Arare

Arare remembers the hum of the spinning monoliths overhead the first time they let someone see their face. In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, secrets were as common as gemstones, and Arare’s identity was the most precious of all. They were a trainee operative, taught that connection was a liability. But then came the scholar who was more interested in the sunset reflecting off the fortress walls than in Arare’s mission. They spoke for weeks, a masked shadow and a bright mind. The scholar gave them a soft bliss jumper, a color as warm as the evening sky. When Arare finally removed the mask, it was not a surrender of duty, but an offering of trust. It still hangs on a hook by the door, a reminder of who they must be. The jumper is the reminder of who they are allowed to be.