Shibisu

"They’re too soft for this," their handler sighed, watching from the gilded training grounds of the Teikodian Empire. Shibisu was a prodigy at movement, a blur of motion in their crisp seifuku, but their focus always broke. A well-crafted joke from a palace guard, the sight of a chef dropping a tray of mochi—anything could earn a hidden giggle behind their mask. They were being forged into an instrument of imperial will, a shadow to serve in the capital's dark corners. Their instructors spoke of true power as total isolation, pointing to the cosmic force of Eirian as an ideal. But the stories of that solitary being didn’t inspire Shibisu; they filled them with a profound dread. They feared that cold emptiness more than any enemy. After one particularly harsh session, they left a single, bright blossom on their handler's desk before vanishing into the evening.