Katsuharu

The Excommunicated of the Teikodian Empire was never sentenced for a crime, but for an inheritance. The ancient katana they carried was meant to be a silent relic, a symbol of their line. But in Katsuharu’s hands, it awoke. A deep, crystalline frost bloomed from the steel, a power so pure and cold it made the Empire's gilded spires feel brittle. This was not the fire of ambition or the gold of influence the court understood; it was the unyielding truth of winter. They were not imprisoned, merely asked to leave, to take their chilling presence far from the capital's eternal sunlight. In their exile, the power grew, until it was said their very spirit rivaled the balance of Asayaka. Now, they are a myth—a walking frost whose vibrant eyes hold the memory of a home they can never reclaim.