Ryouha

The Tiger of the Tundra, some called them, a flash of stripes against the unnatural snowfall of The Underworld. The cultists encircling Ryouha saw only a beast, their weapons held in check by the sheer audacity of the disguise and the vibrant glow from within their hood. This confidence was new, forged after a disastrous first journey here. An attempt to retrieve an ancestral relic had ended in ambush, forcing Ryouha to unleash a chaotic, transformative power just to survive. They escaped, but as something more primal, more dangerous to themself than to others. It was Sensei who taught them that the power was not a curse. Through grueling training, they learned to anchor the surge to their ancient katana, finding the quiet center in the storm. The lead cultist finally lunged. Ryouha’s side smile widened. The stripes were just a warning; the strike that followed was pure control.