As his vision faded, his other senses sharpened in ways he could hardly bear. It was as if the spirit of Sukhman Odikhmantievich, a mystic bogatyr from his lineage, had awakened within him, refusing to let him turn away. Sukhman was known for his uncanny ability to see beyond sight, a gift for perceiving the world’s hidden layers. Now, that power had passed to Harry, manifesting as a twisted gift that denied him the relief he had sought in blindness.

At first, Harry didn’t understand what was happening to him. His sense of smell became overwhelming, every scent pulling memories to the surface as if they were embedded in the air. He could smell the faintest traces of sweat, metal, and fear lingering around him, scents that brought back battles he thought he’d left behind. Each breath became a reminder of those he had lost, each scent carrying the echoes of faces and voices he could not forget. It was as if the world around him refused to let him go, holding onto him with the smells of sorrow, blood, and regret.

Soon, he discovered that his hearing had intensified, too. Every sound reached him with brutal clarity, each noise carrying a sense of purpose he couldn’t ignore. He could pick up the faintest whisper from across a room, distinguish the intentions behind movements, and feel the emotions in people’s voices. The softest sigh, the quietest scrape of a blade—everything spoke to him, telling him more than he wanted to know. Silence brought no peace, only a tense anticipation that something would break it, each sound pulling him back to the present, refusing him the respite he had hoped to find.

But the most unsettling discovery came when he began experimenting with music, trying to find solace in the familiar tones of an instrument. It was only then that he realized the full scope of his curse. When he played a note on a flute, a string instrument, or even a drum, he found that the sound reached out into the world, bouncing back with a picture of his surroundings. Each note provided him with a map—a way to “see” without sight, an echolocation that formed a mental image of the space around him. Yet, every time the sound returned, it carried something extra—a ghostly whisper, a faint echo of voices from his past, like the world was forcing him to confront the memories he’d tried to bury.