Nuine

“They say Nuine’s lanterns are powered by joy alone,” a younger student once whispered. Nuine overheard and smiled, a familiar expression that crinkled the corners of their mouth. If only it were that simple. The truth is, the first lantern they were ever given remained dark for a week. Lost in the lower caves of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, surrounded by inert, light-drinking stone, they had no great well of happiness to draw from. Just fear. It wasn't a grand epiphany that finally kindled the wick. It was the memory of a shared pastry, still warm. A tiny, fragile thing. That’s the secret they confess only to the dark: the light isn’t a gift. It's a discipline, and the smile is the first exercise of every day.