Kuratarou

Kuratarou did not spend hours perfecting the knot of the red bow in their hair. Most trainees in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria were easily distracted by the beautiful sunsets or the sheer scale of the spinning monoliths. Kuratarou simply sat, day after day, watching the dark fortress’s orbiting stones. Their expression never shifted, their posture never broke. Instructors mistook this stillness for daydreaming, but it was the opposite. It was a siege. They were not just observing the magic; they were mentally dismantling it, tracing every arc, calculating every rotation, waiting for a single flaw in the pattern. The green bow uniform was a requirement; the red one was an afterthought.