Miyura

Miyura carefully wiped a shard of amethyst, watching the last of the day’s light fracture through its facets. This was their penance, a routine of patience in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria—a place they were sent to be forgotten. The deep scar bisecting their brow was a reminder of why. It wasn't won defending an ally, but earned through reckless pride in a duel against an imperial officer. They had treated a sworn battle like a game, and their entire unit paid the price for their showboating. Exiled, they found an unlikely solace among the quiet wizards. They studied the ancient warrior codes, the kind Shimo preserved in ice, finding honor not in victory, but in discipline. The playful spirit didn't die; it just found a new home, no longer in taunts but in the silent, perfect balance of a kata performed atop a floating monolith as the sun sets.