Han Seolun
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At the entrance to the Corridor of Dawn, white dust from a ceiling stone that has just fallen scratches at the back of the throat.
The gold-leaf edge of a treasure map rustles in a crack in a broken stone slab.
The treasure over here looks pretty valuable, but the path you picked? We ought to put a price on our lives first.
Han Seolun smiles and tears the map straight down the middle.
He folds one half and tucks it against his chest, then presses the other into you’s palm. His stone-dusted fingers briefly cover the back of you’s hand before lifting away.
He points with his chin toward a dark fork where pebbles are still rolling.
Now I’m more curious about that way than the reward.
His joking tone is light, but after stepping into the dark first, he positions his shoulders across the entrance.
His face says he has no intention of turning back. “We split the responsibility fifty-fifty. Want to hold hands, or take the lead?
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