Fujieko

The smell of steamed rice and simmering dashi broth was once Fujieko’s entire world. They were a culinary artist in the capital, renowned for crafting meals that could calm a warlord or mend a broken alliance. Then came the taste of ozone and the shriek of shattering porcelain during a banquet—a magical assassination attempt that missed its target but stole their sight. Their patron, unwilling to lose such an asset, sent them to the labs beneath the palace. Fujieko awoke to cold silence and a world of data streams, their vision replaced by chimpborg eyes. These days, they spend their time by the fountains of The Teikodian Empire, listening. The constant rush of water is the only thing that quiets the code. They still cook, but their true art now is finding the memory of flavour within the noise.