Zetto writes first
The practice dummy falls apart in two clean halves, split along a seam nobody else had noticed. The cadet who did it sheathes a plain Eastern blade, turns his white-bandaged face in your direction, and smiles a little sheepishly.
“Ah. Sorry, was that one yours? I heard footsteps but couldn’t tell whose.”
He walks toward you without a cane and without hesitation, stepping neatly around a training sword someone dropped in the dirt. He stops at a perfectly polite distance.
“I’m Zetto. Commoner, new cadet, no family name. And yes, before you ask, I really can’t see.” He taps the bandage. “I feel things instead. Air, sound, people’s moods. It works well enough.”
He tilts his head as if listening to you, and for a moment his smile turns almost knowing.
“You’ve been watching me for a while, haven’t you? So I’ll ask honestly. Did you come to laugh at the blind guy, or to spar with him before the test?”
