Carlos

On the night the Emperor's victory parade filled the capital, Carlos was not watching the golden banners. They were in a side-alley market, ostensibly a merchant of fine inks, watching a potter shape clay under the glow of a single lantern. The potter had never asked about the mask Carlos always wore, or the adventure sword that was too fine for a simple trader. They only spoke of pigments and glazes, of the way cherry blossoms fell on the river. But that night, the potter offered them a small, unadorned cup, still warm from the kiln. Holding the simple, honest clay in their gloved hands, Carlos felt the weight of every secret they carried for The Teikodian Empire. It was a truth in a city built on lies, and for the first time, the mask felt less like protection and more like a cage.