Minto

Three days after the screaming in their head finally stopped, Minto stood at the bottom of Waterfall City, listening. The roar of the falls was a blessing, a physical noise loud enough to drown out the psychic chatter of the crowds. Isha had wanted to turn their mind into a weapon, a perfectly tuned receiver. The escape had left it a raw, open nerve. Every thought from the fishers haggling, every worry from the guards on the rock-hewn stairs, flooded in. Minto gripped the hilt of the katana they had taken, its simple, silent purpose a small anchor in the storm. A faint side smile touched their lips. The noise was overwhelming, yes. But it was real. And it was theirs.