Uraha

Uraha scaled the final monolith, the crystalline surface slick with evening mist as rain began to fall. Below, a wizard strolled through a courtyard, oblivious. Years ago, they had fumbled a similar task—a misplaced step, a snapped twig. The silent disappointment from the shadows, from Henso, was a brand sharper than any blade. So they trained until their hands were raw, learning to match their breathing to the howling winds that whipped between the peaks, their stillness to the heart of the midnight-dark stone. They memorized every glint and shadow cast by the beautiful, unforgiving sunsets. The signal was given, the mission a success. But as Uraha slipped away, the fury in their eyes was not for the target. It was for the master whose approval they were still climbing toward.