Ugetsu

Ugetsu remembers the steam from the noodle bowl, the exact moment the savory broth spilled when the warning horns blew through the amber trees. They were just a cook then, their only battles against tough dough and stubborn firewood. But when raiders swept into The Heart of the Forest, they found a different fire in Ugetsu. They grabbed a cleaver, mixed ash with berry juice, and smeared it across their face not as a warrior, but as a promise: this home was not for the taking. The apron stayed on, but the paint never truly washed off. These days, they build their food stall from the same timber Mokuzai favors, a small act of defiance. The glee in their eyes is real—for the food, for the community. The unease is for the smoke they sometimes still smell on the wind.