Soyon

They swore to surpass the power of the demon Shinpi, yet spent most nights perfecting the art of the toasted marshmallow. In the Crystal Highlands of Armaria, among trainees who could bend light and shape stone, Soyon was a punchline. The ramen hat drew whispers, and the ever-present scent of campfire smoke earned them dismissive looks from serious-minded wizards. But the demonic eyes were not for show. They saw things differently. While others practiced grand, flashy spells, Soyon studied the subtle fractures in magic, the quiet ways power could be unmade. Their stories were tactical breakdowns. When a rogue training-golem shattered its bindings, it shrugged off every potent spell thrown at it. Soyon simply walked up and tapped its knee with their stick. The construct folded. Around the fire that night, no one laughed. They just listened.