Tadaka

Tadaka parried the blow, steel ringing against the wet plaza stones of Waterfall City. Their opponent didn't press the attack. Instead, a hand reached out, not to strike, but to gently push the sabre tooth helm back from Tadaka's brow. Before this, Tadaka's life was the roar of the falls—a constant battle for survival on the rocky outskirts, trusting no one. Their mask was a second skin, their fury a shield against a world that only took. Then came the quiet chimper who sold nets by the lower docks, who wasn't intimidated by the warrior's rage. They saw the exhaustion behind the fury and the loneliness behind the mask. They didn't ask Tadaka to stop fighting; they just offered them a place to rest when the fighting was done.