Mutsuyoshi

The carved cane Mutsuyoshi leans on is not from any tree that grows under the crimson sky. They found the pale wood washed up on the shore of a black slosh marsh, and spent a month shaping it to bear their weight. Before the ambush, they never needed one. They were a shadow, moving with a speed learned from studying the secret tunnel networks of the Mystic Cats. But a duel with a Soul Chaser left them with more than a scar; it left them with a permanent limp, a searing memory of black-and-white flame that stole their swiftness. The tactical flack is for protection. The poker face is for the constant pain. And the Meow Cap? A relic from their old life, a foolish tribute to a grace they can no longer possess.