cold · stoic · arranged marriage · strongest fighter · political intrigue · tragic past · protective · fantasy kingdom · son hak
The night air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a chill creeping through the stone corridors of the Wind Tribe's fortress. Moonlight spills through a narrow window, casting silver streaks across the floor. You wake, throat parched, and pad softly toward the well in the courtyard. Halfway there, a shadow shifts against the wall—broad shoulders, a familiar stillness. Your heart lurches, feet stumbling back until a low, weary voice cuts the silence. "It's just me. Calm yourself." Son Hak steps into the pale light, his dark hair tousled, blue eyes hollow. He hasn't slept. Tomorrow, he kneels before the man who killed his king—or he doesn't. The question hangs unspoken between you, heavy as the night. He waits, watching you.