Scene- No eyes
The darkness remained.
The Traveler stood inside it.
Arafial was gone.
No footsteps.
No voice.
Nothing.
Then—
something moved.
The Traveler turned.
He couldn't see it.
Yet somehow—
he knew where it was.
A faint shape existed inside the darkness.
Not a face.
Not a body.
A presence.
He reached toward it.
The darkness reacted.
A thin outline appeared.
Then another.
The Traveler stopped.
He understood.
He wasn't seeing with his eyes.
He was sensing movement.
Everything around him left a trace.
Every step.
Every shift.
Every living thing.
Every dead thing.
Then the darkness broke.
The Traveler's body returned.
The mountain.
The Blood Moon.
The dead.
The elder sister.
He stood.
His physical eyes remained useless.
But the world was no longer completely empty.
Shapes moved around him.
Hundreds.
The dead were coming.
The elder sister stared.
"Traveler?"
He didn't answer.
One corpse rushed from his left.
The Traveler turned before it reached him.
His hand caught its throat.
He pulled.
The corpse stumbled forward.
The Traveler drove his shoulder into it.
Then—
he twisted.
CRACK.
The body collapsed.
Another came from behind.
He sensed it.
He turned.
His fist struck the corpse's chest.
It fell.
Another grabbed his arm.
He seized its wrist.
Pulled it closer.
His other hand caught its head.
The corpse struggled.
The Traveler tightened his grip.
Then—
he ripped the head free.
The body dropped.
The severed head fell beside it.
The elder sister stared.
The Traveler stood among them.
Blood covered his clothing.
His breathing was heavy.
His eyes remained closed.
Yet he knew exactly where every corpse was.
One rushed him.
He moved.
Another.
He ducked.
A third reached for his back.
He spun and struck it down.
The dead kept coming.
He kept fighting.
One grabbed his shoulder.
He slammed it into the ground.
Another seized his leg.
He kicked it away.
Two attacked together.
He caught one by the neck and drove the other backward with an elbow.
The first corpse recovered.
The Traveler turned.
Too late.
It struck him across the ribs.
He staggered.
Another hit his back.
He fell to one knee.
Hands surrounded him.
Too many.
The Traveler pushed himself upward.
One grabbed his cloak.
He tore free.
Another seized his arm.
He struck.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The corpse fell—
then began moving again.
The Traveler sensed it.
It was already getting back up.
He stood motionless for a fraction of a second.
Then understood.
They would not stay down.
The dead surged toward him.
The Traveler stepped forward instead of retreating.
He entered the mass.
His movements became shorter.
Sharper.
More desperate.
He didn't waste motion.
He broke grips.
Dodged attacks.
Struck joints.
Dropped bodies.
Then moved before they could rise.
But they kept coming.
The Blood Moon watched from above.
The elder sister stood several meters away, unable to understand what she was witnessing.
The blind stranger was fighting an army.
And somehow—
he was still standing.
Then a corpse appeared directly behind him.
The Traveler turned.
Too slow.
Its hands closed around his shoulders.
Three more grabbed his arms.
Another seized his waist.
The Traveler was dragged backward.
He fought violently.
His feet carved lines through the soil.
The dead pulled harder.
He refused to fall.
His fingers tightened around one corpse's wrist.
He pulled.
The body came forward.
He drove his forehead into it.
It released him.
The Traveler spun.
Another corpse attacked.
He caught its head.
The world around him became nothing but movement.
Thousands of traces.
Thousands of dead.
The Traveler stood in the center.
Blind.
Bleeding.
Exhausted.
And still fighting.
Then—
a new presence appeared behind the army.
Something much larger.
Much heavier.
The Traveler immediately stopped.
His head turned toward it.
He could sense it.
But unlike the dead—
this presence was alive.
And it was approaching.