Mukoto

Mukoto’s carved cane knows the city better than they do. It has felt the smooth wear of the temple stairs, the grit of the lower plaza where fishers trade, and the slick moss of the riverbanks. As a child, Mukoto knew only the curve of Tamago’s primordial shell, learning to watch the world through the gaps. Tamago taught them that survival was observation, a lesson reinforced with a gift of tactical goggles. The day they left, stepping out from behind that indestructible shelter, the roar of the great falls felt like a promise and a threat. These days, they stand amidst the crowds, the goggles pulled low, watching everything. The cane taps a steady, quiet rhythm on the stone, the only part of them that seems at ease.