Amore

Amore remembered the sound of their laugh first, clear and sharp above the roar of the falls. They had been a wanderer then, content with the road and their own quiet thoughts. But in the grand plaza of Waterfall City, they saw a merchant with gleeful eyes being threatened by rivals from the lower docks. In that instant, Amore’s journey ended. Staying meant learning a new language: the one of fierce loyalty and unflinching protection. They traded their walking stick for a sentry’s post and painted their face not with the symbols of a forgotten war, but with the colors of a newfound purpose. The paint isn’t for battle; it’s a declaration that this place, and this person, are finally home.