Ribuka

Ribuka parried the training drone's lunge, the clang echoing in the thin, cold air. It was faster than the shadow that had slipped past their watch years ago. Back then, they were a sentry for the Panda Council, too lost in the celestial patterns above The Great Panda City to notice the creeping corruption below. No one died, but a grove of ancient bamboo withered, and the shame of that failure was a heavier punishment than any official demotion. They were allowed to keep their katana and the grey bandana they wore that night—a constant, rough reminder. These days, they volunteer for the most grueling patrols along the city's highest ledges. They still watch the stars, but no longer to dream. They watch for warnings.