Aratarou

The mask was a mark of honor for their clan, yet to Aratarou, it felt like a cage. They were raised to be a whisper in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, a shadow meant to serve the wizards and scientists by slipping through guarded corridors unseen. Their training was impeccable; they could scale a midnight fortress without dislodging a single pebble and learn a secret from a room they never entered. But every evening, perched on a crystalline peak, Aratarou would watch the famous sunsets paint the sky. They saw other chimps, unmasked and unafraid, sharing stories as the monoliths glowed. The duty that was supposed to be their pride became a profound loneliness. They still move like a ghost, but the silence is no longer a tool; it is a burden.