Tomori

If a traveler were to climb high enough to see sunsets shatter against spinning monoliths, they might hear the story of Tomori. They say Tomori’s hands were made for painting fans, not for war. Alongside their childhood friend, Asato, they would watch the rock wizards from afar, content with the simple sweetness of an apple from a highland branch. But Asato's curiosity led them too close to a forbidden crystal, one that pulsed with a sleepless, hungry light. It shattered, releasing a shriek of pure chaos that began to crystallize the very air. With no sword, Tomori smeared their face with the bright pigments from their art and stood before their friend, armed only with an apple stick. They didn't strike the chaos; they drew a line, and the simple wood absorbed the wild magic, humming with a sudden, ancient peace. The pigments never washed away.