Remiha

Remiha parried the wooden sword, their footing slipping for a second on the mist-slicked stone of the plaza. The instructor, barely half their age, barked a correction. Remiha simply nodded, ignoring the familiar ache in their shoulders. For years, their experience came from hauling nets in the churning river below and navigating treacherous currents in a tiny boat. They knew the lower city, the gossip of the frog merchants, the exact weight of a good day's catch. But watching the city guard train near the great fish statue day after day sparked something. It wasn't about glory; it was about learning a new current, a new balance. The azure visor was a gift, a modern tool for an old soul starting over. Their body still remembered the rhythm of oars, not a blade, but each swing was a new word in a language they were determined to speak fluently.