Namiri

Namiri remembers the gleam of polished stone under their feet and the roar of the falls echoing their own foolish pride. They were young then, all style and swagger, quick with a grin that could disarm merchants and stall guards in Waterfall City. They believed their silver tongue was sharper than any blade, a belief that shattered during a challenge at the plaza's great fish statue. Their opponent, a silent frog ronin, didn't fall for the jokes or the flashy feints. The defeat was swift, public, and utterly humbling. Namiri didn't speak for a week. Since then, they train with a quiet intensity, the dark samurai armor a shell for a much softer spirit. The side smile is still there, but it's a knowing, gentler thing now, always paired with eyes that remember the cost of arrogance.