Fukina

Fukina remembers the heat of a sun on their face, a feeling so distant it might as well be a story told about someone else. Here, the perpetual wind that cuts through the bamboo-lined streets carries only the mountain’s chill. They pull their reliable raincoat tighter. The Mega Sabre on their back is a cold, heavy weight—a “gift” from the ones who brought them back from the precipice of death. They awoke from that long sleep with cybernetic eyes that saw the world in code and a heart that did not beat. They were told they were resilient, a marvel. They just felt empty. Each step through this city of endless cherry blossoms is a search, not for treasure or glory, but for a single moment of warmth the wind cannot steal.