Ikunosuke

Ikunosuke polished a shard of flawless amethyst, angling it to catch the light from the spinning monoliths that hovered over the dark fortress nearby. “A gift from a sky spirit,” they said with an easy smile to an admiring pilgrim, the story smooth from a hundred tellings. It was, of course, a lie. All the beautiful things Ikunosuke displayed were lies—bright, charming distractions. The truth was wrapped in oilcloth at the bottom of their pack. It was heavy, ugly, and hummed with a power that felt like a debt. They didn't wander these highlands for the view; they were running. They sought Horoguramu not for a glimpse of a glittering future, but to see if the past was finally catching up.