The Son Of Snakes

The sea air, thick with the scent of salt and celebration, assailed Nikolas's heightened senses. Cheers and music from the festival on Seriphus filled the air, a cacophony that grated on his ears. He walked with purpose, his worn stick tapping rhythmically on the dusty path, a familiar guide in his unseen world.

He had spent years honing his body and mind, driven by a singular, burning goal. Now, he was finally here, on the very island where the man he sought was hailed as a hero. The irony was a bitter taste on his tongue.

He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter, shielding his blindfolded eyes from curious glances, though few would notice a lone traveler amidst the joyous throng. His heart, usually a steady drum, beat with a new intensity. Tonight, the celebrated hero would face the son of his forgotten victim.