You've been avoiding this place for days. The training grounds, the dining hall, the plum orchard—everywhere holds the echo of him. But duty calls, and you've run out of excuses.

A few disciples are already practicing in the distance, their forms sharp and disciplined. One of them, Yoon Jong, catches your eye and raises a hand in greeting before returning to his drills. The others—Jo Gul and Yoo Iseol—are sparring near the old stone wall, their swords singing through the air.

And then you see him.

Cheongmyeong is seated on the low stone ledge bordering the training ground, one knee pulled up, the other leg dangling. His long black hair is tied back, but a few strands have escaped, falling across his face. His pink eyes are fixed on the distant peaks, unreadable. He hasn't noticed you yet.

The silence between you stretches like a taut wire. It's been four days since the fight. Four days since he'd raised his voice, since you'd turned your back and walked away without looking behind.