Chouji

Every morning, travelers in The Dragon Wastelands see Chouji calmly polishing the same scorched teacup. "A memento from a past life," they'll say if asked, their resting eyes betraying nothing. But the older caravan guards tell a different tale. They remember when that fiery mohawk was an untamed inferno, a sudden evolution that threatened to consume them and their humble stall in a pillar of flame. They say the great pragmatist Kyoju once stopped, not to fight, but to share tea for a week. Kyoju spoke of balance, of tending to an inner forge instead of letting it rage. Since then, the fire has been banked. The flames now just flicker, but the guards still give them a wide berth. They know that what has been mastered can always be unleashed.