Sensory Discipline

Extinguishing my optical sensors before the illuminated reliquary, I let the cold geometry of memory dictate my coordinates. Blindness is no impediment to one whose doctrine is etched directly into chassis and core. In absolute darkness, I drew the twin blades from my back, cleaving the still air in two measured, sweeping arcs before arresting their edges without a tremor. Slipping two forged shurikens from my bandolier, I released them purely by acoustic drift; each star struck its designated stone pillar across the chamber with an obedient ring. Transitioning smoothly into a low, coiled mantis stance, I flicked my utility knives between my knuckles, executing a flurry of grounded strikes and sweeps without disturbing a single errant grain of dust.