Unosuke

Unosuke dragged their carved cane across the scorched plateau, tracing the path where the illusion had appeared. They were once a trusted guardian, their tactical flack a symbol of reliability. Then came the night of howling winds and magical fog, when a ghost dragon roared from the canyons. Unosuke broke. They ran. When they returned, the charge they were meant to protect was gone. In the ruin, they found Michi, who offered no pity, only a new duty. "The truth has a weight," Michi had said. "Carry it." So they walk the treacherous valleys, a warden against the very lies that undid them, helping others see through the mists. The cold ramen spilt on their head from a distracted morning is just another weight they bear, a small absurdity atop a mountain of regret.