Natsunatsu

Natsunatsu pressed a hand against the slick, skeletal rib of a long-dead beast, tilting their head back to let the rain fall on their face. They once had a name for the sun, a village where it shone, and a family to share it with. The jagged scar across their brow is the only heirloom left from the fire that took it all. For years, they walked The Dragon Wastelands despising the endless drizzle that mocked their loss. But solitude teaches new languages. The whisper of the storm became a guide, the rhythm of the drops a new purpose. They follow the same paths Michi once did, not for a grand truth, but for the simple peace of listening to the world wash itself clean, one drop at a time.