Ryuurou

When the freezing winds howled down from the mountain, threatening to extinguish every flame in the city, Ryuurou held their guiding lanterns steady. The bamboo-lined streets offered little shelter, and the scent of cherry blossoms was ripped from the air. This was their final test as a trainee: to escort a diplomat through the upper city under the violet sky, keeping the path lit. Others fought the gusts, their flames sputtering. Ryuurou remembered a different cold, the kind that had nothing to do with altitude, from before Shokei-moji gathered them with the other forgotten souls. That memory was a better shield than any wall. They didn't struggle against the wind; they moved with it, turning their body into a gentle buffer. The diplomat said nothing, but watched the unwavering light. One flame, protected by patience.