Tarusa

Tarusa braced their combat pole against the slick plaza stone, the roar of the falls a constant thunder in their bones. A small fire crackled beside them, its smoke snatched away by the river wind. On a stick, a marshmallow began to brown. Their left hand flickered, the edges dissolving into motes of grey dust, a chaotic unmaking they shared with Hen'i-tai. They pushed their spectacles up their nose and focused on the flame. The city’s mystics called it a curse, this slow unraveling. But Tarusa knew it was a transition. They believed the great sky dragons didn't die, they simply... changed shape. By the water's edge, beneath the gaze of the city's great stone fish, they held their vigil. The marshmallow caught fire, and in its brief, bright flare, a colossal shape seemed to move within the mist. It was enough.