Sound. It was the color in Lae’s world. It gave him sight. It gave him purpose. But on that day it also made him long for another time. A time oh so long ago before his family had torn itself apart like a pack of rabid wolves. But on that day while walking casually through the marketplace he had heard the soft hum of a familiar tune. One that he had heard rising on the deep vocals of his father oh so many years ago. It took his back to that time. He had been the first born and as such had the gift of seeing his mother carrying all of his siblings. His tiny hands pressing against her round belly and feeling the tiny kicks beneath like the flick of a fish’s fins. On that night when she couldn’t sleep, uncomfortable and heavily pregnant Lae had curled against her. A tiny shadow. He looked so much like her, taking so little from his father that his parentage could have been questioned had the couple not been so deeply in love.

Lae had been born blind. It wasn’t something that happened so he didn’t need to learn how to cope, he simply existed just like everyone else did. It had perhaps made his parents a little more protective of him than they would have been otherwise. On that night he had asked for a story. His chubby little fingers knotting in his mothers hair to hold her close. It wasn’t a story he received but that little hummed tune. And by the time it was over both Lae and his mother had fallen asleep.

It was that little unassuming tune that pushed him to make the trek home. On a horse he rode until he reached his family home that had once upon a time been so full of life and now appeared to be a sad shell of its former self. There was no sign of life and Lae wondered if perhaps his father had finally found his death. If he could remove the ring he wore that hid his presence from being detected via magical venues. He moved inside and through the foyer. Stopping when he reached the study. Some rooms appeared to still be in use. He could feel the dust beneath his fingertips, detect the musty scent of disuse from others. It could be a squatter…but who would want to live all the way in Krizala? Only an immortal with the ability to teleport wherever he wanted.

As Lae moved around the room he was constantly making small sounds. The scuff of his shoe, the click of his tongue, even just the rustle of his clothing. Anything to give him continuous information about his surroundings. So when the immortal silently appeared he noticed rather quickly. His slender frame stiffening under what he knew would be scrutiny. He felt like the mouse that had been caught in the cats home.

He turned his head in a move that would be ‘looking’ over his shoulder. But Lae was watching his father in his own way. Turning his ear to better catch the dangerous man’s movements. He had nearly been killed by his father more than once and wasn’t stupid enough to assume it wouldn’t happen again. A soft click of his tongue brought a new picture to mind. His father pulling a blade from his sleeve. A slow smirk spread on Lae’s lips and he shook his head causing his long dark hair to fall around his face like a veil. ”Father.” He said formally, even offering a small respectful dip of his skull. ”Only your memories. I never wanted your wealth. Not then. Not now.” He ‘watched’ as the blade was set aside and his father’s movements continued onward. Strolling around like a tiger stalking his prey. He would never believe that Lae was innocent, at least that was what Lae assumed. His mind was too poisoned by the rings, the desires of others. He had lost the man who had been a kind and loving father all too soon. His head turned to follow Khaal. Dark eyes open but not tracking movement.

”I would say the same but..” But the home had gone downhill. His father’s mind was but a fragment of what it had once been. He cleared his throat softly, the sound itself bringing information back to him. He stepped forward to let his fingers roll across several books. Feeling the engraved lettering beneath his sensitive fingertips.

”Did you kill them all?” He asked softly. Not bothering to beat around the bush. ”Or did you eventually grow tired of this ‘revenge’ that poisoned you so?”