Furiru

Furiru keeps the mask on for them. Before, at The Dojo, it was a sacred duty—a vessel for ancestral power, a face that was not their own. Then they met a sparring partner who cared little for spirits, and much for the quiet chimper beneath the wood. They saw a kindness that tradition had tried to erase. But one day, that partner vanished into one of the shimmering gateways Kenji had opened to the world. So Furiru left the training grounds behind. These days, they walk the webway, stepping through portals to lands of crystal and fluorescent light. The mask is no longer a tool for communion with the dead; it is a vow to the living. It will not be removed until it can be done for the one who saw their true face without ever needing to.