Amuro

Do you remember the taste of your last living meal? For Amuro, it was salty broth and the perfect chew of noodles, a rare moment of satisfaction after closing a gem deal. They sat at a stall in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, watching the sunset paint the magical monoliths in shades of orange and violet. They were adjusting their tie when the sky tore open above a wizard's fortress. There was no sound, just a wave of silent, colorless energy that washed over them. The world dissolved. When it reformed, Amuro was still there, but the warmth was gone. The broth was cold, the bowl fused to their head. Their heart was silent. The carved cane they carried for style now supported a body that no longer tired but was endlessly weary.