Tamiyo

Tamiyo swung their carved cane, not to strike the advancing guards, but to brace themself as the flamethrower hidden in their sleeve coughed a torrent of fire across the gilded alley. This was not the path they had chosen. For years, they wandered The Teikodian Empire armed only with the teachings of Monku, believing words could dismantle tyranny. But words didn't stop the Emperor's enforcers from dragging a baker's family into the dungeons over a misspoken word. Words didn't cool the cruelty in the eyes of the palace sentries. Tamiyo learned that day that some corruption doesn't want to be persuaded; it only wants to burn. They still carry the cane, its smooth wood a reminder of the person they try to be. The fire is for the empire they live in.