Yuyuna

The still point above the roaring plaza was all but invisible, a silhouette against the pale stone temple of Waterfall City. From there, Yuyuna watched their target haggle for dried fish, a simple transaction that held the fate of a border skirmish. The orders were absolute: strike before the courier reached the temple. But the courier laughed, then knelt to adjust the crooked hat of a small child who held their hand. Yuyuna’s training screamed that attachments were liabilities—the enemy’s and their own. Yet their gaze lingered, and their hand, resting on their blade, did not move. The bundle of fresh bamboo on their back suddenly felt heavier than any weapon. The courier and child vanished into the crowd, and the moment was gone.