Shiiha

Every morning, Shiiha steals an hour. Before the sun fully crests the cliffs of Waterfall City, they trade their noble silks for a simple pink yukata, slip on a plain mask, and descend the rock stairs to the lower docks. They aren't stealing trinkets or coin; they are stealing anonymity. One morning, as they sat on a pier watching the fishing boats, a messenger hawk with an urgent scroll circled above, its cries ignored. Shiiha focused instead on their toast, the sweet jam a grounding anchor against the political storms brewing in the upper city. They knew the scroll meant another tedious debate, another impossible demand. But for this brief moment, surrounded by the rhythm of the river, they were just another chimper. This stolen peace was the only treasure they ever truly coveted.