Kuniyo

The feel of the cold, high-altitude wind against their face was a sensation Kuniyo never took for granted. For so long, they had been a passenger in their own body, a silent witness to actions not their own, just like Taihi. When the hidden machine’s control finally broke, freedom felt less like a celebration and more like learning to walk again. So every night, when the purple hues deepen over the city, Kuniyo walks. They trace paths between the bamboo groves, their steps quiet on the stone. Each footfall is a deliberate choice, an act of reclaiming territory once occupied. This is their real ambition: not for combat, but for the profound control of their own limbs. Their eyes are often closed, not resting, but listening.