Yuurai

Yuurai held the shimmering crystal up to the purple sky, letting its facets refract the twilight over the bamboo-lined street. "The price is firm," they said, their voice muffled by an enormous pufferfish helmet. The buyer, a stern warrior from a lesser house, grumbled but was swayed by the glittering dust on Yuurai’s back—proof, they claimed, of a master cutter's work. The deal was struck for a staggering sum. The warrior left, clutching their prize. Once alone, Yuurai ambled toward the river that cut through the city, whistling a cheerful tune. They dipped a bucket into the freezing water, humming as it filled. They had a long night of carving and polishing ahead, and the ice had to be perfectly clear for the next day's batch.