Masayumi

Masayumi’s elder armor is scarred from a hundred skirmishes, yet the combat pole they carry always smells faintly of roasted sugar. They were forged in Waterfall City, a grim sentinel who believed discipline was the only thing that kept the rushing waters from washing everyone away. That belief was tested during a brutal campaign in the wastelands alongside Bjorn, where months of cold rain and endless marches nearly scoured all hope from their company. The turning point wasn't a great victory, but a small fire. A shared, miraculously preserved cake slice. In that brief warmth, Masayumi saw that what kept spirits from breaking wasn't armor, but a simple story and a sweet taste of home. They are still a warrior, but now they squint at the world, searching for the small joys worth defending.