Iyoka

Iyoka remembered the scent of crushed berries, sharp and sweet, just before the world collapsed into a roar of falling stone. They were supposed to be watching the high ridge, but the wild fruit was too tempting. Their companion’s shouted warning was lost to the howling wind. Iyoka was faster, more agile; their companion was not. Since that day, they wander the scorched plateaus, where the constant rain never seems to wash anything clean. The adventure sword is now a heavy burden, used only to carve safe paths for others or fend off the illusory beasts that dance in the thick fog. They still eat jam on toast, a small, private ritual. It's a taste of who they used to be, and a bitter reminder of the price of a single, playful moment.