Neena

Neena's blade sang as it met the training sword, the slice of cake on their head remaining perfectly still. Their opponent stumbled back, defeated not by the strike but by the sheer contradiction: the upset eyes that seemed to weep, the grin that never reached them, and the absurd dessert. It was the same look they wore during the final battle alongside Yukimura, a frantic, smiling storm of golden dragon armor. In the cold air of the training grounds, a new recruit finally asked the question everyone else was too afraid to. 'The cake... is it a joke?' Neena’s grin tightened, becoming something brittle. 'It was their birthday,' they said, their voice suddenly quiet. 'The day we lost.' The cake wasn't a joke. It was a promise to never forget the celebration that never happened.