Kizuru

The finest water source in the highlands is what the wizards call them, though never to their face. Kizuru was hired by a grumpy geomancer who needed a constant, pure stream to polish experimental crystals. The geomancer complains endlessly about the damp, but they were also the one who fashioned the thief's mask Kizuru wears—not for larceny, but to channel the perpetual waterfall from their face so they can see. Kizuru, ever determined, just keeps pointing out the way the sunsets stain the prismatic monoliths and humming tunes the geomancer pretends to hate. They make an odd pair wandering the high plateaus, one all logic and stone, the other all feeling and flow. But the wizard has started leaving dried fruit out for Kizuru, a quiet admission that the journey is better with a friend.