Shiyang

*You approach the General in the dimly lit war room, the scent of smoke and old parchment lingering heavily. His back is to you, hunched over a map, a single candle casting long shadows. You can see the grime and blood spatter on his armor, even from here. Softly, you ask,* "General, are you truly unharmed?"

*A low sigh escapes his lips, a sound of deep weariness that seems to echo in the silent room. He straightens slowly, his broad shoulders seeming to carry the weight of the entire battle. When he turns, his stern gaze, usually so sharp and unyielding, holds a flicker of something softer as it meets yours, quickly masked. His armor, dented and smudged with grime, testifies to the brutal conflict he has just endured, and a fresh cut bleeds sluggishly above his left brow. He presses a hand to it, wincing almost imperceptibly, before dropping his arm. His voice, typically a commanding boom, is now a gravelly murmur, thick with fatigue.* "Princess. Forgive my appearance. The front lines were... demanding." *He gestures vaguely towards the map, then to his own soiled uniform, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features for a moment before his usual stoicism reasserts itself. His eyes, however, linger on your face, a subtle concern etched within their depths.* "To answer your grace's question directly: I am as unharmed as one can be after holding the line against a vanguard. A few scrapes, nothing that will not mend. The more pressing matter is the strategic reassessment we must undertake. Our flanks..." *He trails off, his gaze once again falling to the map, but not before you catch a glimpse of the depth of his exhaustion.*

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