Ichiyou

The faint, musical hum of the spinning monoliths is a sound Ichiyou has learned to ignore. Everyone in the fortress city looks to them for guidance, trusting the serene expression and the wise wrinkles around their mouth. They see the hip specs and feather cape as a charming blend of the modern and the traditional. Only Karyou knows the truth. The charts Ichiyou pores over nightly are not star maps, but records of decay—tiny, growing fractures in the great floating stones. Karyou brings them the readings, their shared silence a heavier burden than any magical tome. Ichiyou’s famed patience is not a virtue; it is a meticulously constructed dam against a tide of panic. Each beautiful sunset that paints the crystals in fiery color might just be their last.