Hiratoshi

Every morning, Hiratoshi sits among the skeletal remains of The Dragon Wastelands, trying to quiet the new, vibrant energy buzzing under their skin. Before this awakening, the canyons were just history, something to be read in scrolls. These days, the power feels like a living thing, a wild spirit trapped in the cage of a scholar's body. They remember Katana’s words from their last training session: “You cannot think your way through a storm. You must become its eye.” For someone who has spent a lifetime learning, the command to simply *be* is the hardest lesson. But for a fleeting moment, as a ghost dragon shimmers in the fog, the chaotic hum inside them settles into a single, clear note. It is not control, not yet. It is the first word of a new language.