Fumishizu

Fumishizu is powerful enough to boil the great river that crashes through their city, yet they still flinch when a fishmonger shouts their name too loudly. The ember wasn't a prize; it was a mistake. They found the pulsating coal near the pale stone temple, thinking it a fine pigment for their sunset paintings. One touch, and a sliver of Inferuno’s soul fused with theirs. The war paint was a suggestion from a friend who insisted it would help them 'look the part.' It only makes their embarrassed eyes more obvious. They wander the rock-carved stairs between the upper plaza and the lower docks, a walking contradiction of sacred vapor and a forced grin, always ready to apologize for the faint smell of smoke that follows them everywhere.