Sotsuhiko

Sotsuhiko split the firewood with their ancient sabre, the blade whistling a familiar, dangerous song. They remembered using it to split something else entirely, back in the shadowed alleys of a city that demanded silence and blood. The mask was a uniform then, not a choice. When they first arrived in The Heart of the Forest, the locals offered them a pie. Sotsuhiko checked it for poison for a full minute before accepting, earning a puzzled but patient smile. Years passed. The locals learned not to sneak up on them. Sotsuhiko learned that the most dangerous thing in the woods was an undercooked mushroom stew. The wood split cleanly. They stacked the logs for the evening's fire, the sabre resting against the pile, its edge sharp enough to end a life but now used to keep the chill away.