Nukiho

A cool vibration hummed up from the floor, a secret rhythm only Nukiho could feel beneath the grand, discordant song of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria. In the privacy of their exiled spire, they knelt in a simple pink yukata, a soft defiance against the harsh rock. The scar that pulled at the corner of their eye was a constant reminder of the day the wizards’ council cast them out. Their crime? Believing that stone could be coaxed, not just commanded. They ran a gentle finger over a small, unassuming boulder. The Rock Chakra on their back pulsed with warmth, a silent conversation. Slowly, a fissure appeared, and from it bloomed a single, perfect crystal flower that shimmered with a light the orthodox mages would call profane.