Chikiko

Chikiko’s ancient sabre has no gems, no gold inlay. Its leather-wrapped hilt is worn smooth by a grip accustomed to honest work, not courtly salutes. Here, in the city of blinding spires and white marble, it feels like a relic from another world. They have been here a month, and the poncho marks them as an outsider among the silks and armor. They came on a solemn promise, carrying a secret heavier than any blade: the true name of the one who became Tokumei, whispered to them before the rituals began. Navigating these gilded corridors is harder than any mountain pass they have ever climbed. They don't understand the layered compliments or the silent judgments. They just hold onto the promise, a compass in a land of shifting loyalties.