Miraka

Locals in the high-altitude city whisper about two different Chimps. One wears a relaxed tee and shades, often seen napping under cherry blossom trees. The other is a masked shadow, a blur of motion glimpsed on rooftops when the freezing winds howl. At thirteen, Miraka was just the kid in the tee, tripping over bamboo roots. At fifteen, they were learning to scale those same stalks without a sound, the condensation of their breath fogging their mask. At seventeen, they disarmed a Teikodian spy near the river with a speed that startled even themself, a flash of cold, perfect logic taking over. They feel it sometimes, that other presence—a quiet hum behind their thoughts, a chilling echo of the same secret that once imprisoned Taihi. The relaxed tee is an attempt to convince themself they are still the one in charge.