Shonon

They wear the armor of a seasoned master, yet they still drink strawberry milk to quiet the shaking in their hands. It was never meant to be theirs. The ancient sabre belonged to their instructor, a retirement gift that went unclaimed after that final duel by the frozen lake. The armor… it fit after. The display that covers their eyes is a tactical advantage, analyzing every opponent’s weakness with cold precision. The other trainees see a prodigy, someone who mastered the forms in record time. Shonon sees a scared chimper who got lucky once and has been terrified of failing their mentor’s memory ever since. Every victory feels hollow, every earned bandana a heavier weight. The milk is the only thing that still tastes like home.