Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 1: White Eyes

Piercing icy winds from the northern lands howled through the weathered wooden huts of Frosty Village, bearing the chill of frozen soil and the hopelessness of ordinary folk.

On that night, beneath a pitch-black sky without stars, a baby entered the world.

Inside the remotest hut in the village, a woman with sleek black hair and a tender smile gazed at her one true joy in life.

"He’s a beautiful boy, that’s good. His name will be... Kyrian. Just as his father wanted." The woman spoke with a soft smile, yet tiny tears started streaming down her cheeks.

She had endured labor entirely alone. In the solitude of the room, she cradled her infant while struggling to steady her breath. Then she watched him part his tiny eyelids.

That vision terrified her. Tears gushed from her eyes even more fiercely.

Held close in her arms, the baby gazed at her steadily, blinking gently. He uttered no cries, unlike typical newborns. But such silence held no importance for her.

"My... baby... Kyrian. His eyes... Is he blind? No, no. Why? God," she murmured as excruciating agony tore through her heart—sorrow, remorse, torment.

As her son’s eyes unveiled themselves, they shone white like pristine snow. Utterly void, lacking pupils or any vital spark.

In that instant, she branded herself a wretched mother. She grasped the harsh realities of life in this unforgiving land. Children with defects faced swift abandonment, for survival and village aid belonged solely to the sturdy.

Guilt overwhelmed her—for delivering a son lacking the vigor to endure. She pitied his grim destiny, the relentless trials awaiting him. Unceasing tears splashed onto the baby’s face.

"Forgive me... Kyrian." She uttered those words once more, drawing the deepest breath possible before brushing away her tears.

"It’s just you and me. So no matter what happens, I won’t let anything happen to you. I will protect you from everything. My baby." With a gentle smile, she caressed the baby’s head; he promptly shut his eyes once more, drifting into slumber.

...

Three months sped by swiftly, leaving Frosty Village and its woes unchanged. Liora, Kyrian’s devoted mother, concealed her child deep within their home.

Kyrian’s father commanded respect in the village; even after his demise, Liora maintained a solid supply of provisions. The village chief occasionally dropped by, bearing extra sustenance.

She shrouded her baby from sight as best she could, allowing the chief just one visit while Kyrian slumbered soundly. Thus, those eerie eyes stayed hidden from him.

Had the chief discovered her son’s blindness, no further aid would come—useless to the village’s future prospects.

Thus, additional days slipped away.

...

This day celebrated Kyrian’s birthday.

Liora startled awake to a chilly tiny finger brushing her cheek.

"Mommy... Wake up, I’m hungry." An adorably sweet voice rang out from the baby nestled on Liora’s bed.

She roused fully in a flash, drawing him tight to her chest and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Good morning, my son!" she exclaimed with a radiant grin.

Over recent months, Liora’s early anxieties about her boy had faded away completely.

In truth, Kyrian never wailed or fussed.

As other village youngsters howled for milk or care, her son lingered in hush, scrutinizing all with those vast, pupil-void eyes.

Liora came to realize this in time. Her child tracked her motions by turning his head, just as if sighted. Assuming it followed noise, she experimented in silence. Still, Kyrian mirrored her path flawlessly. As if...

"Kyrian... my baby... you... you can see, right?" She breathed the words, tears brimming in her eyes.

Kyrian beamed at her, appearing to confirm it, oblivious to her meaning.

Her instinct proved true. From birth, Kyrian possessed flawless vision, never truly sightless. Yet an anomaly marked him, beyond comprehension in that place.

Since his first gaze, luminous particles swirled and laced through the atmosphere wherever Kyrian looked. A phenomenon unknown to mortals in this forsaken hamlet. Kyrian beheld them vividly, reaching out instinctively with chubby fingers to snatch and hurl them toward his eyes.

Witnessing these acts, Liora puzzled yet sensed her son’s otherworldliness. Yes, he felt destined for greatness.

Her feelings rang accurate. Kyrian mastered crawling in no time, walking soon after. Before reaching one year, he chattered and bantered with her. From infancy, she spoke endlessly to him daily; observing keenly, he echoed her speech, grasping word essences step by step.

"Mommy... I can’t breathe." Tiny Kyrian cried out, his face smothered amid Liora’s bosom.

"Oh, sorry, I always do that. Hehe, my baby. How did you sleep?

All of a sudden, as Liora released Kyrian, her gaze fell upon his eyes.

"Kyrian. Your eyes, your eyes. How? They’ve changed." She uttered, clutching him tightly while peering deeply into Kyrian’s eyes.

Right then, Kyrian felt shock too. Beyond the particles he’d always perceived, something odd now surrounded his mother.

Could that be... worry?

...

Upon reaching one year old, a subtle ring, like a faint circle, formed in Kyrian’s all-white eyes. It resembled a mere outline of a pupil.

Beyond that, Kyrian gained the ability to sense emotions from anyone he fixed his gaze upon.

Anger, fear, disgust.

These sensations struck him most frequently. Why was that?

Once Kyrian hit one year, his mother believed it was time to present him to the villagers. Her son was an unprecedented genius in the village, and his pupils seemed to emerge, even though he’d seen clearly from birth.

Yet Liora soon discovered her mistake. Rather than awe at Kyrian’s brilliance or cheers for his smarts, she caught only hushed whispers and timid slurs from frightened folks.

Mostly, other kids burst into tears or fled to their parents upon spotting Kyrian, screaming he was a monster without eyes.

On top of that, right after she attempted to show Kyrian around, village children started vanishing mysteriously one by one.

And then.

Whispers began circulating across the village.

"It’s his fault. Since that abomination showed up, five kids have gone missing."

"It’s his fault, yes, he’s cursed, he needs to be driven out of the village."

Liora overheard such words from those who’d once held her in high regard. Abandonment stung her deeply. After that, no aid came for food, labor, or any other needs.

Seeing his mother’s torment, Kyrian then wrapped a band over his eyes. Even with it on, his vision remained flawless.

’Maybe if I hide them... Mommy won’t hurt as much.’

Sadly, however, things stayed the same.

...

Kyrian remembered everything without fail.

The look on his mother’s face lingered vividly from when he first opened his eyes. That incredibly tender smile stood as his cherished memory.

Every child in the village who branded him cursed upon sight—he knew all their names.

The band eased fears of his eyes no more. Yet folks still shunned him. Kyrian didn’t mind; his joy came solely from being near his mother.

During a solo wander through the village one day, Kyrian spotted a hunter, rare in those parts. He observed the man practicing with a worn sword as snowflakes dusted his head.

Kyrian’s gaze locked onto each motion of the guard. Something about it captivated him, so back home, he replicated the moves flawlessly for his mother with a stick.

Perfect imitation came naturally.

"Kyrian, where did you learn that?" She inquired, utterly stunned. Her husband’s drills flashed in her mind—so alike, it seemed impossible for her son to...

"I saw the guard dancing all weird like that. Isn’t it fun? I loved it, but what’s this dance called?" Kyrian beamed innocently at his mother, who chuckled at his words.

Deep down, overwhelming joy surged.

"If you’re truly such a genius, I worry less. You’ll grow strong, yes. You must."

Liora mused as she caressed Kyrian’s head, then described the guard’s training.

...

At three years old now, Kyrian kept the band over his eyes, accustomed to the cover. He hated seeing his mother grieve over villagers’ opinions.

Returning home from foraging one day, Kyrian found Liora slumped at the bed’s edge. Pain wracked her fiercely; he dashed over, struggling to hoist her with his tiny frame but eventually aiding her to sit up.

From there, matters deteriorated sharply.

A harsh, dry cough plagued Liora daily. Her frame grew utterly frail, barely managing an hour of walking.

Gradually, her time dwindled away.

No healer existed in the village; the last had perished long ago. Despite Kyrian’s pleas, only the village chief examined Liora—no one else bothered.

Even the chief couldn’t diagnose her ailment.

Starting then, Kyrian stole food mostly for his bedridden mother, desperate to sustain her life.

"Forgive me, my baby... I can’t protect you anymore." She sobbed, embracing him nightly, likely assuming he slept.

In those instants, Kyrian balled his fists hard.

...

Kyrian’s fourth birthday arrived swiftly.

Liora’s health plunged further. She could no longer even sit upright in bed.

Kyrian perched on a weathered wooden chair beside the bed. Liora gazed upon her son's face, at the bandage he had never once removed in anyone's presence.

Today, Liora's voice carried frailty. Kyrian sensed it deeply. As he watched her, agony wracked her body right then. Yet a soft smile graced her features while she beheld him.

"Kyrian... remove the bandage." Liora whispered in a voice barely audible.

He obeyed without delay.

In that instant, Liora peered straight into his eyes, wearing that identical smile from the day he first beheld the world.

Once more, Kyrian's eyes had transformed. A pupil had at last formed. Pure gray in hue, yet no iris graced it, nor any hint that one might emerge.

"Just as I suspected... my son. I knew you concealed them for my sake." Liora's words came as a faint sigh, her gaze dimming like fading embers.

"But... please, hide them no longer. Your eyes... they are the most stunning sight I've ever witnessed."

Then, she departed this world. Her final words were too faint for Kyrian to catch. Yet he grasped their meaning from the subtle motion of her lips.

In her very last instant, Kyrian beheld no torment or sorrow in Liora. Instead, a gleam of joy and pride shone as she regarded her cherished son.

Tears started streaming down at that moment...

No soul could tell how long they flowed.

The chamber hung in heavy silence, devoid of life, broken only by the patter of droplets on the worn wooden planks.

Once his tears ran dry, Kyrian clasped his mother's hand for the final time. Something was clutched within his grasp.

He seized it swiftly—a brittle, yellowed sheet of paper that he unfolded in haste.

"This... it's a letter?"