Haruwa

Haruwa offered the toasted marshmallow to a child found weeping near the lower docks, its glow a tiny star against the roar of the great falls. The elders say that before the city had a name, its soul was just a collection of stories told around campfires. But a great lie, born of envy, began to slither up the stone steps, poisoning memories. To fight it, Haruwa, a simple keeper of tales, realized a story’s truth must be defended in the shadows where falsehoods fester. They donned the night itself as a cloak and took up guiding lanterns not to light a path, but to capture the city's whispers. They became the guardian of what was true, a silent agent whose only weapon is a well-told story and whose only promise is a little warmth in the dark.