Hideyuki

Hideyuki remembers the exact shade of gold on the palace spires the day they met Jin. It was a gaudy, dishonest color. Jin was a palace guard, all sharp angles and silent watchfulness, while Hideyuki was a court artist, paid to paint flattering lies. Their friendship was forged in stolen moments: a shared look over a bland banquet, a sketch of a grumpy official passed between them. Jin never laughed, but their eyes would crinkle at the corners. The turning point came when Hideyuki painted the truth—not of a person, but of the rot beneath the gilded surface of The Teikodian Empire. When the order came for Jin to arrest them, they simply nodded to each other, turned, and walked away from the palace for good. Now, Jin finds the safest roads, and Hideyuki finds the beauty in them, painting on bark and stone. One provides safety, the other provides a reason for it.