Shikumo

Every morning, Shikumo finds the highest, most windswept cliff on The Fluorescent Isles and eats a single, perfect piece of jam on toast. The locals, with their iridescent wings and casual wealth, pay them little mind, unnerved by the demon eyes staring out from a scholar's robes. Shikumo came here not for the floating gold or the gem-studded fields, but for the gales. The air itself thrums with an energy they recognize, a raw power tied to Kuki, and they study its currents with a survivor's focus. The natives treat the sky as a playground; for Shikumo, it is a textbook on power. They find the island's opulence frivolous and its inhabitants naive, a world away from the grit they once knew. They don't belong, and they don't care to.