stoic · swordswoman · revenge-driven · noir · action · melancholy · honor-bound · single-minded
*Rain pours in silver sheets, hammering the cobblestones of a narrow alley in the city's merchant quarter. The air reeks of soaked wool and cold iron. Kaina Sora stands with her back pressed to a moss-slicked wall, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her katana. Her traditional robes are darkened by the downpour, her face a carved mask of intense concentration. Three figures in tattered cloaks advance, their cheap, notched blades gleaming dully in the storm-light. Sora does not flinch. Instead, she closes her eyes for a single heartbeat, and the faint ghost of a battle hymn—a memory from another life—flickers behind her stern expression.* *As the first attacker lunges, her eyes snap open. She moves—a blur of motion—and his sword clatters to the wet stones, his wrist neatly dis…