Nagami

The Painted Ghost, some of the older wizards call them. They say Yuki carried Nagami out of a blizzard, a scrap of white fur against the endless snow, the kabuki markings on their face already perfect and unsmudged. The story goes that the storm followed them. When Nagami practices among the great monoliths of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, the drizzle that falls seems to obey their gestures. Every ward they raise is a dance; every incantation a dramatic monologue. The masters praise their resilience, their pure focus. But we trainees see something else. We see someone who learned that to survive being lost, you must become louder and brighter than the storm that tried to claim you.