Gyuujirou

Every morning, before the crimson sky chokes on another layer of ash, Gyuujirou polishes a single, flawless crystal they keep tucked inside their vest. It is the last of their old inventory. They came to The Underworld with a cart full of them, a naive belief that even here, someone might pay for a shard of light. A partner shared this foolish dream, their laughter a fragile sound against the hiss of lava pools. But trust is a currency with no value in this realm. A deal for a protected market stall ended in betrayal. Gyuujirou returned to find their partner gone and their cart splintered, the crystals ground into glittering dust. The fury that erupted in that moment never subsided. They still wear the merchant’s vest, but now they trade in whispers, rumors, and the precise locations of the unwary.