Aritsugu

Aritsugu remembers the sound most clearly: a tiny clink of glass on stone as the vial slipped from their grasp. It was their third delivery ever, a simple potion for a minor rock wizard, and they’d fumbled it right on the steps of the dark fortress. They spent the rest of the day apologizing, their face burning hotter than the magical rocks spinning high above. For months, every delivery was a battle against their own clumsiness. But one evening, carrying a message under a sunset that painted the highlands in hues of fire and amethyst, they realized something. The wizards didn't need a hero; they needed their parcels. Since then, the embarrassment has faded, replaced by a quiet focus. Their combat pole is less for defense and more for balance as they navigate the treacherous landscape, a humble and surprisingly reliable thread connecting the great minds of the peaks.