Moritoshi

The freezing wind of The Great Panda City carried the scent of wet stone, sharp against Moritoshi’s face. Their instructor stood with arms folded, posture a perfect line of disapproval. The test was simple: raise three pillars of earth, smooth as polished bamboo, a display of control. Moritoshi’s hands trembled, not from cold, but from the energy humming from the chakra on their back. They took a breath, closed their eyes, and slammed their palms to the ground. There was no elegance. No precision. Just a raw, guttural tear as a single, jagged monolith of granite ripped itself from the training yard, defiant and ugly and true. The instructor’s gasp was lost in the grinding of rock.