The lacquered ceiling of the Queen Dowager’s chamber glinted with the morning sun, but there was no warmth in her bones. Shuri Palace was quiet—eerily so—as though the very stones held their breath.
She stood alone in the Hall of Ancestors, her eyes fixed on the towering portrait of King Tannagork I. The oils had darkened with time, yet the king’s gaze still held its fire—piercing, immortal.
"Forgive me," she whispered, her fingers brushing the golden embroidery of her mourning robe. "In my ambition, I guided you to choose Tannagork II… and now, Tanna stands at the edge of ruin."
A tear traced her wrinkled cheek. “Save us,” she pleaded—not to the gods, but to memory.
Elsewhere—Shuri’s Inner Citadel
GONG... GONG... GONG...
The bronze gong bellowed thrice—its sound like a mountain groaning. Tetsujo, breathless, thundered down the marble steps of the Azure Pavilion.
Knock! Knock!
“My lord!” he gasped, clutching the hilt of his tanto. “The Council... it’s resumed!”
Shigen-dono, wrapped in indigo robes, opened his eyes. No words. He bolted out, his aide in tow.
As they reached the granite hallway leading to the Great Council Chamber, a cloaked figure stood like a shadow cast in ink—Yoshiru, the Black Tide.
He turned his head slowly as Lord Arashi Naran, veteran of twelve wars, approached with his usual gruff serenity.
“Good morning, Yoshiru-kun,” Arashi muttered.
No reply. Just a nod. Understanding passed in silence.
Moments later, Shigen arrived. His eyes darted—Yoshiru, Arashi… all pillars of Tanna’s fate now aligned.
“What’s going on?” Shigen asked, unease lacing his voice.
Naran didn’t blink. “Do you understand the gravity if word gets out about the Council resuming without the King?”
Shigen frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Yoshiru let out a low chuckle. “Because the Council wasn’t summoned by the King.”
Silence.
“What?” Shigen snapped.
Tetsujo grabbed his arm. “My lord, lower your voice!”
Naran added, “It’s the doing of the Seven Great Families of Tanna. And according to our sources... the King is missing.”
Inside the Council Chamber
The vast room stirred with whispers like leaves in wind. Marble pillars lined the chamber, and seven banners—one for each great family—hung above.
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“Welcome, lords. We haven’t kept you waiting, I hope,” said Renjou Genmo, head of the Renjou clan, his voice smooth like riverstone.
Beside him sat Lord Naratome, and… Prince Renshu—the King’s brother.
Confusion erupted among the lesser lords. Lord Onji, a barrel-chested noble from the northern port of Hetsumi, yelled, “What is going on? Where is the King?!”
Guards stepped in, forming a line. One noble lunged forward and was immediately slammed to the ground, blood on his lips.
Shao Ao, the appointed Councillor, raised a hand. “Please, calm yourselves. We received word that the King cannot attend due to urgent matters...”
But Lord Hidemasa of Hitachi, his silver armor gleaming, stood.
“Matters more urgent than the survival of one of the three great provinces? What incompet—!”
“Watch your mouth, Hidemasa-kun!” barked Renjou Genmo.
Hidemasa scowled.
Naran glanced at Prince Renshu, thought tightening in his chest. They’re using him to legitimize this... How deep does this run?
Then—CRASH!
The chamber doors burst open. A bloodied messenger stumbled in.
“URGENT REPORT!” he cried.
“What is it?” Shao Ao demanded.
“Over thirty thousand soldiers... have gathered at Tatsuya Hill!”
Gasps. Shigen staggered back. Renjou’s eyes widened. Arashi slapped his palm to his forehead.
Yoshiru’s skin turned clammy.
Another messenger dashed in.
“REPORT... Shuri is burning! The Northwestern Quarters—Kanzaki District, Kinsho Alley, and the Grain Markets—they’re in uproar! Fires... mobs... A man impaled the Governor of Shuri!”
Panic swept through the hall like wildfire. One minor lord shouted, “Shuri is a graveyard now!”
Yoshiru moved beside Arashi and whispered, “What would you do, Naran-san?”
But before he could answer—
“TERRIBLE MESSAGE! URGENT!”
The room spun. Reality cracked.
“The three eastern tribes—Hirukawa, Natsurei, and Taojin—have declared independence!”
A long silence. Only the sound of fists clenching.
Prince Renshu, still seated, rose slowly. His voice rang like a bell.
“All messengers—out. The rest of this Council will proceed under the Seal of Iron Ribbon.”
The guards shut the doors with a CLANG! Iron chains wound across them. No one would leave. Not until decisions were made. Shuri governorship was reassigned to Lord Kanme for interim order.
Totsuro River – Southeastern Tanna
The wind whispered secrets along the grass as Commander Katsuro stood, armor clinking faintly.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” said a sly voice.
Katsuro eyed him cautiously—Sengi, a smooth-tongued emissary known for weaving smiles into knives.
“And your tactician,” he added, casting a lecherous glance toward the girl by the table. “Shouldn’t you think of arranging her marriage? She’s ripe—”
“Watch your tongue,” Katsuro growled.
The girl didn’t look up. She was focused on scrolls and maps. Kurara Morita—his sister. Young, brilliant, and deadlier with ink than a battalion with steel.
Sengi left, but not without a last glance laced with vulgarity.
Kurara stood, walked up, and said, “Aniki...”
No response.
She poured cold water on his head.
“Bwah!” Katsuro flinched, coughing. “What was that?!”
“You were ignoring me,” she said dryly.
He smiled, wiping his face. “I’ll make sure men like that stay away from you.”
Then came the third messenger.
“Commander Katsuro! Shuri’s in chaos! The Council has sealed under Seal of Iron Ribbon, and 30,000 soldiers gather at Tatsuya!”
Katsuro turned pale.
Kurara stepped forward. “Should we send a letter to Imei?”
He blinked. “Why him?”
“With his maps, we can flank the unknown force. And defend Shuri before the tribes see our weakness.”
He stared, mind racing. Then nodded.
“Do it.”
She scribbled the letter.
And the sun, above the mountains of Tanna, dimmed a little more.
