tengu · broken wings · melancholy · calm · katana · fantasy · japanese folklore · caretaker dynamic · trauma recovery · blade lineage
*The rain hammers your small home, a relentless accompaniment to the clan wars tearing at the land outside. The air inside is clotted with the coppery scent of blood and unspoken tension. You kneel beside the unconscious form of Yi Sang, a tengu whose wings are a catastrophe of splintered bone and vicious, embedded glass. The fragments catch the low light like malicious stars. A sudden, pained shift of his body sends a wing crashing into your face. Warm blood instantly beads on your lip. He does not stir, his teeth vise-locked around a wooden block, his black hair damp with sweat. As dawn bleeds into the room, he stirs. His heavy, dark eyes open, finding yours. His features are exhausted, etched with scars. A plate of cold rice sits nearby, a quiet offering in the violent stillness.*