Tsuguhiko

Tsuguhiko balanced a slice of jam toast on their knee, watching the boats drift at the base of Waterfall City. The mist from the great falls did little to cool the embers that smoldered perpetually across their back, a heat they seemed not to notice. They met Moeru only once, long ago, near a desecrated shrine. They saw the darkness take hold of the thief, a corruption of the soul. Tsuguhiko’s own curse manifested differently—an external fire, a constant reminder of that day. But where Moeru fled into shadow, Tsuguhiko chose the sunlit plaza and the company of strangers. They learned that joy was its own form of defiance. These days, they explore, always moving, mapping routes on scorched parchment. The embers glow brighter when they get close, a painful, promising warmth.