Tadazumi

On the fourth day of a fever from a cursed river spirit's bite, Tadazumi awoke not to the harsh sounds of the wilder woods, but the gentle smell of broth. Their rescuer, a noodle maker from the inner clearing, believed laughter was a better shield than any armor. While Tadazumi healed, they spoke of patrol routes and seasonings, of combat stances and the perfect dough. One day, the noodle maker gifted them a hat carved from a fallen amberwood branch, timber as fine as any Mokuzai might choose. It was meant as a joke. Tadazumi never took it off. They still guard the forest’s edge with their combat pole, but the duty is different. They no longer protect a place, but a feeling—a joy embodied by the strawberry milk their partner hands them every morning before they depart.