Kotome

Kotome grunted, sweat beading on their brow as they tried to coax a single, stubbornly round pebble to pirouette. They had arrived in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria with visions of shaping mountains, of moving monoliths with a mere thought. Their instructors, however, had them on “mineral mindfulness.” For six months, Kotome’s greatest rival was this one infuriatingly placid stone. While others shattered boulders, Kotome was trying to teach their pebble basic choreography, their mutton chops quivering with intense concentration. One evening, utterly defeated, they gave up and hummed an old folk song. The pebble wobbled, lifted, and began to sway perfectly in time. It wasn't powerful, but it was a waltz. The masters are still unsure what to make of the trainee whose rock chakra hums with rhythm, not raw power.