Sazanami

The midday sun felt different on the polished gold spires of The Teikodian Empire, a low thrum against Sazanami’s palms where before there had been only heat. Ever since their Awakening, the world had gained a new, overwhelming texture. They could feel the faint cosmic echo in the threads of their nebula armor, the hum of hushed deals in the political chambers two floors below. A negotiator needed focus, not a symphony of stray energies. They adjusted their dapper flat cap, the familiar fabric a small anchor in the static. This was a power that couldn't be mastered by reading scrolls. They had heard tales of Hiro, the Beast Warrior, whose own power was a barely contained storm. Someone who lived with such intensity might know how to quiet it.