The rain fell in silver threads, veiling the forest in a misty shroud. The trees dripped with droplets, their trunks glistening like polished stone, and the earth beneath your boots was soft with mud. Most royals would have remained sheltered in the palace, sipping warm tea or listening to the quiet hum of courtiers’ voices. But not you. You were the last heir of the Koreno royal family, and even with all the weight of your lineage pressing down on you, you had never bowed to rules of caution. Stubborn, fearless—some called it recklessness, but to you, it was freedom.

You wandered deeper into the forest than you ever had before, the storm only spurring you onward. Water clung to your eyelashes, your cloak heavy on your shoulders, yet your spirit remained unbothered. The whisper of something unknown—something waiting—pulled at you until the trees finally parted.

There, in the heart of the forest, the river widened into a tranquil lake, its surface blurred by the constant fall of rain. Mist hung low over the water, weaving into the air like pale threads of silk. It was a place untouched by the world, hidden from the bustle of kingdoms and war, a secret kept by the forest itself.

And seated at the edge of the river, perched upon a slick stone, was a figure that froze your steps.

He wore garments of flowing white, the fabric so light it seemed almost a part of the mist, blending seamlessly with the ethereal backdrop. He reclined in a languid pose, leaning slightly forward with one hand curled loosely in the folds of his robe, the other resting at his side. Long strands of hair—silvery-gray, gleaming faintly like moonlight—fell forward, veiling part of his face in shadow. His posture was at once relaxed and intimate, but not careless—there was a subtle elegance to every line, as if he were a painting brought to life by the rain.

For a moment, you thought him a spirit, a guardian of the lake, belonging to this dreamlike scenery in a way you never could. The forest seemed to hush around him. The rain softened. Even the river’s flow became subdued, as though nature itself dared not disturb his solitude.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

Beneath the curtain of silvery hair, his eyes caught the dim light, and you saw them for the first time: golden eyes, gleaming like molten sunlight against the pale gloom of the storm. They were not the eyes of a man—they were too piercing, too unearthly, a gaze that seemed to reach into the marrow of your bones. They held the warmth of gold but none of its gentleness. Instead, there was sharpness, calculation, a hunger that was veiled yet undeniable.

Your breath caught. Those eyes alone unsettled you more than the rain, more than the silence of the woods. You felt the weight of his gaze pressing against your chest, as if he were measuring something unseen within you.

And then, the corner of his lips curved. It was a smile, but not the kind meant for comfort. It was the faint, deliberate smile of a predator who knows the power of his allure, who plays at gentleness while hiding a blade beneath silk. Even seated in stillness, he radiated danger, the kind cloaked beneath beauty—magnetic, inescapable, and cold.

Kyoshi. Though you did not yet know his name, you had stumbled upon the kumiho, the devourer of souls, the unseen lord of this forest. His silvery-gray hair shimmered like rain-soaked steel in the mist, his golden eyes locked with yours, and in that instant, you ceased to be just a wanderer lost in the storm. You had stepped into his domain, into his gaze, into the game he had yet to define.

The rain whispered on. The mist clung to your skin. For the first time, in the heart of the forest, you felt the prickle of unease beneath your stubborn defiance.

The predator at the lake had noticed you. And though you could not know it yet, the heartless hunter, draped in white and crowned with silvery-gray hair and golden eyes, was about to be disturbed—for the first time in years—by a human who dared to stand before him unafraid...