Seriya

Seriya runs a hand along the cold stone beneath a gilded archway, one of their three lanterns swaying gently. They don’t carry them for light; the sun reflecting off the capital’s golden spires is blinding enough. They carry them for truth. Once, Seriya’s eyes were sharp enough to chart constellations for the Emperor, but they saw something in the dungeons that shattered their perception. The world became a permanent, nauseating blur, a distortion of reality much like the effect Sakkaku has on those nearby. Left for lost, a stranger gave them the lanterns. One’s flame burns cold near a lie. Another flickers to the rhythm of a hidden heartbeat. The third shows only echoes of what was. Their grin never falters, a silent mockery of an empire that tried to take their sight and only gave them a better way to see.