Keriko

Keriko did not come to The Underworld seeking adventure. They were a cartographer's apprentice, meticulously tracing known paths, when their master's most dangerous chart—one depicting a gateway—was stolen. Driven by duty, not courage, Keriko followed the thief into a realm of crimson skies and unnatural cold. The pursuit ended in failure during a panicked scramble away from a Cult of Kaze patrol, where their last provisions, a bowl of ramen, ended up splattered across their head. Staring at their reflection in a pool of black slosh, a clumsy, noodle-covered mess, something broke. Their old life was gone. Using the fallen paint from a cultist’s armor, they drew the first unsteady lines of war paint on their face. The ramen stains are now a permanent, humbling crown, but the paint is a choice, reapplied each day—a promise to survive the map they are now forced to make.