Sukeko

Sukeko could shatter a granite boulder with a gesture but couldn't meet the gaze of the frog who sold rice cakes. In the lower districts of Waterfall City, they practiced by the river, pulling smooth, flat stones from the current and sending them skipping across the surface—a dozen perfect bounces every time. It was a meditation, a way to forget the feeling of a blade that wasn't meant for them, wielded by the betrayer Uragirimono. The scar on their back was a cold reminder that control was an illusion. So they focused on what they could command: the weight of stone, the pull of the earth. But when a fellow trainee called their name from the plaza steps, the perfectly spinning rock in their hand crumbled to dust.