Ren appeared at his side, his face a mix of quiet excitement and concern.
"I'm going with you, Lucy," he said. "I don't like leaving you alone in that darkness."
Thanks, buddy. You know A-01 isn't exactly a bedtime storyteller," Lucy said with a half-smile.
"Maybe it's saving the best for the climax," Ren replied with a shrug.
"Or maybe it's a silent spy already sending my complaints to some interdimensional council. Blind subject: insolent, sarcastic, low magical potential, suspected of excessive irony. I can already see myself on a most-wanted list."
They walked through endless corridors. Lucy brushed his hand against tapestries depicting wars from distant worlds, reliefs of gauntlets with pulsing gems, and display cases filled with strange artifacts: an alien scepter that whispered in a foreign tongue, a vibrant crystal orb that seemed to beat with life.
"Think this explodes if I touch it?" Lucy asked, letting his fingers graze a dagger floating inside a temporal bubble.
"Probably. So please don't."
"Too late."
"WHAT?!"
"Kidding. Though it's tempting. Imagine starting the Third Magic War with a joke."
When they reached the door, A-01 buzzed weakly, like a worn-out speaker.
"Room 27-B: assigned to Lucy Voss."
Ren pushed the door open. The room was a pit of shadows, dimly lit by moon crystals in the corners. The bed, draped in black curtains and sheets soft as feathers, looked like something out of a gothic fairytale.
Lucy collapsed onto it and stared at the ceiling. He adjusted the blanket carefully, and for a moment, his gray-blue iris appeared before his eyes closed again.
His mind drifted to the past: the white hospital, the machines beeping like distant alarms., his mother gripping his hand tightly. The doctor's deep voice echoed in his memory:
It's a degenerative ocular neuropathy. Soon you won't see anything.
Lucy sighed and smiled ironically.
"At least I won't suffer from heroic insomnia. Goodnight, cliché universe."
And he fell soundly asleep.
…
The next morning, the dining hall overflowed with golden light. The smell of toasted bread, spiced coffee, and fresh fruit wrapped everything like a divine blessing. Lucy, still in a wrinkled robe with messy hair, slurped his soup without shame.
Ren sat across from him with a bowl of floating, color-changing cereal.
"Sleep well?"
"Three percent control, one hundred percent sleep. Champion stats. Though I dreamt A-01 sold me as a cosmic slave. You?"
No clue. But I dreamed of Isolda and a polar bear. I think they both punched me.
"A classic training dream. Come, follow me after breakfast," Ren added in a low voice. "I want to try something."
They went to Irina's chamber, where the priestess was tracing runes with graceful movements. The air smelled of incense and old paper. Ren stepped forward, face serious:
"Priestess Irina, I request the healing of Lucy Voss's sight. His blindness, though part of his destiny, is limiting him."
Irina closed her codex without blinking. Her gaze fell on Lucy, then on Ren.
"I understand your request, Ren Nakamura, but Lucy's condition is a decree of judgment. It cannot be undone so easily."
"Please... if I pass the trials... if I prove it's worth it..."
"I'll rephrase," Irina interrupted, her sweet voice cold as frost. "When your 'designated hero'," she said, pointing at Seth—who was walking by and winked at an archer—"defeats Azrath, I will consider your request. Until then, his blindness remains."
Lucy frowned and raised his voice, dripping with sarcasm:
"And if he doesn't? Will you cure me just to use me as a weapon and then toss me out like a traitor? I've seen this story before. Spoiler: it ends badly."
Irina looked at him with cold indifference.
"In that case, yes. We will do whatever is necessary to defeat the Demon King, even if it means putting a leash on you and using you at our convenience. Only then will you regain your sight. Satisfied?"
Lucy gave a bitter smile.
"There it is... the downside of not being the protagonist in cliché worlds."
Ren opened his mouth to protest, but Irina's oppressive aura left him speechless. A-01 let out a faint buzz, as if warning them they were crossing a celestial protocol line.
"Now, prepare for training," Irina ordered.
***
They entered the vast training courtyard, where rows of weapons rested on pedestals: runic axes, flaming spears, golden bows, pulsing staves. A floating scroll recited in a robotic voice:
"Choose a weapon suited to your class and style. The trial will assess your adaptability and skill. Failure will result in penalties."
Seth swung his halberd with the ego of someone who had already won. Alaric summoned his shadow scythe with theatrical flair. Zhen twirled his spectral scimitars and let out a war cry in his native tongue. Isolda levitated her frozen staff, the air around her frosting over.
Lucy fumbled through several handles until he found a longsword with a reinforced hilt.
"Staff and sword... two in one," he smiled.
"Good pick," said Ren, helping him adjust his grip.
"What I lack in sight, I make up for in style."
Ren tapped his foot twice with the edge of his sword—a silent signal.
"Ready when you are."
Lucy planted his feet, raised the sword a bit clumsily, and nodded.
"Give me all you've got. But don't kill me. I've got a date with despair this afternoon."
Their weapons clashed with an electric discharge. Sparks flew, and the echo rang through his bones. He closed his eyes—even though he couldn't see, the gesture was instinctive—and forced himself to focus on what he could feel.
Sounds. Rhythm. Air pressure. The hiss of a blade slicing toward his left flank. He raised his sword to block—but a second too late. The blow threw him off balance.
A tingling spread through his fingers. His opponent stepped back, hesitant.
Jaw clenched, he cursed under his breath. That sharp cold in the stomach when you ask your body for more than it can give. It wasn't pain—it was helplessness.
A bead of sweat ran down his neck. He took a deep breath. The pressure of a boot shifting on stone. Leather creaking. Weight shifting.
He adjusted his guard.
The next strike came low. He twisted awkwardly, dodged with his body, and the sword's counterweight almost pulled him down. But he stayed on his feet.
Another lunge.
He twisted to block, the blades clashed, and his sword vibrated in his hands. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He couldn't see it—but he could feel it. That vibration, that shape. Learning through touch. Through motion. Like a bat sharpening its senses.
Suddenly, a soft hum bloomed underfoot.
Ren had triggered a magical trap. A field of light flared around him for an instant. Confused by the noise, Lucy misstepped.
"Watch out!" Ren shouted, trying to catch him.
Lucy fell to his knees, laughing dryly.
"My blindness and your traps... what an epic combo."
Ren helped him up, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"Good fight, buddy. Sorry about the trap."
"Sharp reflexes… too bad forgiveness isn't visible."
"Can you see it?"
"Nope. But I'm imagining it's full of dramatic lighting and tragic soundtracks.
Before Lucy could catch his breath, Seth knocked down a passing student with a single blow. A round of applause followed:
"Seth the Invincible!"
Seth turned toward Lucy:
"Blind boy, you're up. Show me what you've got."
Lucy didn't respond immediately. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and gripped his sword tighter. He took one more breath. Just one.
Then he stepped forward. Each step carried a message: I'm not decoration. I'm not dead weight. And if I fall, I'll fall fighting.
Ren wanted to stop him, but Lucy's gaze—though empty—was unshakable.
Facing Seth, Lucy raised his sword.
He said nothing. No jokes. No taunts. Just the tension of a warrior who, despite being surrounded by darkness, knew exactly which path to follow.
And although no one noticed, A-01 buzzed for a second longer than usual, glowing oddly.
As if it were... smiling.