Toukou

Every morning, before the first light touches the monoliths, Toukou paints their face. Then they take up not a sword, but a simple fishing rod, and walk to the edge of the tallest spinning rock above the fortress. It happened during their watch: a magical experiment fractured, sending splinters of a visiting dignitary's consciousness shimmering into the aether like panicked fish. The wizards of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria called it an irretrievable loss. Toukou called it their failure. They saw the fragments drift, catching the sunset light, and so they learned a new kind of vigil. They do not cast for fish. They cast their line into the sky, hoping to snag a shimmering memory, a flicker of a forgotten laugh. The line has never tightened.