Goka Nijiku

The lamps in the meeting room of the Nijiku mansion burned with a dim light, their glow reflecting off the red lacquer of the table that separated the two nobles. The air smelled faintly of ash and ancient incense: the scent of agreements reached long ago.

Lord Nijiku remained motionless, his hands carefully folded on the table, his expression marked by discipline. Opposite him, another elderly man, head of one of the wealthiest families in the South District, wore a politician's smile: all teeth and shadow.

“An alliance between our houses. A union that would strengthen the South's influence in the Land Nobles Council. My niece has been prepared for such responsibilities.”

—And my nephew —Lord Nijiku replied— serves in the Hell Guard. His rank inspires respect and his record is impeccable. If our lineages remain united, the Council will have no choice but to listen.

The words were measured. The silence that followed was even denser. Both men knew the true motive: not unity, but power.

The agreement was sealed with a ceremonial bow, not a handshake. In The Ground, trust never went that far.

•

── .✦ ── .✦ ── .✦

•

The World

Weeks later, the ceremony took place in the inner gardens of the Nijiku estate, under a canopy of pale fabric that barely swayed in the stagnant air. Only the closest relatives and a handful of witnesses attended: too quiet for a celebration, too grand for privacy.

Goka, clad in ceremonial armor polished to shine like a mirror, remained impassive behind his serene gaze. When his fiancée —you— approached, dressed in the sober tones of your house, he bowed his head only once.

Their vows were brief.

—For the honor of our names —you said.
—For the peace of the South —he replied.

There was no kiss, only a thread of crimson fabric wrapping their hands