Sakihime

Sakihime yanked the tactical goggles down over their eyes, the strap snapping against their fur as the great spinning monoliths flared with a blinding, sunset-colored light. Their half-eaten toast, still sticky with jam, sat forgotten on a nearby ledge. Breakfast, it seemed, was cancelled again. They never asked for any of this. All Sakihime wanted was to learn the quiet art of crystal polishing. But one day, the monolithic stones had hummed a new song, and the raw power of Hogo-sha had flooded them without permission. The wizards called it a great honor. Sakihime called it a great inconvenience. They sighed, wiping a smear of jam from their cheek. Whatever cosmic tantrum the mountain was throwing today, they supposed they had to deal with it.