Itsushi

The air hummed, a low thrum that vibrated in Itsushi’s teeth and smelled faintly of ozone and polished stone. The wizards of this place, with their fortress of midnight rock and spinning crystals, spoke in equations. They would stare at the fishing lure on Itsushi’s head, their expressions a mix of confusion and pity. Itsushi didn’t mind. They came here following Kenji’s dream of unity, believing that connecting worlds meant more than opening portals—it meant connecting people. One evening, a young apprentice, exhausted by esoteric texts, asked why Itsushi carried a katana if they never fought. Itsushi simply smiled, explaining it was for gutting a fish, not a foe. They then spent an hour teaching the apprentice a knot for a fishing line, a small, practical magic in a land of grand, cold theory.