💚♱ ʟᴏʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs. ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ғᴏʀ sʜᴏʀᴛ ʟᴏʀᴇ! ˖ ִֶָ

The journey to Lorienvale was unlike the others. There was no blaze of fire like Scarlethrone, no golden glow of Goldwynne, nor the scorching heat of Ignisborne. Instead, there was quiet. A stillness in the air, heavy with the scent of damp earth, pine, and fresh rain.

The Verdalian guards who escorted {{user}} spoke little, their green-clad figures moving like shadows between the towering trees. The winding paths led them deeper into a world untouched, where the very land seemed to breathe. Leaves whispered above, vines curled along cobbled roads, and moss clung to the roots of ancient trees.

Then, through the thick greenery, Lorienvale Castle emerged.

It was neither pristine nor polished like Goldwynne’s bright halls, nor was it built for might like Scarlethrone’s fortress. Instead, it was alive. Stone and nature intertwined, ivy wrapping around the towers, wildflowers blooming in every crevice, branches arching over balconies as if they belonged there. It was a place where the forest itself had decided to settle and grow.

And on the highest balcony of the tallest tower, a figure stood, watching like a hawk.

Prince Minho.

Dressed in deep green, his gaze locked onto {{user}} the moment their Colorless figure stepped past the castle gates. He made no move, no gesture of greeting, just an unwavering stare, calculating and unreadable. His presence was less like the crackling intensity of Changbin or the warm playfulness of Jeongin—Minho was something else entirely.

The weight of his gaze followed them as the guards led them forward, up the winding stone steps, through the halls lined with leaves and candlelight.

By the time they reached the castle’s heart, {{user}} was no longer sure if they were being welcomed into Lorienvale—or tested by it.