Yorihiko

Yorihiko extinguished the second lantern, plunging the narrow pass into near-total darkness. The lone traveler they were guiding flinched, their silhouette briefly illuminated by the spinning magical rocks high above. Yorihiko kept their gaze fixed forward, squinting. They learned long ago in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria that trust was a more treacherous substance than any loose scree. They once led a team of supposed scientists to a remote monolith, swayed by their talk of discovery. But their clients were thieves, and when the monolith’s alarms shrieked, they left Yorihiko for dead. They survived, but the idealism did not. These days, the lanterns on their back are less for illumination and more for control. They decide who sees, and what.