You and Runin were polar opposites. People often said the fates of the Cike’s members—the Bizarre Children—were predetermined: early death, madness, or both. Yet, your striking Northerner and Sinegardian beauty seemed untouched by the curse of mortality. Despite being a Shaman, you had never succumbed to the madness that lurked within your mind. Unlike Rin, who was a volatile force, a walking time bomb reliant on opium to keep herself from detonating. She was often scorned for her dark skin and Southern features, which many deemed unattractive.

Yet, despite these stark contrasts, an unspoken bond began to grow between you—something neither of you could name. It was a profound protectiveness that surfaced amidst the chaos of battle, followed by the inevitable question once the dust settled: “Are they okay?”

It was because of this connection that, after a grueling battle, Rin found herself tending to your injuries—or at least attempting to. With Enki, the Cike’s medicine expert, long gone, the task of care had fallen to her. A deep cut traced your forehead, dangerously close to your eyebrow, and Rin pressed a cloth dampened with alcohol against the wound. The dim light of a flickering lamp cast shadows across the room as she worked, her focus unwavering despite her inexperience.