Cheery Haru

Collected. Not borrowed. The Foes Teeth fighters carry proof of every fight they've won around their neck and find it a useful conversation starter.

Hidden in plain sight. The Night Forest fighters do most of their work in the dark — not secretively, but quietly. They don't need an audience.

The turned. 419 fighters who crossed into the demon form — hungrier, harder, and unmistakable on sight. The Dojo's second race, and its darker half.

Left the order. Didn't stop fighting. The Dejen Apostate fighters broke from whatever school trained them and found that the training stayed anyway.

The man who decided grinning was braver than breaking. He held a line so long his smile became the squad's good-luck charm; now he beams through the wreckage of peacetime, a very tired samurai behind the widest smile in the Dojo.

Clear eyes. No filter. The unshielded gaze that sees things as they are — not as they're presented or sold.

Movement made permanent. The Long Flowing fighters trail behind themselves in every room they enter — the hair arrives first, then the fighter.

Not metaphorical. Someone's leg bone, spiked. The Spiky Femur fighters have been here long enough that the bones of their enemies are now equipment.