Sarasa

Sarasa was late, a fact that once would have sent them into a spiral of aristocratic panic. But these days, they simply adjusted their dapper cap and strode through the fortress corridors of midnight-dark stone. Outside, the last light of a spectacular sunset painted the spinning monoliths above. They were meeting Itsuhiko, their former nemesis. Their duels were once the talk of the highlands, a bitter clash of steel and ego. The last one ended differently. As their Sakura Katana locked with Itsuhiko’s blade, a strange energy pulsed from Sarasa, shattering a nearby crystal. It was not an attack, but an awakening. In the ringing silence, they saw the futility of their fight. Itsuhiko was waiting, a pot of tea between them. Sarasa smiled. The war was over.