Chizuho

Chizuho grips the small, carved wooden fish so tightly their knuckles turn white. They were a wanderer, content with the road, until they heard a laugh that cut through the constant roar of Waterfall City's cascade. Since then, they've stayed, watching the fisher from a distance. The embers on their back feel hotter when they’re near. They carved this gift by that strange inner fire, pouring every unspoken word into the wood. Now, standing by the plaza statue, the path to the docks feels miles long. Taking a steadying breath, they finally move, not with a warrior's confidence, but with a shy person's resolve. They leave the carving on an empty crate, a silent offering, before vanishing up the stone stairs, their poker face hiding a hopeful heart.