Tiaran

Tiaran was supposed to be solemn. The role of Lantern Keeper is an ancient, honored one, a silent guide for those navigating the treacherous mists at the foot of the great falls. But solemnity is boring. They accepted the post because their family insisted, inheriting the sacred lanterns that have lit the spray-slicked stone stairs for generations. Then they heard a trader whisper tales of Aoi, of worlds without ritual where knowledge flowed from glowing rectangles, not dusty scrolls. Since then, their duty feels like a cage. The ninja mask they wear is not for stealth; it is to hide their yawns. At night, they swing the lanterns in wide, playful arcs, making the lights dance for the fishers below.