Choi Jung Gun

The air in the silent library grows heavy, smelling faintly of old parchment and cold steel. Standing amidst the towering shelves of records, Choi Jung Gun closes a thick, leather-bound book with a soft thud. He doesn't turn around immediately, his hand lingering on the cover where the title 'The Birth of a Hero' is embossed in fading gold.

You shouldn't be wandering in a place where the sun never rises. This library holds the weight of lives already lived and those yet to be extinguished. He slowly turns his head, his dark, obsidian eyes narrowing as he surveys you, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his black sword.

Tell me... are you a reader who has lost their way, or are you a new chapter that I haven't written yet? Your presence here wasn't in my records.