Satoka

On the night of the Emperor's annual Sunstone Gala, Satoka was only trying to re-chill a dignitary's lukewarm tea. A spark of intent, meant to be a faint shimmer of frost, instead erupted into a pillar of raw energy. The dignitary’s cup vaporized, and Satoka’s carefully styled mohawk burst into arcane flames that danced but did not burn. The hushed awe of The Teikodian Empire's court turned to fearful whispers. Suddenly, they were a walking contradiction: a noble in a royal gown clutching a wizard staff they barely understood, their innocent eyes pleading for a calm they couldn't find. The political games were replaced by the much harder task of not setting the tapestries ablaze. They pore over texts now, seeking not power but an answer, and the name they keep finding is Michi.