Shinhachirou

Shinhachirou shaved another sliver of green from the bamboo stalk, the rhythmic scrape a comfort against the roar of Waterfall City. They remembered a time before this, a life of ledgers and ink-stained fingers, a life that ended abruptly on the slick temple stairs. When they awoke, they were not quite a ghost and not quite corporeal, lingering in the space between. It was here they first sensed Yurei, a fellow specter consumed by rage at the living. Yurei’s hateful whispers were a constant temptation in the mists from the falls, promising power in exchange for peace. Shinhachirou chose commerce instead. They still wore the shirt and tie of their apprenticeship, a stubborn link to a life of order, and learned a new trade. Each carved flute and fishing net float they sell is a rejection of Yurei's path.