Reisha

Every evening, Reisha climbs the obsidian monolith that looms over the fortress that exiled them. They go to watch the sunset shatter into a thousand colors against the spinning crystals in the sky. One night, a former colleague from the wizards' council found them there, armored and stern. “You waste your gifts,” the visitor said, hand on their sword. “This is a meaningless ritual.” Reisha just grinned, tossing a handful of sakura petals into the updraft. As the wind caught them, Reisha began to move, a dance of evasion that mirrored the swirling blossoms. They never drew a weapon, never struck a blow, simply flowed through the chaos of petals until the visitor was left dizzy and alone, clutching a hilt they never drew.