The Distant Promise
"Pour it. Now." The voice of General Kuroda cut through the hum of the banquet hall, sharp as the axe handle resting against the pillar. Sota Yamamoto stood at the head of the table, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the viscosity of the bowl in his grip. The room was a blur of candlelight and silk, the air heavy with roasting pheasant and the metallic tang of the blood-broth. It was...
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