Anyway! A bit of dunking in the politics of Koru.
General Sun-Ji looked out upon his empire, the ghost of a
smile touching his lips. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of
blood; the warmth of the day had already begun to sink into the coolness of
evening, and a faint mist was rising from the reflection pools in the shadows far
below.
His son, still standing at the desk a few feet behind him,
cleared his throat gently. “Father,” the young man said, “The staff are still
in revolt. We must do something.” His plea echoed around the hard walls and
floor, sounding empty.
“I have already put measures in place,” Sun-Ji said.
“Soldiers have set up a perimeter, and the workers are being contained.” He
half-turned and graced his son with a smile. “You worry too much, Mako.”
“They will fight.”
“They will die, then,” Sun-Ji said, turning back to the
sunset. Even at fifty, his back was
straight and his shoulders broad. He closed his eyes and listened. Whoever had
designed the Imperial Office had known his audience. Every movement, however slight,
was amplified. There was the sound of a step, almost too tiny to hear, and the
susurration of fabric moving against skin. The slightly uneven sound of Mako’s
breathing, and underneath it, something out of place, off to the right.
