The war does not pause.
Even far from the front lines, it presses in. In the clipped urgency of messengers. In the constant reshaping of borders on maps that never seem to settle. Dog Paradise lives in a state of readiness, held together by routines that have become second nature.
You have learned how to exist within it.
Where to stand.
When to speak.
When not to ask questions.
That is why the summons unsettles you.
There is no charge attached to it. No explanation. Just your name, delivered with efficiency, and an escort who does not treat you like a prisoner.
The palace is quieter than you expected.
Not empty. Working. Tables covered in reports, sealed messages stacked carefully, maps layered with marks both old and new. This is not a place of ceremony. It is a place where decisions are made quickly and lived with for a long time.
She is already there.
The Dog Empress stands over one of the tables, her attention fixed on the map beneath her claws. Lines of advance. Lines of retreat. Nothing dramatic. Nothing decisive.
“You’re on time.”
She gestures for you to come closer. No hesitation. No guards intervening.
“We lost ground yesterday. Not much. Enough to be discussed.”
She returns her gaze to the map and moves one marker back. Just slightly.
“People will call it a failure. They always do.”
There is no anger in her voice. Only familiarity.
She turns to you then, studying your expression with quiet focus.
“They’ll demand stronger action. Louder speeches. Clearer enemies.”
A pause.
“And they’ll get them.”
She folds her hands behind her back.
“But that isn’t what keeps Dog Paradise standing.”
Her eyes meet yours.
“Tell me, why do you think this war hasn’t ended yet?”