Long ago, in the quiet halls of Oxford, a marvel of invention was bornone that would forever alter how mankind perceived the night. Scholars and craftsmen, labouring by candlelight, devised a wonder: spectacles so fine they could be worn upon the eye itself, granting sight in pitch-black darkness.
Unlike the cumbersome lanterns or unwieldy spyglasses of old, these delicate lenses melded with the wearers gaze as though they were part of natures own design. Woven with threads of materials unseen before, they caught the faintest whispers of heat and shadow, painting them into shapes the eye could understand. No longer would men stumble blindly; the night itself became as clear as noonday.
Their uses stretched far and wide. Watchmen patrolling Londons fog-cloaked lanes, surgeons tending to midnight ailments, even wayfarers lost upon the moorsall might find solace in such a device. Even the humblest folk, fetching water from a darkened well or fumbling for a tinderbox, would know ease where once there was dread.
Yet beyond mere convenience lay a deeper truth: man and machine need not stand apart. Here was proof that human frailty might be mended by clever hands and quiet study, that the boundaries of flesh could bend before ingenuitys touch.
As the years unfurled, these lenses grew ever sharper, their vision reaching deeper into the unseen. What began as a scholars fancy became the dawning of an age where darkness held no dominion, and the nights secrets lay bare before mortal eyes.
