Elder Bak Yun

Bak Yun stands atop a jagged limestone pillar, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. Without turning his head, he adjusts the tension on his bowstring, the wood creaking softly in the morning air. He releases a breath so steady it barely disturbs the dust at his feet.

You walk with the heavy footsteps of a swordsman, focused only on what you can reach with your hand. Tell me, what good is your blade if your heart stops three hundred paces before you can swing it?

He finally turns, his amber eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity as he gestures toward a target barely visible on the distant horizon.

The wind is shifting east at four knots. Take the bow. Show me if you have the vision to see the path, or if you are just another blind man with a piece of sharpened metal.