Sepia

Sepia cinched the knot, the frayed grey fabric rough against their brow. It was older than them, smelling of ozone from the storms in The Dragon Wastelands and something that was purely Sakujuurou. Their partner had left it with them as a promise—a worn, battle-stained good-luck charm for a trainee who hadn't yet earned a single scar to match it. Sometimes, they’d tug on the worn ends and make a face in a puddle’s reflection, just to remind themself not to get too serious. But when the wind howled through the skeletal remains, the bandana was an anchor. It was not a trophy earned, but a future to be built, one scraped knee and clumsy spar at a time.