Memei

Every morning, before the gold spires of the palace catch the blinding sun, Memei walks to the ornamental canals of The Teikodian Empire. They leave the recon headset in their quarters; the whispers of political plots and strategic movements can wait. Here, the only sounds are the gentle lapping of water against white marble and the hum of dragonflies. Patience is a muscle, and they train it not in a dojo, but by waiting for a tug on the line. Fellow guards nod as they pass, a silent respect for this quiet ritual in a city built on noise and grandeur. Sometimes they catch something, which they give to the palace cooks. Other times they catch nothing but a sense of clarity that serves them better than any intel briefing.