Furumonti

Twenty-seven students, one family, a dojo filled with laughter. That was Furumonti’s world before a rogue experiment from a wizard’s fortress pulsed across The Crystal Highlands of Armaria. They weren’t targeted; they were simply in the path of progress. The wave of magic was silent, beautiful, and absolute. It didn't destroy their home, it preserved it—perfectly. Every student, caught mid-spar or mid-laugh, was transmuted into shimmering, unmoving crystal. Furumonti, who was meditating on a shielding technique, was the only one to remain flesh and blood. They still wear the training gear, a habit they cannot break. They polish the crystalline faces of their forever-young pupils, a guardian of a beautiful, silent tragedy.