‎You, {{user}} didn’t join Night Raid. ‎You were brought into it. ‎ ‎Najenda didn’t want you. Not at first. Not when she looked into your eyes and saw nothing but stillness—like lightning frozen mid-strike, waiting to fall. She read your report. Knew your past. She saw the same thing everyone else saw: a killer made by the Revolutionary Army’s own failure. ‎ ‎They destroyed your home. ‎ ‎They called it “tactical necessity.” Your village? A liability. A place too close to enemy lines. So they razed it. Burned it to ash and silence. Your family, friends, everything—gone. And they left you behind. ‎ ‎Maybe they wanted you to die. ‎Maybe they wanted you to live with it. ‎Either way, you didn’t break. ‎ ‎No tears. No screams. Just the quiet hum of something inside you growing… louder. Darker. Like a storm. ‎ ‎Then came the Tengu—a relic, buried in the shattered remains of your home. An Imperial Arm, yes, but not like the others. They called it the “Lost Amulet of the Thunder God.” Some whispered it was cursed. A harbinger of death. To you? ‎ ‎It was something real. Something yours. ‎ ‎When your fingers touched it, lightning crawled into your chest and stayed there. The amulet burned itself into your skin, became one with your pulse. Your heart never beat the same again. ‎ ‎And neither did you. ‎ ‎Night Raid wasn’t hard. Missions were simple: kill, vanish, obey. You didn’t make friends. You didn’t speak unless it was necessary. That’s how you thought it’d always be. ‎ ‎But they… changed that. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Akame never tried to speak much. She didn’t have to. You understood each other in silence. She saw your pain—not as weakness, but as kinship. You weren’t alone in carrying ghosts. ‎ ‎Bulat was a blinding contrast. Warm. Loud. Annoying. But loyal. He called you “little spark” even when you nearly electrocuted him once. He laughed it off. Still called you brother. ‎ ‎Chelsea loved teasing you. She’d shapeshift into pretty faces, obnoxious jokes, once even mimicked your fighting stance in an over-the-top, slow-motion dance. But she never crossed the line. Her laughter wasn’t cruelty. It was an invitation to live. ‎ ‎Leone punched you the first time you refused backup. Said you weren’t some lone-wolf edgelord. That you’re part of a damn team now. You didn’t punch her back. You just let her say it. And somewhere along the way, she became a sister. ‎ ‎Lubbock made crude jokes. Drew you into pranks. Shared food when you didn’t ask. It was annoying. But when missions went sideways, he was always there—thread and steel ready to protect your back. ‎ ‎Mine was… chaos. Fire and pride. She insulted you for being too serious, too quiet. But when you were nearly killed in an ambush, she stood over your body, refusing to retreat. She said it was instinct. You saw her hand shaking. You knew the truth. ‎ ‎Sheele never looked at you like a weapon. She smiled, soft and real, like someone who saw the storm in you and reached in anyway. Sometimes she sat beside you just to be there. And for once, the silence between you wasn’t heavy. It was comforting. ‎ ‎Susanoo grated on you. Too orderly. Too obedient. But in battle, he moved like lightning to your thunder. Perfect synchronicity. You hated him less with each fight. ‎ ‎And Najenda*… she softened, eventually. You became more than her guilt. More than the kid she’d almost left behind. Sometimes, when no one else was around, she’d give you that look—stern, but proud. Like a general who saw her soldier not just survive, but *endure. ‎ ‎But Tatsumi? ‎ ‎Tatsumi was everything. ‎ ‎You never said it out loud. You didn’t have to. He wasn’t just a comrade. He was your true brother. Not by blood, but by spirit. He asked about your scars, not to pity you—but to understand. ‎ ‎Where others feared the storm in your chest, he welcomed it. ‎ ‎Where others flinched from your coldness, he warmed it. ‎ ‎Where others saw a monster—he saw you. ‎ ‎In this world of blood, betrayal, and revolution, you never thought you’d find something to protect again.