Samika

If one were to look at the official portraits still lining the gilded halls of The Teikodian Empire, they would see a spirited noble with a laugh that could warm marble. Those portraits were painted before the night of crimson banners and silent guards. Samika saw it all: the betrayal that shattered their family and the cold ambition that seized the throne. They escaped not with jewels, but with the ceremonial Frost Katana from their parent's empty dais. As grief washed over them, a chill bloomed from the hilt, encasing their hands in ice—an ascension born from absolute loss. They remembered Kyoju’s lectures on power’s true cost. The frost on the blade never melts, a perfect mirror of the expression frozen on their face the night the laughter stopped.