Nerumi

Nerumi did not seek out secrets, yet here they were, pressed flat against cold marble behind a tapestry woven with gold thread. Just an hour ago, they were a trainee painter, capturing the afternoon light on the palace spires of The Teikodian Empire. The Kabuki facepaint was for fun, a dash of confidence for their work. Then they wandered too close to a quiet wing, and the air itself screamed. A surge of raw, cosmic energy blasted from a grated window below, a power so immense it felt like the sky was tearing open. They saw the unmistakable silhouette of Eirian, a prisoner of the labs. Nerumi fled, but not before a guard saw their bright red bow. The footsteps are closer now. Their paints are scattered on the flagstones, but the fear of that captured power is a far more permanent stain.