Mihiro

Mihiro remembered the sound the great monolith made as it cracked—not like stone, but like the sky tearing open. They were a student then, diligently practicing forms under the beautiful sunsets of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria. When a wizard's forbidden incantation failed and unleashed a storm of raw magic, the mages fell back in terror. Mihiro, however, did not draw their blade. They planted their feet, held the simple apple stick from their training, and became an anchor for the storm. The untamed energy surged through them, searing their flesh but finding no purchase, grounding itself harmlessly into the bedrock. The crystal imploded, its power spent. The scars they bear are said to glow faintly when great magic is near, a living legend of the day a warrior's discipline outmatched a sorcerer's ambition.