The darkness behind his eyelids grows darker, as he sinks softly, gently into sleep.

Jon "wakes" into total darkness, with no eyes to open, but his other senses feel sharpened in a way that's difficult to describe. The sleeping mat beneath him is humble, but comfortable. The air smells of incense and candlesmoke, of a rich, sour-sweet smell he cannot identify, and, faintly, of ash and sulfur. He can hear the walls and doors around them, the sound of metal windchimes creating a "soundscape" that feels as natural to navigate as he would with his eyes.

There's something by his bedside, the size of a parcel that might hold a few books.