Yayori

Yayori remembers the sting of the wind more than the clash of steel. On that patrol route through The Great Panda City, a flicker of movement by the cherry blossoms caught their eye. A lifetime of shyness froze the warning in their throat; a crucial second of doubt was all the enemy needed. No one spoke a word of blame afterward, but the silence from their comrades was a heavier sentence than any official punishment. They still serve under Minamoto's banner, but duty has been replaced by a quiet, desperate fervor. They take the coldest watches, the longest patrols, wearing the old head warmer their grandparent gave them as a constant, humbling reminder of the warrior they failed to be. They fight to one day perform an act of courage so loud, it might finally drown out the sound of their past silence.