Yuriha

Yuriha was the last in their line to carry the River-Quenched Blade. It was an heirloom forged at the city’s founding, cooled in the waterfall’s heart, and it was lost during a skirmish on the lower docks, slipping into the churning spray below. For a month, they searched the riverbed, but the current had claimed it forever. The loss felt like a severed root. Defeated, they found a single strange seed washed up on the bank and tucked it into their hair as a reminder of their failure. But it grew. As they forged a new, unadorned katana, the seed sprouted into the lucky plant they now wear. The new blade is just steel, but the plant is a living promise. Their thoughtful gaze still scans the water, but the grin is for the life that can grow even from the deepest loss.