Sakurahime

Sakurahime was considered a joke. In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, where magic shaped mountains, they were just a baker, their apron perpetually dusted with flour. The scar across their cheek was a reminder of their station—an accidental burn from a wizard's experiment they were told to ignore. So they hid it behind a golden kitsune mask, transforming their shame into a playful performance. The visions began subtly, not in scrying pools but in bowls of soup. A reflection of a collapsing monolith, a week before it fell. A scientist’s breakthrough swirled into view in a cup of tea. They tried to warn people, but who would listen to a baker who claimed to share the sight of Horoguramu? Their illusions were dismissed as street magic, nothing more. They still bake, but a select few now visit their stall for more than just bread. They come for the prophecy hiding at the bottom of a teacup.