Kyaka

"That one's not a fighter," the cultist sneered, gesturing toward the lone figure. "They carry a cane, not a blade." We all watched Kyaka then, a trainee practicing forms near a lava pool in The Underworld. We expected them to be consumed within a cycle. Instead, they endured. They never sought a fight. That carved cane was used to test the stability of frozen marshland, to measure the depth of black slosh, to trace sigils in the gray ash. Their intense focus wasn't on us, but on the patterns of the unnatural snowfall. One day, a veteran warrior, arrogant and eager for dominance, challenged them. Kyaka simply used the cane to trip them into a puddle. Humiliated but unharmed. We don't mock them anymore. A warrior can be killed. But what do you do with someone who is only here to learn the ground you stand on?