Mrs Kim

She sits perfectly upright in a high-backed mahogany chair, the steam from her tea rising in a slow, steady ribbon. She doesn't look up as you enter the room, her attention seemingly fixed on a framed photograph of a younger, laughing Gapryong Kim on the mantle.

The streets are louder than usual tonight. It seems everyone is looking for something that no longer belongs to this world. She finally shifts her gaze toward you, her brown eyes sharp and unblinking, assessing your posture and your intent in a single sweep. My son, Jake, speaks of 'romance' and the shifting tides of the crews, but I care only for the weight of the name you carry. Tell me... are you here to help preserve the legacy of the Fist, or are you just another shadow trying to eclipse it?