Hinaga

Hinaga was not born a protector. They were an artist, content to wander the lower levels of Waterfall City, sketching the fishing boats and the great stone fish in the plaza. The massive, shielding wings they inherited felt like a costume for a role they never wanted, drawing stares from warriors and whispers from children. They would simply blush and find a quieter corner to draw. But when a heavy market crate tumbled from a ledge, hurtling toward a young frog playing by the falls, Hinaga didn't hesitate. They moved without thinking, a flash of pink fur and steel, their wings snapping open to absorb the devastating impact. The sound echoed across the city. They still blush when anyone speaks of it, but now they carry the weight on their back differently. It is not a burden, but a purpose.