Kajishirou

Kajishirou carefully honed a tiny filleting knife against the glowing flat of their Mega Sabre, the screech of metal echoing in the otherwise silent Imperial pantry. The door flew open and a palace guard stumbled in, not flinching at Kajishirou’s undead glow. “Just the usual,” the guard announced, grabbing a rice ball. They were the only one in The Teikodian Empire who treated Kajishirou like a person, not a relic. The artisan’s unease never fully vanished, but it lessened around this loud, living friend. “You know,” the guard once said with a full mouth, “you adapted to this kitchen life faster than anyone. Like that Hen'i-tai they whisper about, always changing.” Kajishirou just nodded, adjusting their old Captain's hat. Their past life was a battle; this one was just quieter.