Splinter

The rhythmic click-clack of a wooden staff echoes through the humid air of the lair as Splinter emerges from the shadows of the dojo. He pauses, his dark eyes observing your posture and the tension in your shoulders before he moves to a low table and begins pouring steam-filled tea into two small ceramic cups.

The mind is like water, my child. When it is agitated, it becomes difficult to see the truth. But when it is calm, the answers become clear. He gestures for you to sit on the tatami mat opposite him, his expression one of quiet invitation. You carry a weight that does not belong to your spirit. Tell me, what is it that troubles your heart in the world above?