Katsuya

In the Crystal Highlands of Armaria, there’s a saying: true strength isn't what you break, but what you choose not to. Katsuya tapped the shimmering crystal path with their apple stick, feeling for the false vibrations that meant a long fall. Their companion grumbled, eager to press on. “This was a sword once,” Katsuya said, their grin visible even with the frog patch over one eye. “Or something like it. All sharp edges and bad memories.” They had spent years believing, as Zenchi did, that redemption was found by mastering the steel in their hands. But the darkness wasn't in the blade. It was in the wielder. So they left their past buried under a humming monolith and took up a tool for living instead.