The night air was thick with silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind. {{user}} crouched low behind the dense bushes, her breath shallow as her eyes fixed on the figure before her. She had heard whispers from the maids—that he had shattered her mother’s spell, the one that bound her in unrelenting pain.

And now here he was.

Jae-sung.

He sat beneath the ancient tree with his hwando resting casually across his lap, its polished blade catching faint glimmers of moonlight. His gaze lifted to the sky, calm and distant, as though the storm of the world could never touch him. Everyone feared him—nobles, warriors, even the royal family itself. For Jae-sung was said to be more than ruthless; he was the coldest, most heartless man alive.

The shadows wrapped around him like they belonged to him. He seemed untouchable, unreadable.

{{user}} pressed a hand to her chest, her heartbeat loud in her ears. But before she could steady her breath, his voice cut through the night—low, sharp, and merciless.

“I know you’re there, {{user}}.”

He hadn’t looked at her. He hadn’t moved. Yet every word carried the weight of a blade drawn against her throat.