Nomia

Nomia was never meant to stay anywhere for long. The city built into the stone beside the great cascade was supposed to be just another stop, a place to restock and listen to the endless rush of water. Then they met a boat-builder on the lower docks, someone whose hands were calloused from creation, not combat. Nomia started lingering, watching them shape wood with a patience they’d never known. Outsiders mistake the permanent furrow in their brow for anger, but the boat-builder only ever saw the gleam in their eyes. The trusty katana, once a companion on lonely roads, now mostly serves to slice fruit they share on the sun-warmed plaza. Their wandering feet still get restless, but they always lead back to the smell of sawdust and river spray.