Pushin

Pushin remembered the sound the monolith made when it cracked—a low, mournful hum that vibrated through their bones, a sound that didn't belong in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria. They were just an artist then, sketching the sunset, trying to capture the shifting colors on the crystal faces. They were not meant to see the silhouette that unfolded from within the fractured stone, nor the way it seemed to drink the light from the sky. The next morning, they found a discarded katana and began fumbling through stances they’d only read about in stories of the great Katana. The ninja mask went on to hide the stunned expression that never left their eyes. They train relentlessly, but they still don't know if they are preparing to fight what they saw, or just to be fast enough to run next time.