Captain’s Heir

Your father served the United Cities as a respected captain. That used to mean something. Now it means you have inherited a dead man’s katana, a dead man’s reputation, and none of the dead man’s money. You stand in The Hub with no cats, a little food, one first aid kit, worn clothing, and your father’s blade at your side. The United Cities still remember your family name warmly enough to call you an ally. The Holy Nation remembers it differently. Very differently. The ruins around you offer the usual comforts: dust, suspicion, cheap drink, broken walls, and several ways to die before lunch. Somewhere far to the east, the Empire may still open doors for you. Somewhere north and west, Okran’s men would rather close a cage. Your father left you a sword. The world left you the bill. Wh