloudy, white haze over his eyes.

"Wait... you’re blind?" Morvane asked, unable to hide his surprise.

The old man chuckled, his voice gravelly. "Yes, boy. Blind as a bat."

Morvane frowned. "But then how did you see us outside? How did you even call out to us?"

The old man turned his head slightly toward Morvane, his expression unreadable. "It takes no eyes to feel the ominous power radiating from you," he said. "Your presence is like a storm—chaotic, dangerous, and impossible to ignore."

Drevon smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "You’ve got quite the poetic flair for someone who doesn’t see anything."

The old man’s head turned sharply in Drevon’s direction. "And you," he said, his tone colder now. "You reek of darkness. I know what you are."

Drevon’s smirk faltered, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Oh? And what, exactly, do you think I am, old man?"

The blind man stepped closer, his unseeing eyes seemingly piercing through Drevon. "A demon," he said simply. "Bound to this boy by some twisted fate."

Morvane tensed, his gaze shifting to Drevon, who let out a low chuckle. "Sharp for a blind man," Drevon said, his voice dripping with mockery. "But tell me, does it matter? Or are you just trying to scare us with your cryptic ramblings?"

The old man ignored Drevon’s taunt and turned back to Morvane. "You’ve been marked by the spirits," he said. "But this demon... his presence complicates things. The bond between you two will bring ruin if you’re not careful."

Morvane felt a chill run down his spine but forced himself to remain calm. "What do you mean by ’ruin’? And how do you know so much about us?"

The old man sighed, moving to sit on a chair by a cluttered table. "I’ve spent my life studying the realms of the living and the dead," he said. "I’ve seen others like you—rare individuals who can bind spirits. But none of them carried a shadow as dark as yours." He pointed a gnarled finger in Drevon’s direction. "And none of them consorted with demons."

Drevon rolled his eyes and muttered, "Consorted? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?"

The old man ignored him again, his focus entirely on Morvane. "There is much you don’t understand about your power, boy. If you want to survive what’s coming, you’ll need to learn. Quickly."

Morvane stepped forward, his jaw tightening. "Then teach me," he said. "If you know so much, tell me what I need to do."

The old man’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly. "Very well," he said. "But be warned—this path you’ve chosen is fraught with danger. The spirits you bind will not always be grateful. Some will resent you, and others..." He paused, his blind eyes seeming to pierce through Morvane’s soul. "...others will try to consume you."

The room fell silent, the weight of the old man’s words hanging heavy in the air.

Drevon broke the tension with a scoff. "Great. Another lecture about doom and gloom. Can we skip to the part where you actually help us?"

The old man turned toward Drevon, a small smile playing on his lips. "Patience, demon," he said. "You’ll learn soon enough that some lessons cannot be rushed."

The old man leaned back in his chair, his unseeing eyes fixed on nothing yet seemingly piercing into the depths of Morvane’s soul. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, boy, I can’t actually help you awaken your power. That’s not within my reach. But..." he paused, his voice lowering, "your demon will help you with that."

Morvane glanced at Drevon, who raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Of course. Who better to guide you than me?" Drevon said with a mock bow.

The old man ignored the sarcasm and continued. "There is something far more important that you need to know—something that might explain why you were chosen. A prophecy."

Morvane straightened, his curiosity and unease growing. "A prophecy?"

The blind man nodded gravely. "Listen to me, boy. You are the key to ending the destruction that looms over Ketamran. Our kingdom’s survival depends on you."

Morvane’s heart pounded as he stepped closer. "What do you mean? What destruction? What am I supposed to do?"

The old man’s expression darkened. "I don’t have all the answers. The spirits reveal fragments, not the whole picture. But one thing is clear—if you want to fulfill your destiny, you must kill those who possess the same power as you."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Drevon chuckled dryly, breaking the tension. "Uhh, old man, maybe you don’t know this, but there can’t be two people alive in the same timeline with power given by a demon. It’s one of those universal rules. Heaven doesn’t allow it."

The old man’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "The answers you are finding lies within yourselves."

Both Morvane and Drevon froze, confusion written across their faces. "What?" Morvane asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Drevon’s smirk faltered for a moment before his expression shifted, something dark and amused flickering in his crimson eyes. His mind raced. "Oh, right... hahahaha. Clever, old man."

Morvane noticed Drevon’s sudden change and frowned. "Do you know what he’s talking about?"

Drevon shrugged casually, the smirk returning to his lips. "Nope. Not a clue. Just sounds like the ramblings of an eccentric blind guy to me." He laughed lightly, but his eyes betrayed a glint of secrecy.

Morvane narrowed his eyes at him, unconvinced but too distracted by the weight of the old man’s words to press further. "Could you be more specific about the things you are saying?" Morvane asked the old man.

The old man didn’t answer directly. Instead, he gestured toward a shelf filled with ancient books. "You’ll find the answers you seek soon enough, boy. For now, focus on controlling your power. The time will come when everything becomes clear. But remember this—your choices will shape not just your destiny but the fate of all who walk this land."

Morvane clenched his fists, feeling the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on him. "I don’t understand any of this," he admitted.

"You will," the old man said cryptically. "Or you’ll perish trying."

Drevon’s laughter echoed through the room. "Oh, great. Just what we needed—more riddles. Let’s go, Morvane. We’ve got a things to do and, apparently, power to sharpen... or whatever."

Morvane shot him a glare but said nothing. As they stepped out of the old man’s house, the weight of the prophecy lingered, heavy and suffocating.

Drevon’s playful demeanor masked the thoughts racing through his mind. "So this is it, huh? Looks like things are about to get... interesting."