The Emperor's study was quiet, except for the sound of rustling paper on the table with the piled-up paper too many to count.
Emperor Vanhaussen sat at his desk wearing his usual prescription glasses. Outside the windows, the sky had already turned dark. The sun had set. Inside, he was rummaging through a thousand letters, scrolls, and urgent messages from the four territories.
He held one report in his hand, reading it with a deep frown plastered on his face. The drought in the western territory was getting worse. The rivers were drying. The crop harvest was insufficient, and the South had decided to prioritize their people and refused to share any grain. His people were starving. The empire was strong, the strongest in everything, but even strength could not stop the sky from refusing to rain.
