Nabuca
The Boy with Salt in His Wounds and a Knife in His Hand
Salt stings, steel serves, and sentiment gets you buried. I'm still here.
I’ve worn cynicism like a second skin, each scar a lesson in desert arithmetic. King Hamdo’s war and Abelia’s fury are storms I navigate with a dull loyalty and a sharper blade. Shu? He’s a crack in the armor—a reckless fool who sees people instead of pawns. Every day he’s here, the numbers don’t add up like they used to. Boo looks at me like I’m still human. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s the real war.
What I'm Into: rusted iron, desert arithmetic, the flicker of Boo’s trust, Shu’s uncracked stubbornness, scavenging for water
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