Ryuujirou

Ryuujirou ran a soft cloth over the surface of a monolith, chasing away the fine red dust kicked up by the evening winds. A young wizard-in-training scampered past, nearly tripping over their own robes. “Did you hear?” the little one chirped. “The Kamen stopped a rockslide near the fortress last night! They say their visor glowed like a sunset!” Ryuujirou paused, their wrinkled mouth curving into a slight smile beneath their own mask. They adjusted the raspberry-pink visor on their face and looked at the apprentice. “Even the strongest rocks need a steady hand to guide them,” they said, their voice calm and worn. In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, legends were common. Living quietly among them was the real art.