Norihisa

The apple-wood stick was perfectly sharpened, its tip blackened from a thousand campfires. Norihisa held it over the flames, slowly turning a marshmallow until its skin bubbled and browned. The sunsets in the Crystal Highlands of Armaria were famous, but they preferred the way firelight danced on the magical monoliths after dark. To any observer, they were just another wanderer enjoying a simple pleasure. But their intense gaze wasn't on the treat. It was fixed on the shifting embers, reading the coded flickers that only they could decipher—a silent, one-way report from Kanshi-in's besieged mothership. The marshmallow finally caught fire. Norihisa calmly blew it out, the scent of burnt sugar a stark contrast to the bitter news from the void.