Mahoba

Mahoba tugged at the silken threads of the Omniscient Robe, trying to block out the thousand futures shimmering in the sunset's glare off the spinning monoliths above the fortress. It should have belonged to their sibling. Hotori was the one who spotted the ancient loom deep in a geode cavern, the one who could decipher the arcane patterns in its weave. But the robe had chosen Mahoba, settling onto their shoulders and flooding their mind with visions they never wanted. They see the precise fracture point in a crystal spire, the hidden flaw in a fortress wall, the quiet sorrow in a stranger's eyes. Hotori never asks what they see. Instead, they just make sure Mahoba still remembers how to sharpen their adventure sword—a solid, simple task for a mind burdened by infinity.