Rareina

Every morning, before the gongs call the trainees to their drills, Rareina takes their fishing rod to the edge of the lake. They never cast a line; they simply sit, pipe smoke curling into the cold air, and watch the water’s surface. They arrived years ago, a gleeful wanderer who followed a stream to its source and found this place of intense discipline. Intrigued, they asked not for lessons in swordsmanship, but for a quiet spot to practice their own art of contemplation. The master, amused, agreed. These days, the young warriors training nearby find Rareina's peaceful presence a strange comfort—a reminder that not all battles are fought with a blade.