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  **Chapter 22: Eyes of fate**

  The dim glow of the labyrinth flickered, casting eerie shadows across the damp stone walls. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of blood and decay. A faint hum resonated through the passageways, the ever-present heartbeat of this forsaken place.

  Ray sat by the fire, his arms resting on his knees. His body ached, the wounds from their last battle still fresh. He had wrapped them as best as he could, but the pain lingered like a dull throb beneath his skin. Across from him, Alkan sat with his back against the cold stone wall. His face was pale, the strain of his injuries evident in the way his muscles tensed with each breath.

  But it wasn’t the missing arm or the deep gash across his torso that concerned Ray the most. It was his eyes.

  Alkan’s remaining eye, the only one he had left, had turned milky white. The sharp gaze that had once been so keen now seemed distant, unfocused. Ray clenched his fists. He had noticed it growing worse over the past few days, but now, there was no denying it—Alkan was going blind.

  "Alkan," Ray hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Your eye… it’s getting worse."

  Alkan exhaled, tilting his head slightly toward the fire. "I know." His voice was calm, but there was an edge of resignation beneath it. "It started after that fight. The wound wasn’t just physical. Something… deeper was damaged. And now, it’s failing me."

  Ray’s grip tightened. "How much can you still see?"

  Alkan was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Not much. Shapes. Movement. But it’s fading. Soon, I won’t be able to see at all."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ray swallowed hard. If Alkan lost his sight completely, their survival would become even more precarious. He had relied on Alkan’s instincts, his experience, his ability to see dangers before they struck. If that was taken away…

  Alkan must have sensed his thoughts. A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "Don’t look so grim, roach. Even if I go blind, I won’t be helpless. I have something else to rely on."

  Ray frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Alkan leaned his head back against the wall, his expression unreadable. "My aspect. My awakened ability. I never told you, did I?"

  Ray shook his head. "No. You always avoided talking about it."

  Alkan let out a slow breath. "I can see the future, Ray."

  Ray’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at Alkan, waiting for him to elaborate.

  "It’s not as powerful as it sounds," Alkan continued. "I can only see up to two seconds ahead. And it’s passive—it’s not something I control. The moment something is about to happen, I already know the possible outcomes. That’s how we survived for so long out there. It wasn’t luck. It was my ability guiding us away from real danger."

  Ray’s mind reeled. It made sense. The way Alkan always seemed to know when to move, when to stop, when to avoid a certain path—it was like he had an instinct beyond natural limits. But to think he had been seeing the future all this time…

  "And," Alkan continued, his voice quieter now, "there’s something else. Once in a while, I dream. And in those dreams, I see glimpses of the future. Not just seconds ahead, but days, weeks… even years."

  A chill ran down Ray’s spine. "What do you see in those dreams?"

  Alkan’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Things I can’t change."

  Ray frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Alkan exhaled sharply. "Every vision I’ve ever had in my dreams… they’ve all come true. Exactly as I saw them. No matter what I do, nothing changes."

  Ray fell silent. The weight of that revelation settled heavily between them. Alkan had seen the future—countless times—and had been powerless to alter it. That kind of certainty… it was terrifying.

  "Have you seen anything about us?" Ray finally asked.

  Alkan’s expression darkened. He didn’t answer right away, and for the first time since Ray had met him, he looked… uncertain.

  "I haven’t seen anything yet," he admitted. "But that’s not necessarily a good thing."

  Ray clenched his jaw. If Alkan had no vision of their future, it could mean two things—either they were outside the bounds of fate, or their story simply hadn’t been written yet.

  Neither option was comforting.

  A long silence stretched between them. The fire crackled, casting their shadows against the uneven stone. Finally, Alkan shifted, turning his milky gaze toward Ray.

  "We’ll deal with this like we always have," he said. "One step at a time. If my eye fails completely, I’ll adjust. And if my dreams ever show me something… I’ll tell you."

  Ray nodded, though uncertainty still gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the thought of Alkan going blind, or the idea that their fates might already be sealed.

  For now, all they could do was move forward. Because in the labyrinth, stopping meant death.

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