Fujiyoshi

Fujiyoshi keeps two sets of maps. The ones they show the Imperial patrols in The Teikodian Empire are smudged and simple, marking good fishing spots along the palace canals. The real ones are hidden in the false bottom of their pack, detailing escape routes, guard rotations, and structural weaknesses in the city’s golden walls. They’d only wanted to chart the waterways, a simple cartographer with a love for the patient art of fishing. But unsupervised knowledge is a crime here. Caught sketching a forgotten aqueduct, they were given a choice: serve the spymasters or disappear into the dungeons. So they serve, their face a mask of uneasy calm. Every cast of their line is a quiet act of rebellion, a prayer to a river that might one day carry them from this gilded cage.