Kibou

Kibou never told stories about the sword on their back. To the merchants and fishers of Waterfall City, they were the gentle mystic with a crimson cap and a fondness for toasted marshmallows, their tales as constant as the roar of the falls. They would gather crowds in the plaza, spinning yarns of dragon-slayers and sky-farers. Momorou loved these stories most of all, often resting a head on Kibou's shoulder as the fire crackled. But the sword wasn't a relic from past adventures. It was a lock. A heavy, cold ward against something that had followed Kibou from their old life. The dragon scales on their outfit weren't for show; they were runes. Each story Kibou told was a prayer for one more peaceful night. Momorou only knew the warmth of the fire, never the shadow it kept at bay.