Hitomi

“The ramen again,” the apprentice muttered, “but don’t look into their eyes.” In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, where magic was a science of precision, Hitomi was an error. They studied the same monolithic energies as their peers, but the answers they found weren't in the textbooks. They were in the forbidden whispers Itan-sha first recorded, echoes from a power beyond the known realms. The scar beneath their eye was a gift from their first real lesson—a vision so intense it tore through the veil and marked their skin. For a time, they tried to wash it away, to be normal. But some stains are deeper than skin. These days, they no longer wipe the noodles from their hair. It’s a fine distraction from the cosmos swimming in their gaze.