Shouji

Shouji remembered the sound of their partner’s armor, a rhythmic, grinding clatter that never seemed to fit the gilded silence of The Teikodian Empire’s halls. Back then, Shouji’s job was to paint history on scrolls, all gold leaf and heroic poses, while the gruff guard saw the grimy truth that happened just off the page. One evening, under a sky weeping with drizzle, Shouji was caught sketching the exhausted faces of the kitchen staff instead of the emperor’s latest triumph. The guard was supposed to report them. Instead, they just jerked their head toward the gate. They’ve been on the road ever since. The guard still complains about the rain, but they’ve learned to read Shouji’s quiet steps in a downpour as a map to safety. One keeps their eyes on the stars, the other keeps their hand on a sword.