Akaa

Akaa has the most disarming smile in The Great Panda City, but their grip on their carved cane is tight enough to leave impressions in the wood. They don't speak of the time their mind wasn't their own, when their actions mirrored the pained contortions of Taihi, both puppets on unseen strings. Freedom came, but it left echoes—a phantom twitch in their fingers, a moment of doubt about whose thought is whose. The elders offered advanced training, but Akaa refused a blade. They chose the cane instead. Each tap against the bamboo-lined streets is a deliberate act of will. It is not a weapon to strike others; it is an anchor, a way to feel the solid ground and prove they are the one choosing where to step next.