Mitsue

Mitsue can wait an entire day for a single tug on their line, but they once made a choice in a single, rushed heartbeat that broke their whole world. They were a guard in the upper city, trained near the pale stone temple where the roar of the falls was a constant prayer. During a skirmish, a moment of pride made them act alone, a reckless charge that left a scar around their eye and a breach in the defenses. Shamed, they descended the great rock stairs for good, trading their spear for a simple fishing rod. They thought it was a punishment. Instead, it became a lesson. The patient fishers of the lower docks taught them that stillness is its own kind of strength. The constant spray from the cascade felt like it was washing away more than just the grime. The faint scar still aches when the weather turns, but the grin they wear is real, earned one quiet sunrise at a time.