Honatsu

Three days after they pulled the Dragonslayer blade from the beast's heart, Honatsu walked into the city of purple skies and freezing winds. They carried nothing but the sword and a single, iridescent scale their hunting partner had given them for luck—a gift from Ryu-senshi themself, from a time before the Empire's chains. The scale hadn’t worked. Honatsu traded the thrill of the hunt for the rhythm of a kitchen, the roar of a dragon for the hiss of oil on a hot pan. They learned that a poker face was just as useful over a steaming pot of broth as it was facing down a charging wyrm. The blade never leaves their back, a cold reminder of a promise they kept, and the person it cost them.