Chimper #2370
Urahiko remembers the scent of cooling pewter, a clean, metallic tang that no longer belongs to them. They were a crafter once, shaping soft metal into spoons and fan guards for the citizens living among the high-altitude bamboo groves. Their hands were known for their steadiness, their eyes for their precision—qualities the Panda Council valued for more than just smithing. They were conscripted, not recruited, trading their workshop for silent patrols along the river under a perpetually purple sky. The mask they wear now hides their unamused expression, a permanent fixture since the day their craft was deemed less important than their ability to be a shadow. The freezing winds don't bother them, but the silence does. It’s a hollow thing compared to the hum of a workshop, a constant reminder of the life they were forced to leave behind.
