Ohide

Ohide polished their spectacles on a silk cloth, the reflection capturing the blinding spires of The Teikodian Empire. A quiet smile touched their lips. They used to think that glare was power, that the weight of their family name was strength. It was a lesson learned in gilded halls where truth was merely a commodity. Their transcendence wasn't an explosion of light but a quiet click, like a key turning in a lock they never knew existed. They saw the Empire for what it was: a cage of expectations. In that moment, they did what few thought possible, what even Kami might respect: they simply walked out. They didn't destroy a chronicle; they erased their own page. To leave a throne unwon is a power the strategists can never measure.