Koruku

Koruku keeps a secret tucked inside their yellow bandana. Before, the cloth was just for show, a bright slash of color during sparring practice by the frigid lake. They were the trainee who’d feign a stumble to win a match, earning chuckles from peers and sighs from instructors. Then a stranger, breath frosting in the winter air, pressed a tiny, wax-sealed scroll into their palm with a single whispered name: Hensō. Since that day, the bandana feels heavier. The poker face they wear now isn't for games; it’s a shield for the message's weight. Every knot they tie is a silent vow to the stranger they barely knew and the hidden master they must somehow find.