Monpa

Monpa adjusted the strange spectacles, and the chaotic energies of The Underworld resolved into a shimmering grid of cause and effect. They first arrived here with only an ancestral katana they could barely lift and a smirk that promised far more than they could deliver. The crimson sky and fields of unnatural snowfall were meant to break them. For a time, they nearly did. They learned humility from the icy winds. Then, in the ruins of a forgotten outpost, they found the crystalline lens fragments. Tinkering became their new training. The day they finished the glasses and put them on, reality fractured. They saw not just what was, but what could be. The ancient blade no longer felt heavy; they could see its perfect arc through a dozen futures. The smirk returned, but this time it was earned.