Gekka the Beaconed

Gekka did not come to Waterfall City to become a tourist attraction. They were a wanderer, simply seeking a quiet ledge to practice staff forms amid the constant roar of the falls. Yet, every morning they found a new gift at their feet: a polished river stone, a poorly carved wooden fish, a very soggy flower. Gekka, ever practical, assumed it was a local custom. The truth was far more embarrassing. A sculptor from the lower city, squinting up at the misty peak, saw Gekka’s silhouette—beret, shades, still as stone—and became convinced they were a new, very chic statue. The courtship-by-offering continued for weeks, until Gekka sneezed so loudly the sculptor dropped a whole basket of sweet buns in shock. They’ve been inseparable since, and now everyone calls Gekka “the Beaconed,” after the sculptor’s dramatic tale of being guided by the sun glinting off their shades.