Teruyasu

The old geomancers say some hands don't shape stone, they just remind it what it was meant to be. Teruyasu never paid them much mind, yet with every ring of their hammer, the colossal, magical rocks spinning high above the dark fortress shift their orbits. They were once just a smith, their only ambition to forge tools that wouldn't break. Then they found a shard that had fallen from a monolith. Forging it into an arrowhead sent a shockwave through them, a resonance that tied their soul to the bedrock of the highlands. The arrow was never finished, but Teruyasu was remade. The pink daisies that sprouted in their hair have never wilted. They still smith, but their work has unintended gravity. A balanced spade might cause a rare flower to bloom on a barren plateau. A set of hinges might quiet the howling winds in a distant valley.