The Blind Diviner

A World on the Brink

The ground trembled beneath him, the deep rumble echoing across the barren expanse. It was not the first quake to plague the region. For weeks, the people of Mer-Khaat had watched in terror as fissures split the land. Rivers flowed backward; crops withered overnight. The royal court whispered of rebellion, famine, and the wrath of long-forgotten gods. So, they turned to Rakim, the outcast, their desperation outweighing their distrust.

But Rakim had his own reasons for accepting the task. Behind his impassive demeanor, a storm of doubts raged. His master, the venerable Diviner Amukhet, had once warned him not to meddle with the Codices. To do so risked invoking powers beyond mortal comprehension. Yet here he was, kneeling before an ancient prophecy, poised to enact the forbidden.

The tablet glowed faintly, its runes pulsing to a rhythm no human ears could hear. Then came the voice—not outside, but within him, like an echo inside his very bones. "Rakim of the Zhora, do you seek wisdom or folly?"

"I seek neither," he replied, his voice steady. "I seek the truth."

Fragments of the Past

It's said that blindness sharpens other senses, and for Rakim, that had always been true. He could smell the iron tang of the earth as the fissures widened, hear the faint hum of energy vibrating beneath his feet. Memories of his initiation ceremony flared in his mind—a scene as vivid now as it was ten years ago. He remembered standing before the Pool of Shadow, its surface shimmering with liquid obsidian, as Amukhet carved patterns into his cheeks and eyelids with a blade of meteoric iron. The pain had been unimaginable, but the visions that followed had shown him secrets others could only dream of.

"Do not trust the gods, boy," Amukhet had told him afterward. "They are no wiser than we are. Merely... older."

And yet, here Rakim was, invoking their aid as if wisdom and age were the same thing. He pushed the doubts away, focusing on the task at hand. This was his duty, his penance. To shy away now would mean abandoning not just his people but his own fragile hope for redemption.

The Mael'Zeth Arrive

The first crack of thunder split the air, though no storm clouds marred the sky. Rakim could feel the air grow dense, electric. A sharp, metallic smell replaced the earthy aroma of the sands. Then came the light—searing even to his blind eyes—followed by a sound so deep it rattled his teeth.

"They're here," he muttered under his breath.

The temperature plummeted. Strange shapes began to coalesce in the air: serpentine figures with skeletal wings, eyes like molten gold, and bodies woven from starlight and shadow. The Mael'Zeth were unlike anything Rakim had dared to imagine. Terrifying and beautiful, they seemed to occupy more than three dimensions, each movement causing ripples in the very fabric of existence.

One of the beasts turned toward him, its countless eyes locking onto his unmoving form. "Why have you summoned us, mortal?" The voice was layered, overlapping tones of wrath and curiosity, youth and age.

"To end the suffering of my people," Rakim said firmly. "To know whether salvation or wrath awaits us."

The creature tilted its head—or what passed for its head. "And what will you sacrifice for this knowledge?"

The Cost of Truth

Rakim hesitated. He unclasped the medallion around his neck, holding it out with trembling hands. "Take this," he offered. "It bears the essence of my lineage, my power as a diviner."

The Mael'Zeth regarded the medallion with indifference. "Trinkets mean nothing to us. We demand... something greater."

Before Rakim could respond, the creature lunged, its serpentine body wrapping around him. Reality itself seemed to blur as he was pulled into a space beyond comprehension, surrounded by an infinite void filled with blinding stars. Memories flashed before his mind’s eye: his childhood in the slums of Mer-Khaat, the day he took his vow of blindness, the faces of those he had loved but abandoned.

The Choice

Rakim closed his sightless eyes. "Then take it," he whispered. "I have lived long enough in lies."

When he awoke, he lay alone in the sands. The fissures had vanished, the air calm and sweet. Yet something felt irrevocably changed. His satchel was gone, the tablet gone, even the medallion stripped from his neck. All that remained was emptiness—and a faint, unrelenting question at the edge of his thoughts:

Had he saved his people... or doomed them?

Genre: Dark Fantasy

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