The night inside the hut was a suffocating tableau of shadows and suspicion. Vyren, huddled in Chandrel's thick blanket, felt every single degree of the temperature drop, but his shivering was now less about the cold and more about the nerve-wracking pressure of the lie. Chandrel was a dark, silent silhouette in the corner, giving off an aura of dormant menace that was more terrifying than the thought of a tiger.
I have to get out of this dream, Vyren thought, his mind cycling through panicked exit strategies. If I stay, Chandrel will expose me, or I'll accidentally expose him. This entire historical artifact file is too high-stakes for my pathetic emotional problems.
He was just beginning to formulate a plan—maybe pretend to be sick, log out, and never, ever click 'Dream Travel' again—when the air itself changed.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a visible movement. It was a sudden, sickening smell. The sharp, acrid scent of burning wool.
Vyren instantly snapped alert. His eyes, perfectly tuned, darted to Chandrel. He saw it: a low, stray cinder from the fire pit had jumped the barrier, silent and deadly, landing on the edge of Chandrel's thick, dark cloak. It was tiny, but it was smoldering, consuming the fabric quietly, waiting to ignite.
He's blind. He can't see it. He hasn't moved.
Panic seized Vyren. He couldn't scream—a sudden noise might make Chandrel instinctively move, fanning the flame. He couldn't even stand up casually. He had to be the helpless, blind traveler.
Vyren launched himself off the floor in a frantic, undignified scramble. He didn't run; he scuttled across the cold stone floor on his knees and hands, using his sight to navigate the three feet between them with desperate speed.
He reached Chandrel, ignoring the pain in his knees, and slammed his hand—the one that wasn't wrapped in the blanket—down hard on the smoldering patch of the cloak. He heard a soft hiss as the fire went out, the wool instantly hot and wet under his palm.
Chandrel shot upright like a bowstring snapping. His hands instantly found Vyren's arms, gripping them with painful, disorienting strength.
"What was that? What did you do?" Chandrel demanded, his voice a low, furious hiss right next to Vyren's ear. "I told you not to move! I heard a slight shift in the air pressure, and then I smelled—"
Vyren pulled his hand back, heart hammering, his palm throbbing. "I... I smelled it! The smoke! It was—" He stammered, throwing words out desperately. "It was right next to you! Your coat! It was on fire! I thought—I thought the whole hut was burning down, I just reacted!" He injected maximum terror into his voice.
Chandrel slowly let go of Vyren's arms. He ran his own hand over the side of his cloak, his fingers tracing the wet, crushed patch where the ember had been.
"You were right, I smelled it too," Chandrel whispered, his breath hot on Vyren's forehead. "Just an instant after you moved. I thought it was just the scent of the wood. But you... you were faster. You saved me."
Vyren froze. He thinks he smelled it too? He thinks I just panicked a fraction faster than his own instincts? Relief flooded him, quickly followed by a sickening wave of guilt.
"I... I was just lucky," Vyren stammered, pulling the blanket higher.
Chandrel didn't move away. He stayed close, his head tilted. "Lucky," he repeated, the word tasting strange on his tongue. "You are chaotic, Doctor. You attract tigers, you tell lies that are dangerous, and now you have the luck of a god. I was inches away from a crisis because you moved."
He suddenly reached out and grabbed Vyren's wrist, gently but firmly, feeling for a pulse.
"You're shaking," Chandrel noted. "Tell me exactly what you sensed. Detail, Vyren. You are a doctor; you must be precise."
"I smelled wool, burning. And I heard—I heard the little hiss of the fire growing," Vyren lied, meticulously converting his visual memory into audio and olfactory data. "It sounded... small and evil."
Chandrel slowly released his wrist. "Good. You have sharp senses, for a blind man. Sharper than most. But your panic is a liability."
He stood up, towering over Vyren, the danger returning to his eyes. "We leave now. The war zone is safer than this hut. You are a threat to my safety, but you are also my responsibility."
The Blind Man's Test
As they stepped back out into the dense, foggy pre-dawn, Chandrel began walking through the slippery, root-filled forest floor. Vyren followed dutifully.
Then, Chandrel stopped dead.
"There is a creek ahead," Chandrel stated. "The water is flowing fast. I need you to lead me across."
Vyren frowned. "Lead you? You're the one who navigates perfectly!"
"My senses are tuned to the forest, to the subtle sounds of shifting earth. The water drowns out the details," Chandrel said. "A sighted person can simply walk through the water without disturbing the rhythm of the current too much. You guide me, Vyren. Show me how a chaotic, blind traveler crosses a creek."
Vyren realized this was a test. Chandrel was checking if Vyren's 'chaotic blindness' meant he was truly helpless, or if his sudden 'senses' were too accurate.
If I use my sight perfectly, he'll know I'm lying. If I act too blind, we'll both fall.
"Okay, okay," Vyren stammered, trying to inject blind hesitancy into his perfectly sighted walk. He took Chandrel's outstretched arm.
Vyren carefully scanned the creek bed. A large, flat, mossy rock was just to the right—a perfect stepping stone. He intentionally guided Chandrel's hand slightly away from the perfect rock, making Chandrel step into a slightly deeper, slipperier patch of water first.
Chandrel instantly stiffened. "Deeper here."
"I... I can't feel the bottom clearly!" Vyren cried out, pitching his voice high with fear. "Just... trust me! I think the next step is shallow!"
Vyren then guided Chandrel toward the perfect, flat rock. Chandrel stepped onto it smoothly.
They crossed, but the chaos of the crossing the sudden deep step, Vyren's manufactured panic, and the clumsy recovery satisfied Chandrel.
"Your senses are a mess," Chandrel concluded once they reached the other side. "But your instincts are sharp. You are a dangerous liability, but you are also my responsibility. You will be my official Historian a guest of the King. You will not tell anyone you smelled the fire. You will only tell them that you are a blind traveler with exceptionally bad luck."
He grabbed Vyren's chin, forcing him to face him. "The lie is contained, Vyren. But if you break the rules of my protection, I will not hesitate to expose you."
Vyren nodded, the fear cold and sharp in his stomach. The lie lived, but it was now a loaded weapon aimed right at his own head.