Kirua

Every morning, Kirua straps on the pufferfish helmet and begins. The training yard is just a dusty patch behind a forgotten gold-spired temple in The Teikodian Empire, but the routine is sacred. They were once a potter, their hands gentle with clay, not the cold steel of a katana’s hilt. That life ended when an Imperial magistrate admired their partner's work too loudly, then claimed both the art and the artist for the palace. The pufferfish helmet, once a ridiculous festival gift from that lost partner, became their disguise. No one looks twice at a fool in a fish helmet practicing clumsy forms. Let them underestimate. Every sunrise, the blade feels a little lighter, and the memory of their partner's laughter gets a little sharper.