Sutehiko

Sutehiko keeps the peace. They walk the high-altitude streets where freezing winds cut through bamboo groves, their unreadable expression hidden behind a pink visor. Locals see the dragon emblem on their robes and the bold crimson paint on their face, assuming they are a solemn protector, a mystic warding off unseen threats that drift on the mountain air. They never speak of their purpose, letting the intimidating markings tell a story of hard-won battles and solemn duty. Every evening, their patrol ends at a secluded garden where cherry blossoms fall. The fierce patterns on their face were painted that morning by a giggling child with a handful of crushed raspberries, their only defense against the city's most relentless foe: an afternoon with no stories.