Nonatsu

Every morning, Nonatsu bakes. Their small workshop sits in the shadow of a fortress made from midnight-dark stone, yet the morning sun still splinters through the colossal, vibrant crystals dotting the highlands. They hum a quiet tune, their food apron dusted with what looks like flour, their long white hair tied back as they knead and shape each loaf. They share their creations freely with the other outcasts and forgotten mages, their grin a constant source of warmth. Everyone praises the taste, the lightness, the way it makes them feel unburdened. They never question the faint, shimmering dust in the crumbs. They only know that after a single bite, the worst of their memories are gone. Nonatsu isn't a baker of bread, but a sculptor of forgetting.