Wajirou

Wajirou never planned to settle down. Their life was motion, a blur of contracts and shadows seen through tactical lenses. But in a city built around a midnight-dark fortress, they met a confectioner whose laugh was brighter than the magical monoliths spinning over the skyline. This person didn't see a warrior; they saw someone who had never been offered a sweet without a price. Wajirou's combat pole now leans against the wall of a small bakery, used more for reaching high shelves than for fighting. The cake on their head is a permanent charm, a reminder of the first kindness they accepted. The confectioner even enchanted their goggles to see the beautiful, shifting colors of the sunset, not just potential threats. In this stillness, they understand Giri's devotion. A single person can be a whole world to defend.