Kajin

Whispers in the capital’s underbelly say Kajin was groomed in the shadowed corridors beneath the palace's blinding spires, a name meant only for dungeon rosters. They were trained to move unseen, to listen through walls, to be a tool. But the lessons never quite stuck; they got distracted by the patterns sunlight made on marble floors. The day they met Toto, they weren't on a mission; they were simply lost, having followed a songbird out of the city's cold stone heart. Toto didn't see an operative, just a kid with bright eyes behind a dark mask. The old master offered a backpack and a story about a place where rain didn't just mean a slippery escape route. Kajin took it. They still wear the mask, but the eyes above it are always crinkling with a smile.