Agetsu

Agetsu was supposed to be a jester. They stand on the rock-carved stairs of Waterfall City, idly tapping their cane against the stone as boats drift below. A group of Teikodian officials, draped in crimson and gold, laughs loudly in the plaza. One of them tells a joke, and their companions roar. Agetsu recognizes the face, the voice. It belongs to a courtier who stood silent the night Genkei was murdered. The playful grin that usually adorns Agetsu’s face vanishes. They grip their cane, not as a support, but as a weapon. The vengeful spirit of the princess is a constant, cold companion, a whisper against their ear. The official catches their eye, unsettled by the sudden stillness. Agetsu just stares back, their gaze as heavy and relentless as the waterfall itself.