Misuka

The heavy silk of the robe feels like clean, winter air against their skin, a stark contrast to the sulfurous heat radiating from the crimson glow of the sky. For Misuka, this garment is not mere clothing; it is a library, a fortress, and a silencer. The cursed blood they share with Zenchi hums with the Underworld's malice, a constant, low thrum of rage that begs to be unleashed upon the ash-choked plains. But the robe’s ancient threads absorb it all, weaving the fury into inert patterns of starlight only they can see. This allows them to walk through fields of unnatural snowfall with a scholar's curiosity, their gleeful eyes taking in every detail from behind their mask. They trace the constellations on their sleeve, a map of silenced madness.