Chimper #4012
Komone adjusted the tattered paper fish on the jagged edge of a shattered crystal, their movements precise. Here, among the fractured monoliths of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, they observed their private holiday. Each year, on the anniversary of their exile, they held a festival for their scars. A strip of blue cloth tied to a jutting rock for the gash across their eye; a polished river stone placed carefully for the ribs that never set right. When a voice cut through the wind, Komone didn't flinch. It was one of Takeo's scouts, the outcast leader whose cause they had recently joined. "What is this?" the scout asked, gesturing to the grim decorations. Komone met their gaze, eyes intense beneath a worn azure cap. "A celebration," they said, their voice even. That was the day they earned their name.
