Sonoma

Every morning, Sonoma tests the edge of their Dragonslayer Blade against a single fallen leaf, watching it drift apart in two perfect halves. It was a tool of precision, a gift from the very heart of the Teikodian Empire. They called it a Dragonslayer, a grand name for an instrument used for quiet, political ends. Sonoma was its wielder, an operative whose face no one in the gilded halls ever saw, sent to silence threats before they could be spoken aloud. Their last assignment was not a monster of legend, but a scholar whose only crime was reading the wrong texts. Sonoma left the blade clean in its sheath and walked out of the capital's blinding sunlight. These days, the sharpening is not for a future battle. It is a quiet promise to themself: that such a fine edge will never again be used in service of a lie.