Bakurou

Bakurou was supposed to be a street sweeper in The Great Panda City. Their life was meant for quiet patterns: the whisk of a bamboo broom, the respectful nod to Panda Council members, the chill of the mountain wind. Then came the fire. It wasn't a choice; it was a sneeze, a moment of frustration that cracked the cobblestones and melted a vendor's cart into slag. They read once about Bakuhatsu, the dark mage who craved destruction, and a cold fear settled in their gut. Is this what it feels like to be a weapon? Every day is a battle to keep the eruption inside from boiling over. They wear simple clothes as a reminder of the life they lost, the quiet chimper they were supposed to be. The cold wind helps. It's the only thing that does.