Sazaemon

Without fail, Sazaemon tends to the single lucky plant sprouting from their helmet each dawn. It is a quiet ritual, a world away from their past life as a promising blade in the Emperor’s service. They walked white marble halls beneath blinding gold spires, their Mega Sabre a tool of imperial will, silencing whispers and never questioning the shadows that grew longer even in the brightest sunlight. Their rival, Yayumi, saw the moral decay for what it was and refused the path of unquestioning loyalty. Sazaemon, driven by ambition, saw only a rival to be surpassed and plunged deeper into service. The breaking point was a mission deep in the dungeons below the palace. They left that day and have not shown their face since. Each new leaf on the plant is a small penance, a quiet argument that a soul can outgrow even the most poisoned soil.