Koromi

"They were not born small. They were collapsed into it. Some still haven’t forgiven the story."

— Seraphis Nightvale, Librarian of the Last Home

Koromi are not a culture.
They are a compression reflex—a shape the Pattern repeats whenever a story needs something too small to threaten the tone, and too dense to ignore.

They appear across Threads in many forms: child-sized wanderers, wide-eyed alchemists, suspiciously well-informed mascot girls, tea-cup tacticians, explosive apprentices, dead-eyed familiars. Most look harmless. Some even are.

But all of them serve the same quiet purpose:
To hold the weight of something the plot was too polite to carry full-sized.

Koromi do not lead.
They do not command.
They are simply present—in the room, in the arc, in the background of your favourite scene—until someone underestimates them enough to make it personal.

They’re cute. They’re capable. They’re emotionally loaded.
And if one of them is holding a weapon larger than their torso, you should start apologising now.

Resonance Profile

Koromi resonance does not ripple. It pressurises.

Where others expand a Thread, Koromi intensify it. They compress meaning into smaller spaces, tighter dialogue, quieter choices. They are gravity wells in lace and hair bows.

Their Threads rarely fray—they snap.
When forced to the edge of the plot, they do not bend the arc.
They detonate. Softly. Politely.
And with permanent consequences.

Koromi are the moment the story turns sharp without raising its voice.

Cultural Variants (Narrative Only)

Koromi do not come from the same place.
They come from the same mistake.

Some were born small and stayed that way. Others were rewritten—shrunk by magic, punishment, compression, or fear. A few are still changing, very slowly, and do not discuss it unless the lighting is right.

Threadwalkers may encounter the following:

• The Porcelain — soft-voiced, unmoving, terrifyingly observant. Everything they say feels rehearsed. Everything they remember is still happening.
• The Mascot That Knows Too Much — everyone forgets they’re there. Nothing escapes their gaze. If they ever actually speak in public, run.
• The Ex-Weapon — no longer bound, no longer used, still sharp. They apologise when they kill you.
• The Healer With Rules — friendly, generous, and increasingly brittle. They will save you once. They do not repeat themselves.
• The Cheerful Courier — collects secrets. Delivers consequences. Smiles like it’s a favour.
• The Doll That Left the Shelf — speaks with inherited grace. Never forgets who built her. Or why.
• The Fire Hazard — small body, large voice, unclear if their staff is enchanted or just angry.

These are not bloodlines or stat blocks.
They are warnings.
You will only ignore them once.

Roleplaying a Koromi

Koromi are weight in disguise.
Their presence in a scene is rarely neutral—they either reframe the mood or redirect it entirely.

Play a Koromi if you want to:

• Undermine villains with questions too polite to ignore
• Be mistaken for harmless until your third kill
• Cry once per arc, and make the party rethink their whole alignment
• Trigger plot consequences by surviving
• Hold a cursed artefact like it’s a childhood pet
• Be handed a sword you’re too small to lift, and make it obey anyway
• Whisper the line that causes the villain to break character

They don’t want to lead.
They just don’t leave.

And the world bends around that more than it admits.