The Seeress-Echoes and Portents

A blind Seeress must break the cycle of death and rebirth of a man to save the world

The Seeress- Echoes and Portents

Death all around—mud mingled with blood. A flash of steel, searing pain. Darkness. A brilliant light—rebirth. Once more, it begins. The pain, beyond imagination. The light. The cycle unrelenting, until… A voice calling a name. Is it my name?

Lyseris… Lyseris… Come back to us. Lyseris gasped, her breath ragged, as if torn from drowning waters. Her hands trembled, blind eyes wide, unseeing yet seeing all. The chamber of seers leaned close, their whispers sharp with urgency. She raised her voice, steady despite the shiver in her bones. “I saw death and rebirth unending—darkness, then light, unrelenting. The cycle devours not only me, but all. If it is not broken, doom will fall upon the world.”

The seers recoiled, a murmur rose — protest and doubt entwined, voices unsettled. “You are blind, Lyseris. How can you walk a path you cannot see?” The task demands one who can see the way. No single soul can bear such a burden.”

Lyseris lifted her head, her voice firm. “I saw what none of you did. The cycle tore through me. My name was called from the abyss. This burden is mine. I must go. Her words did not fade, but reverberated — an echo that lingered like a portent carried on unseen winds.

Silence fell, and foreboding. At last, the eldest among them spoke, voice low but resolute. “Then go, Lyseris. If the vision has claimed you, we cannot deny it. But you shall not walk alone. Another must go beside you — eyes to guide, strength to guard. Only then may you seek the soul at the heart of this doom.”

Lyseris bowed her head, accepting. “It is agreed. I will go. And with me, one who will walk the path unseen. But the burden is mine.”

The following morning, Lyseris sat alone in her chamber, fingers brushing the worn edge of her cloak. The silence pressed heavily, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as she packed what little she would carry. Her breath trembled, and for a moment she lingered, blind eyes turned toward the unseen walls that had sheltered her since youth. All she had known lay here — the voices of the Seers, the rituals, the safety of belonging. A sigh escaped her lips, soft but resolute. It must be faced. The unknown calls, and I cannot turn away.

The door creaked open. The elder seer stepped inside, his presence filling the chamber with quiet authority. Beside him stood a man in armour, broad-shouldered. One of the elite guard protectors

“Lyseris,” the elder intoned, voice solemn. “You shall not walk alone. This is Harlan Merrick, sworn defender of the Seers. He will be your eyes and your guard upon the path.”

Harlan bowed low, his movements precise, drilled into him since boyhood. When he spoke, his voice was firm, formal, carrying the weight of duty. “Lyseris Vale,” he said, using her full name with deliberate respect. “I am commanded to protect you wherever your path may lead. My sword and shield are yours, until the task is done.”

Lyseris’s hands tightened on her cloak. She felt the tremor of nerves rise again, but she steadied herself, lifting her chin. “Then let it be so. I will not refuse the strength offered.”

The elder seer’s gaze lingered on them both, heavy with portent. “Go, then. The cycle awaits, and the world holds its breath.”

Having said their goodbyes, they set off on foot shortly after dawn—footsteps rising dust on the dirt path. Behind them, the tower of the Seers loomed, its spires fading into the mist. Lyseris did not look back — sightless eyes fixed ahead, resolute. But Harlan turned once, gaze lingering on the place they had left, the weight of its silence pressing upon him before he faced the road again. The path wound through fields, the dew drying as the sun rose, to warm the earth. Their pace was steady, silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant cry of crows. By dusk, the road bent toward a town, its rooftops clustered beneath the fading light. Lanterns flickered to life, casting long shadows. The streets were narrow, worn by countless steps, the air thick with smoke. Faces turned as they passed — some curious, some wary, none welcoming. Lyseris walked on, unseeing, her head high. Harlan’s hand brushed the hilt of his sword, Vigilant. After finding a room for the night and seeing Lyseris settled, Harlan went to the stables. He found what they needed: two sturdy horses.