Utarou

The sharp, clean scent of ozone from the floating monoliths was supposed to help Utarou focus. They pressed themself against the cold stone, a ninja-in-training trying to become a whisper. The lessons were about control, about burying reactions beneath layers of discipline. For a moment, it was working. Their steps were silent, their form melting into the shadows cast by the dark fortress. But then the sun dipped low, and its final rays struck a spinning crystal overhead. A cascade of impossible color painted the training grounds. A loud gasp escaped Utarou’s lips, their eyes wide with stunned delight, all thoughts of stealth gone. From the darkness, a quiet, familiar sigh was the only sound.