Wahachirou

Every morning, Wahachirou sits on the highest step of the pale stone temple in Waterfall City and drinks strawberry milk. The sweetness is a private rebellion against the bitter taste of duty. They hear the stories, of course. They hear of warriors like Yuji, who threw themselves into golden light and gambled everything on a single, glorious charge. Wahachirou respects the courage, but not the premise. Retreat was never an option; advancing was never the point. Their duty is to hold this place, to keep their guiding lanterns lit so fishers can find their way home and travelers don't slip on the wet stone. Some are born to be the tip of the spear. Wahachirou learned long ago that someone must be the haft: steady, solid, and here.