Makirou

Makirou cast the line, the lure a silent ripple against the golden reflection of the palace spires. Years ago, they stood in those same halls, the weight of their noble silks feeling heavier than armor as they learned the art of the polite threat and the smile that masked a blade. The Teikodian Empire demanded performance. Then came the night the air itself went still. A presence, unseen but vast, passed through the imperial grounds—a solitary, cosmic force Makirou knew as Eirian. In that moment, the Empire’s grandeur shrank to a trinket. Since then, they've preferred the whisper of the rod to the whisper of the court. Their true station is here, by the water, patiently waiting. The fish never bite, but that was never the point.