Mishura

The ancient katana Mishura carries has a name, but they were forbidden to speak it until they could draw the blade without it screaming. For years, every attempt sent a psychic shriek across the scorched plateaus, a sound that made the ghost dragons in the fog seem tame. They trained among the skeletal remains of titans, a clumsy figure in a baggy sweater, failing more than succeeding. The turning point came during a relentless storm, when they finally stopped trying to conquer the weapon. Instead, they listened. They heard its loneliness, its memory of a forgotten war. In that moment of empathy, Mishura evolved. The blade slid free with the sound of a struck bell, and the energy that erupted was so pure, it is said even the distant god-entity Kami noticed the shift. The screaming had stopped. The grin, however, and the silly kitty patch over their eye, were just getting started.