Aimii

In The Teikodian Empire, there’s a saying: a locked door invites a thief more than an open one. Aimii lived by this, their squint a permanent fixture from years of seeking threats in the palace’s golden glare. They were assigned to guard a scribe's child, a task they saw as a slight. Every gift from the child—a wilted flower, a sticky rice ball—was met with cold suspicion. One day, the child gave them a paper fan, clumsily painted with a panda. Aimii almost discarded it. Weeks later, when a disgraced courtier tried to seize the child in a crowded market, Aimii’s blade was a blur. The child didn't scream; they simply hid behind Aimii, fan clutched tight. Since then, the fan is always tucked in Aimii's belt, a crinkled reminder that some doors are worth guarding because of what they keep in, not what they keep out.