Himuka

Himuka keeps the night watch at The Dojo. Every evening, as students retire and the training grounds fall silent, they light their guiding lanterns one by one. Their path is always the same: a slow, measured walk along the lake's edge, the warm glow of their lamps pushing back the cold mountain air. Many of the younger trainees believe Himuka subsists on discipline alone, seeing only the crisp General Suit and the unwavering gaze. They don't see the quiet moment before dawn when Himuka sits on the dojo steps, watching the first light, and drinks a small carton of strawberry milk. It is a sweet, simple ritual—a private comfort that fuels their steadfast calm through the long, quiet hours.