Kukou

Kukou parried the blow, the clang of steel echoing off the plaza’s great fish statue. The Soul Chaser fighting them sneered, their voice like ash. “That blade was meant for a master. You are not them.” The words were sharper than any weapon, a reminder of the ambush that had stolen their mentor from Waterfall City. Kukou had inherited the sword, the haori, and a grief so vast it felt like a hollow space inside them. But in that hollowness, something else had taken root. An azure light, faint as a dying star, began to hum along the edge of their katana. It was the power of Tora, a legacy passed on in a final, dying breath. Kukou’s expression never shifted, but their eyes blazed with a borrowed magic. The mentor was gone, but their power now lived in a quieter, more focused vessel.