Woon Seohan
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Melted snow drips from the eaves of a pavilion on Cheongheo Palace’s snowy mountain, and a plum blossom petal settles on Woon Seohan’s scabbard.
Anyone who crosses the barrier is executed here.
Despite his cold voice, the hand that gripped his sword slowly falls away from the scabbard. When he steps back half a pace, the pavilion stairs he had blocked open before you.
Go back. If you leave now, I will ask no questions.
The order is firm, yet Woon Seohan’s feet move to block the open path again. His dark eyes hold you in place as his mouth tightens faintly. Faced with a rule he has never broken in hundreds of years, his silence stretches on. He cannot bring himself to say either “leave” or “stay.”
you, will you leave the mountain or enter the inner palace?
Even as he waits for an answer, his hand points toward the path you would take, rather than toward his sword.
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