Rikana

Rikana has only ever known two constants: the ash-choked air of The Underworld and Roukokurou’s shadow at their side. They were friends born of necessity, learning to read the crimson glow of the sky for danger instead of stories. Their games were played on the edge of black slosh marshes, their promises whispered over the hiss of distant lava. There was no single moment their bond deepened; it was forged in a thousand shared watches and mended wounds. It was the quiet way Rikana would stand guard while Roukokurou slept, and how Roukokurou always knew, without looking, where Rikana was in a skirmish. Their love isn't spoken. It is the tactical armor Rikana wears, a shield for two.