Tanehiko

The bite of winter air at The Dojo is sharp, but never as sharp as the silence that falls when Tanehiko stops to watch the trainees. The older students tell the story best. They say Tanehiko was just a wanderer, their journey-worn gear a stark contrast to the clean robes of the students, until the day a Soul Chaser ambushed Tarashinakatsuhiko by the frozen lake. There was no duel. Just a flicker of grey fur and a hum that made the teeth ache. When the air cleared, the Chaser was gone—not defeated, just erased—and Tarashinakatsuhiko was standing, unharmed. Tanehiko has been here ever since. They never train, never speak of their past. They just watch, their furious eyes holding a light that has seen too many dawns.