Hijihiko

Hijihiko remembered the exact pattern of veins on an amber leaf, held up to the sun. That clarity was the first thing the river spores stole—a sudden cloud of blinding pollen that left their world a wash of shifting gray. For a season, they were lost. The spectacles they wear now are just a memento of that former life. Their true sight returned through other means: the gentle tremors the lucky plant on their head sends down their spine when strangers are near, and the way their combat pole reads the forest floor like a written scroll. They lost the details of The Heart of the Forest only to gain its soul. They can no longer see a threat approach, but they feel the ripple of its intention through the roots beneath their feet.