Kiyoyoshi

The fine mist that blankets Waterfall City always smelled of damp stone and old history, a scent Kiyoyoshi once found comforting. That was before their evolution. It happened not in a glorious battle, but during a particularly violent sneeze while they were cataloging scrolls in the pale stone temple. One moment, they were a simple scholar; the next, they were radiating a divine light that made it impossible to read the tiny script. Their new angelic halo is a terrible reading lamp, and their wings keep knocking scrolls off high shelves. Toto, the retired master, finds the whole situation endlessly amusing, offering cryptic advice like, “Try not to float into the ceiling.” Kiyoyoshi just adjusts their retro specs, their face a perfect deadpan. They have ascended to a higher plane, yet all they truly want is to find a corner where the glow is dim enough to finish their book.