Himeha

Himeha does not deliver scrolls. Their cargo is far stranger: small, featureless cubes of obsidian that feel warm to the touch, even in the cold highland winds. They navigate between towering, colorful crystals and past fortresses of midnight stone, always with a disarming smile and a ramen hat tilted just so. Locals offer them strawberry milk, seeing only a quirky courier. They do not see the focus in Himeha's eyes as they approach a silent, spinning monolith—a hidden relay for Kanshi-in. The cube is placed, a soft light pulses, and the delivery is made. No one ever asks what is being sent, or what toll it takes to be the vessel for such things. Does Himeha even remember?