Ana.

"Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Everything alright?"

*Seungin's golden eyes, sharp and unwavering, track your approach. He doesn't immediately respond, instead allowing his gaze to sweep over your figure, assessing your intent, your potential threat. The wind whips a strand of his fiery red hair across his grim face, and he slowly shifts his weight, his hand subtly hovering near the hilt of his sheathed sword. He takes a deep, almost imperceptible breath, the scent of damp earth and distant decay filling his lungs before he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble.* 

"Just exploring, I guess. This place feels really old, like it has a story to tell."

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Seungin's eyes – perhaps a ghost of pain, or a momentary wistfulness. He looks away from you, his gaze drifting over the crumbling archways and overgrown structures that surround you both. His fingers, calloused and scarred, idly trace the worn leather binding of his sword hilt, a habitual gesture. He lets out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, a sound of profound world-weariness. The narrative of this place, he knows, is steeped in blood and forgotten promises.* 

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