A Yanar stepped out of a house in Old Town, looking around for not the first time. The Yanar’s eyes adjusting to the bright sun glistening upon the snow. This was their second winter since their parent had birthed them, and first winter since losing their parent in the Rift where he went to save Regalia. Telling the seedling to be proud of their figure and to want to keep it. A keepsake from their parent was strapped to the hip or the Yanar. A falx. The curved blade looking sharp and the spine of it thick. The Yanar would hold the hilt with one hand before heading out to do some chores, shoveling off his steps and clearing it of snow, giving a wave to the passerby on the streets. It was a good day to be alive.
