Orion

In the lower districts, where the great falls settle into a sprawling river, the air always tastes of mist and fried fish. This is where Orion sets up their easel, cheerfully trading jokes with frog merchants while trying to capture the impossible sheen on a carp's scales. Most see only the playful trainee in the paint-splattered beret. But when a color refuses to obey, a switch flips. The easy smile vanishes, their grip on the brush tightens, and a burning frustration takes hold—the same intense fire that animated the vengeful spirit Genkei. It is a quiet, consuming rage directed not at any person, but at the pigment that dares to be duller than life itself. A vendor once saw them snap a brush in two, only to sheepishly ask for twine a moment later.