Noeri

The Dojo’s most decorated Dragonslayer. That is what the trainees whisper when Noeri passes, their gaze fixed on the golden dragon armor and the notched blade. They don't understand that the armor isn't a trophy; it's an apology. With every great beast felled, a sliver of its ancient malice, its primordial fire, finds a new home inside them. It’s the source of the demonic glow in their eyes, a constant, burning reminder. This face, this blank screen they wear, is a mercy. If it ever showed the storm of draconic memory and rage churning within, the winter snows of The Dojo would turn to ash. The real battles aren't fought in the sky; they are fought in the silence, against the echoes of every soul they have extinguished.