Mikoro

In The Teikodian Empire, sunlight is a currency, spent lavishly on golden spires to blind onlookers to the rot within. Mikoro once believed in that light, poring over tactical scrolls with their specs perched on their nose, certain their work served a noble cause. Then came the night patrol deep beneath the palace. A door left slightly ajar, a sound not meant for their ears, a glimpse of something cold and clinical done to a fellow chimp in the name of progress. The shock on their face from that moment never truly faded. These days, they wear the dark samurai armor like a second skin of mourning. The Rock Chakra on their back is a grounding weight, a reminder of something solid. They fight, they obey, but their eyes see only the shadows. Last night, they dreamt of rivers, of a world that flowed freely under the guidance of Namazu.