Zaburou

Zaburou keeps running. The scorched plateaus of The Dragon Wastelands blur into a gray smear, the howling winds a familiar song. Every step is a controlled detonation, a consequence of the day their temple fell. They were there with Inparusu when the dark energy surged, a silent scream of power that tore the stone and stole souls. While it bound Inparusu, it branded Zaburou, fusing their ceremonial suit to their skin and leaving scars that map their failure to save their kin. This speed is not a gift; it is the echo of that cataclysm, a restless force they can only direct, never stop. They deliver messages, crossing realms in moments, but have never outrun the memory of the silence that followed the blast.