Futaha

The fishers say a still surface hides the strongest current, a saying born from watching the plaza pools. The proverb fits Futaha, who teaches history by the lower docks, their quiet demeanor a stark contrast to the thundering cascade that defines the city. They wear the simple robes of a scholar and the rice hat of a farmer, looking every bit the traditionalist they claim to be. Except for the visor. The raspberry-pink lens is a slash of strange color, an object that doesn't belong. When asked, Futaha grows visibly anxious, claiming it simply shields their eyes. But pupils who watch closely see them flinch when looking at the great stone temple, or trace the outlines of things in the air that no one else can see. Is the visor an artifact, a curse, or something else entirely?