Hinomaruko

The cool mist of Waterfall City clings to everything Hinomaruko owns, a constant dampness they prefer to the memory of another scent: the choking ash from when Inferuno's power swept through their old village. Their first life was a stall of bright fabrics and dyed silks, all of it turned to cinders in a single afternoon. They escaped with nothing but a pouch of scorching embers from their family's hearth, a weight that still smolders on their back. For a long time, they wandered aimlessly, a single fallen leaf on the wind. The sound of the great falls, a roar that could drown out the memory of fire, finally gave them a place to land. Now, their new stall sells only smooth, heavy river stones—things that cannot burn, things that find their shape by being worn down.