Engorou

If a traveler were to get lost in the winding bamboo alleys as freezing winds whip down from the mountain, they might see a pair of bobbing lights and hear a quiet chuckle. Engorou was once celebrated for their playful spirit, a welcome spark in a city of stoic duty. But a prank during the Blossom Festival went too far. For a laugh, they extinguished the ceremonial warding lamps, plunging a key intersection into darkness. In that single moment, a corrupting influence slipped past the outer defenses, tainting a sacred grove. Stripped of their post, they refused exile. Instead, they now carry their Guiding Lanterns, a self-imposed penance. Their once-mischievous eyes are wide with manic vigilance, forever scanning the shadows. They seek redemption not with silence, but by being the light that never again goes out.