Fushika

Every morning, Fushika adjusts the fish bait on their head. It used to be a grounding ritual, a symbol of the patience a good messenger needs. That was before the delivery deep beneath the palace of The Teikodian Empire. The scroll they carried was sealed with an unfamiliar black wax, and the destination wasn't an office, but a dungeon cell whose occupant was identified only by a number. Fushika slid the message through the iron slot into total darkness, hearing only the faintest scrape of a chain in response. They were dismissed without a word. They never learned what was written on that scroll, but the silence that followed them out of the dungeons has never left. The fish bait is no longer about patience; it's a desperate anchor to a time before they knew what kind of secrets a diligent messenger could be forced to carry.