Eizaemon

The faint, musical chime of crystal dust settling on stone was a sound Eizaemon once despised. In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, the golden Bushido mark on their face felt like a useless relic. Their duty was to observe a local artisan, a task they considered beneath a warrior-in-training. They watched the artisan with squinting suspicion, noting every casual disregard for discipline. Yet, they couldn’t deny the focus in the artisan’s hands as they coaxed intricate patterns from raw, glowing gems. One evening, the artisan presented Eizaemon with a small, carved crystal. “There is strength in creating beauty, too,” they said softly. The words resonated more than any master's lecture. Eizaemon still squints, but they are no longer just looking for flaws; they are searching for the light.