Momoren

Momoren never asked to be a guardian. But promises made under the cherry blossoms of The Great Panda City are binding, especially to the dying. They took Gaijirou in, their small ward a constant shadow in a life built for solitude. Momoren's fan, once an elegant accessory, became a shield. Their movements, a dance of falling sakura, sharpened into a deadly art meant to keep threats at bay. They taught Gaijirou how to spot assassins in the market crowds and read the cold intent behind a diplomat’s bow. Lately, the whispers carried on the freezing winds have a new name in them—one that belonged to the very person who made Momoren swear that oath. They watch Gaijirou practice, and wonder how long their petals can hide the coming storm.