Mikihiko

The bowl was old, the ceramic chipped along the rim, but it held the hot broth just fine. Mikihiko slurped the last of the noodles, tactical goggles pushed up onto their cap, letting the steam warm their face against the constant chill. This simple meal was a tactic, a calculated moment of peace learned while forging a new road through The Dragon Wastelands. They traveled then with Michi, whose eyes were always on the horizon, seeking truth amidst the magical fog and skeletal remains. Mikihiko’s gaze was always lower, scanning for edible lichen, clean water, and stable ground. Michi charted a path to save the world; Mikihiko just charted a path to the next sunrise. The noodles were gone. They pulled the goggles back over their eyes, the brief warmth already a memory.