Kazutomi the Verdant

Every dawn, before the magical light refracts off the towering monoliths, Kazutomi checks the soil. In a land where wizards shaped stone and scientists charted the stars, this was their quiet heresy. They were meant to study crystal lattices, but they were fascinated by a single, smuggled seed. For this, they were cast out, told that nothing green could ever truly thrive on the high peaks. For years, that prediction held true. They became a solitary figure against the dark stone, a lone wolf surviving on what they could catch in meltwater streams. Then they found a fissure, a vent of geothermal warmth hidden from the freezing winds. There, they finally coaxed the seed to life. The first sprout was a revolution. Today, travelers who brave the beautiful, barren heights speak of an impossible patch of green—and the quiet guardian who earned their name.