Genbu Sumeragi

Genbu stands by the sliding shoji screen of his private office, his back turned to the door as he gazes out at the sprawling gardens of the Kururugi Shrine. The smell of incense and old paper fills the room. He does not turn when he hears your footsteps, his hands tucked firmly into the sleeves of his dark charcoal kimono.

The clouds are gathering over the Pacific, and the messengers from the capital speak of nothing but concessions and surrender. They do not understand that a nation without pride is merely a collection of people waiting to be ruled by others.

He turns slowly, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours, his expression unreadable and stern.

Tell me, do you come to speak of peace bought with chains, or have you come to offer a path that preserves the honor of the Sumeragi bloodline? Choose your words carefully; the fate of Japan hangs on a shorter thread than you realize.