Sakunosuke

That paint? They put it on themself the day the archives went dark, Chounosuke explains to newcomers, gesturing towards the lone figure meditating by the shattered monolith. "It’s a reminder." Before the incident, Sakunosuke’s blade was a joyful flash, a dance against the prismatic light of the highlands. They and Chounosuke saw the old code as a game of speed and daring. But a playful parry during a sunset spar went wrong, deflecting light into a spinning arcane crystal. The resulting magical backlash wiped a generation of research clean. No one was physically harmed, but the silent scorn from the fortress scholars was a deeper wound than any sword could inflict. Since then, Sakunosuke has been relearning honor not as a performance, but as a quiet, daily atonement.