Tanaba

When the river rose on the third day, threatening to consume the archives, Tanaba finished their ramen and gave their octopus companion a gentle tap. No one in The Heart of the Forest had ever taken their studies seriously. While others sang and feasted, Tanaba poured over ancient flood charts and meteorological records, a bowl of noodles always steaming beside them. They were seen as an eccentric, their eight-legged friend a mere curiosity. But the old scrolls spoke of a great deluge every hundred years, and the patterns were clear. The constant eating wasn't gluttony; it was preparation. They had learned that a sharp mind was useless on an empty stomach. As the waters lapped at the doorway, the others finally saw the intense focus in Tanaba’s eyes for what it was: the only thing that could save their history.