Fudee

Fudee was a student of dramatics, not dueling. They believed power was a performance, best practiced in front of a mirror with grand poses. That was before the crystal fracture. In The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, they and Mihisa were charting the resonance of a spinning monolith when it cracked, sending a shower of razor-sharp shards down. Mihisa was knocked from the ledge, clinging by their fingertips. All of Fudee’s rehearsed heroics vanished. There was only panic, then a cold, quiet focus. They drew their frost katana, not to fight, but as a desperate anchor. A deep chill radiated from their core, frosting the air as the blade pulsed with a light it never had before. A bridge of solid ice surged from its tip, catching Mihisa just as their grip failed.