Atataka

The rock fused to Atataka’s back has never been cold, not even during the harshest winters at The Dojo. Legends whispered by trainees say they were not born, but found—a small, white form curled by the frozen lake, the stone already a part of them, humming softly. As they grew, it became clear the rock was more than a burden. It was a source. With a gesture, Atataka could raise pillars of earth or turn the training grounds to shifting sand. But the stone demanded a price. It leached the emotion from their face, leaving an unreadable calm. They feel joy, sorrow, and rage like any other, but it all feeds the earth beneath their feet, their expression forever a mask of placid stone. They are the Dojo’s living monolith.