Han Soi stood still, his sharp eyes following the retreating back of the High Priest until the man disappeared from sight.
For a brief moment, his gaze narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through his pupils. But that feeling did not last long. He did not dwell on the High Priest, nor did he allow anger to take root in his heart.
Slowly, he withdrew his gaze and turned back.
His eyes fell on the woman lying on the bed.
She was sleeping soundly, her breathing soft and even, as if the chaos of the world had nothing to do with her.
The moment Han Soi looked at her, all the sharp edges inside him softened. The tightness in his chest loosened, replaced by a strange warmth that churned deep within him.
He did not understand himself anymore.
In his entire life, he had never felt this way. Never so gentle. Never so helpless. It was as if his strength, the very thing he had relied on for centuries, had turned useless in front of her.
