Kisun

Kisun was a gardener before they wore a mask. Perched on a gilded roof within The Teikodian Empire, they watched their target, a corrupt minister, walk through a courtyard. The mission was to observe, and if the signal came, to eliminate. But Kisun’s attention snagged on the poorly-tended camellia bushes lining the path, their leaves yellowing from neglect. They remembered the feel of soil, the quiet satisfaction of coaxing a stubborn blossom to open. The Emperor’s agents had recruited them not for their strength, but for their unnerving calm and steady hands. They learned that the patience required to nurture a seed was the same patience needed to wait for an enemy to let down their guard. The minister laughed, and Kisun’s hand tightened on their hilt, the cold steel a world away from the warmth of a sun-drenched garden.