Rokugorou

The finest noodle chef in the city of purple skies used to claim the secret to perfect ramen was the biting mountain air. Rokugorou’s stall was a landmark, a warm haven where the steam from their broth fought back the freezing winds that whipped through the bamboo-lined streets. Their adventure sword was a wall decoration, a story piece. Then came the silence in their mind, the same cold puppeteer’s grip that took Taihi. Their hands, which knew only the weight of a ladle, were forced to wield the blade. When they were finally free, the scent of cherry blossoms felt like an accusation. They couldn't stay. The ramen hat is a ghost of the life they lost; the sword, a promise of who they refuse to become again.