Kuruju

The low hum of the midnight-dark monoliths used to be a lullaby. In those days, Kuruju’s world in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria was measured by the taste of strawberry milk and the challenge of capturing a sunset's glow with paint. They were a noble child, and their combat pole was little more than a decorative relic. But one night, they watched through a seam in a tapestry as a silent killer dismantled their family’s guards. Kuruju was spared, dismissed as harmless. Since then, the hum of the crystals is a resonant threat detector. They still wear the innocent azure cap, but the tactical goggles see through lies. The tranquil demeanor remains, but it is no longer a sign of peace. It is the perfect disguise.