Dzioka's hands are the steadiest in the entire refuge, yet they learned that stillness by balancing on scorched rock above lava pools in The Underworld. For years, their only company was a combat pole, their only lesson the subtle shifts in the crimson glow. Focus wasn't a virtue; it was the simple price of survival. Then came Shokei-moji, who found them not in a rage, but in perfect, deadly calm, defending a spring of clean water from cultists. They offered not a weapon, but a white bandana—a promise of community. These days, Dzioka uses the pole to teach balance to the young. The bubble of tranquility they project is a shield for any who need respite, a sanctuary built from a past that knew none.