Shuma

On the night the golden spires of the Teikodian Empire stopped shining, Shuma was the only messenger fast enough to carry the dispatch. They were proud, their Lightspeed Suit a blur against the white marble as they delivered the scroll directly to a high-ranking official. Their reward was a carton of strawberry milk and an order to wait in the shadows. From there, they saw their message was not a report, but a death sentence. They watched the official they had just served be silently executed, the scroll unrolled to reveal their own signature. Shuma ran. The guiding lanterns they carried once illuminated a path of honor; now they just cast long, accusing shadows. They survived, but their innocence did not.