Have you ever noticed tiny specks or squiggly lines drifting across your field of vision? If so, you’re not alone. These elusive and often perplexing visual disturbances are commonly referred to as “eye floaters.” In this article, we will demystify the world of eye floaters, explore their causes, when to seek medical attention, and what treatments may be available.
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The yanlei were many, certainly, though limited. When a young one goes missing for a time, though, it isn't long before they return. A macabre display of cruel 'art'. Ethereal branches grow from a wound in their shoulder, the roots leeching away the blood that would have run from it.
"A message..." They whisper, blood dripping from their lips. "He said to give you... A message..." They try to speak more, only to be unable to. The roots growing through them had reached their throat, and soon, the magical plant blooms as the light leaves their eyes.
The Golden Demon was back. It was a message clearer than the brightest of lights. And clearly, he wanted Zed to hurt.
— @curtain-cxll
Once, they had been few; not enough on their own to take Thanjuul, likely, not without the aid of the Brotherhood, when the two groups yet bled into one another more seamlessly. It has been a long time since then. The Order of Shadows was limited by the finiteness of their resources, and yet, even then, the yánléi had spread all over Ionia, claiming more than the temple in which he had once been a student.
Their presence was scarcely limited to the patches of territory made theirs, nevertheless. Acolytes and masters alike were oft dispatched in operations of various sorts, from gathering information to ensuring a supply of the ichor that empowered them; that, as much as to eliminate targets (and though the lingering noxians were ever a priority, Zed did not possess the qualms some of his people possessed when it came to turning his blades against the children of Ionia, were it necessary).
This one had been sent for a simple task. Lin — one of the younger ones, no older than twelve — was supposed to scout, not engage; something they had done before and would continue to do, practice of stealth and observation both, while allowing the more experienced of the yánléi to focus on the more essential aspects of their operations. Running into trouble could happen; the wait does not last long enough that Zed expects the worse, though the master is present to receive his pupil at the moment of their arrival.
It has been many years, now, since he first saw the Golden Demon's handiwork. At first, it had filled him with horror, stomach-churning; but he was a boy no longer, and no stranger to the horrific.
It still feels like a punch in the gut.
One wouldn't be able to tell from his expression alone, though Zed isn't capable to keep from a reaction entirely. Lips press in a thin line, crimson irises not avoiding the grotesque display. They were part of his Order, one of his students; under his protection. The least he can do is look — engrave it in his mind, never forget, allow the rage to guide a deadly strike when the time came. Rip Jhin's heart from his chest, still beating, before it was crushed into a bloody pulp.
His mercy also takes the shape of a blade; and though surprising gentleness colors the manner he holds the child, the retractable blade does not hesitate to find its mark, ending their suffering rather than allowing the painful suffocation to continue.
Zed is careful when laying them on the ground, but a second glance is not spared to the kid; the others will give him a proper burial, allow him to rejoin Ionia as all the children of the First Lands, body once more one with their land. He had important work to do — alone, this time. Jhin would have left a trail; he wanted Zed's attention.
He had it, now. But this would be the last time. No one would pay for the misplaced sense of mercy that demanded he be allowed to live any longer. This time, Zed would only stop when the demon was dead.
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