•Fly high, my pretty angel...•|A jongsang story|

•🦢🌿4.Deadly, Sharp Silver🌿🦢•

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The forest had led him here, through twisted paths and overgrown trails, as if guiding him to some unknown fate. The trees thinned out as he approached a massive structure looming in the distance—a castle, its stone walls a dark, foreboding black, streaked with veins of deep green that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. It was a place both ancient and malevolent, its presence casting a long shadow over the land around it.

Yeosang’s heart pounded in his chest as he approached the castle gates, their iron bars resembling twisted thorns, jagged and unwelcoming. The once soothing connection he had always felt with nature was absent, replaced by a growing sense of dread. But something compelled him to continue, to move closer to this ominous place, as if an invisible force was pulling him toward it.

He reached the gates, their sheer size dwarfing him, and paused. The silence here was different from the forest’s peaceful quiet; it was heavy, oppressive, as if the very air was waiting for something terrible to happen. Yeosang reached out a tentative hand toward the gate, the cold iron almost biting against his skin. He was about to push it open when suddenly—

A flash of steel.

A sword swung in a deadly arc, mere inches from his face. Yeosang barely had time to register the gleam of the blade before he felt a sharp sting across his cheek, warm blood trickling down his skin. His eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backward, the world spinning around him. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was the cold, merciless eyes of a figure cloaked in shadow.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

   The dawn had barely broken, casting a pale light over the sprawling grounds of the Choi estate. The castle’s towering walls, dark and imposing, loomed over the land, a silent sentinel that had witnessed countless acts of violence and bloodshed.

    Inside the castle, Mr. Choi stood by the large, arched window of his study, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape. He was a man of few words but many thoughts, and this morning, something unusual had caught his attention. A figure, barely visible through the mist, was standing near the edge of the forest that bordered the castle grounds. The figure was still, almost statue-like, clad in white garments that contrasted starkly against the surrounding gloom.

“Yunho, San, Jongho!” Mr. Choi called out, his voice carrying through the stone halls with authority.

   The three brothers appeared quickly, all of them aware that their father did not summon them lightly. Yunho, with his usual smirk, San with his stoic demeanor, and Jongho, still brooding over the events of the previous day, lined up before their father.

“There is someone outside.”
Mr. Choi said, nodding toward the window. “An intruder, or perhaps a fool who has lost his way. Whatever the case, he should not be here.”

Yunho leaned over, peering through the window. “Looks like a ghost.” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Or someone who’s about to become one.”

   San remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he too studied the figure. There was something odd about the way the person stood, unmoving, as if they were waiting for something—or someone.

   Jongho, still haunted by the events at the Swan Lake, felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The figure outside was a stranger, but the eerie stillness reminded him of the swan’s lifeless body, of the blood that had stained its feathers. He looked at his father, sensing what was coming next.