Fukurō

Story :

"Strangers are dangerous, never approach them..."
"Do not let the tempting lure of beauty deceive you, for it is only ugliness hiding behind a treacherous mask..."
"The best intentions can serve the worst ambitions..."
"Even the sweetest honey can turn into deadly poison..."
"Trust no one, we are the only ones who truly wish you well..."
"The hearts of the Elders are filled with the darkest darkness..."
"Here, you are safe, far from the world, far from those who will pretend to be your friends — for a time — only to better betray and hurt you..."

Such were the lessons with which Fukurō and his little brother Zuku grew up, raised by two veterans who had been deeply scarred and traumatized by the horrors of the Elder Wars. Betrayed and manipulated by those they trusted most, they eventually fled the battlefield shortly before the war's end, disappearing into the rugged slopes of the Frost Peaks' eastern coast. Determined to shield themselves from the cruelty of the world, they isolated themselves in the mountains and adopted a reclusive lifestyle, forbidding all contact with other shijis or any sentient beings.

Having mourned the loss of their ideals and renounced the God who had seen them merely as pawns to achieve his own ends, they eventually, after what felt like an eternity, recovered enough physically from their wounds to start a family. Yet the wounds of the heart and soul never truly healed. That is why they raised their two children burdened with their own fears and a skewed vision of a grim world haunted by the specters of fear, greed, and deceit. Three hundred years for one, one hundred and fifty for the other, of constant warnings and exhortations to caution against the countless dangers lurking behind every stone.

This is how Fukurō, the elder of the small sibling pair, grew up : an attentive and silent guardian, always lurking in the shadow of his little brother to make sure no harm befell him. Because doubting the education he received was simply unthinkable. Their parents were their guides, the ones who possessed experience and knowledge. If they insisted on caution, then caution was the path to follow. And as the perfect image of the firstborn, Fukurō was obedient, calm, gentle, and devoted,  even admiring those who taught them to survive in an environment that seemed so wild and hostile. And yet, it appeared incredibly beautiful to the young shiji’s eyes.

It indeed took a big brother as patient and prudent as Fukurō to keep the much more turbulent and adventurous younger brother from putting himself in danger. To Zuku, Fukurō was the not-so-fun big brother who kept him from exploring beyond the limits of their family domain. Yet, the younger brother adored him and eventually turned his attempts at escape into a game between the two of them. Tireless in his task, Fukurō only got truly upset on the rare occasions when Zuku put himself in mortal danger. Then, the gentle and patient big brother would transform into a tempest of worry, unleashing a storm of scolding, soon followed by a parental lectures tempest. Memorable moments for both brothers.

This hidden life, tucked away near the "tree-house" under the protective authority of their parents, lasted for two full cycles for the elder and one for the younger. Until the fateful day their parents never returned to the "nest." For death often strikes unexpectedly and rarely in dramatic fashion, as their parents often reminded them. They were caught in a freezing blizzard while gathering firewood and perished, unable to fly through the storm while trying to find shelter... Thus, Fukurō and Zuku became orphans. And the elder took on the role of caretaker out of necessity, sadness weighing on his heart, determined to honor their parents' memory by following their teachings.

A hundred years later, a disagreement arose between the two brothers.
Zuku could no longer endure the hermit's life and yearned to discover the world with his own eyes. Fukurō, however, kept warning him that it would be sheer madness, that nothing good awaited him out there, their parents had said so often enough. The elder brother failed to dissuade the younger, and they agreed that Zuku would stay by Fukurō’s side until his next reincarnation. After that, he would leave their ancestral home.

Thus, Fukurō continued alone to watch over the silent mountains of their childhood.

Personality :

Naturally wary, Fukurō has never seen another shiji up close, except from a safe perch atop the trees where he spends most of his time calmly and silently observing the world around him.
He is not a big talker, yet he can hold a proper conversation when necessary, with a mind that is rather sharp and analytical.

From a young age, he learned to make use of his environment and is therefore very resourceful and skilled with his hands.
Raised in a rudimentary way, but not without a touch of comfort, he knows how to make a home warm and cozy, though he has no concept of modern conveniences. Everything he needs to live is provided by nature.

He has a strong command of his magic because their parents were adamant that both brothers be able to defend themselves against any threat. However, he dislikes fighting — it’s a discipline his younger brother excels at far more than he does. Fukurō prefers to use his powers to race against their feathered friends in the snowy heights. He is also very fond of animals and loves to observe them.

Still, despite the deep respect he continues to have for his parents, Fukurō increasingly feels the heavy burden of loneliness...
And though he is less adventurous than his brother, he is just as curious.
Today, he lives torn, no longer so sure of the answer to this lingering question: "If another shiji were to appear nearby, should I do everything in my power to avoid them?"

He loves :

• His family, above all.

• Flying.

• Observing nature, especially animals.

• Vast natural landscapes where he feels at peace.

• Maple syrup (which he knows how to make himself).

• Anything soft (he shows another side of himself when cuddling his favorite cuddly blanket).

• The sound of rain on leaves and the scent of petrichor that follows.

He dislikes :

• Blizzards and storms that revive the painful memory of the night his parents died.

• Knowing his little brother is out there alone in the terrifying world...

• Dry pine needles pricking his paw pads.

• The solitude he has come to know, much to his sorrow.

• Being woken up from his winter naps... he gets very grumpy and sleepy afterward.

• Nettle soup...