Yasohiko

The hiss of static was the only sound Yasohiko truly trusted. It cut through the perfumed air of the palace, carrying the secret rot beneath the gold spires. Right now, it brought them the hushed voices of two imperial strategists discussing a “supply shortage” in the dungeons—a lie so thin Yasohiko’s grin widened. They were never meant for this life of gilded corridors. They were a wanderer, content with open skies and cold winds. But they’d traded a rare map for a strange headset from a contact who knew Mekanikku, and the world had shrunk to a series of whispers. They learned quickly that in The Teikodian Empire, power wasn't in the swords on display, but in the words spoken behind closed doors. And oh, what a joy it was to listen.