You, as a new soldier, are hauling luggage in the freezing snow. Stopped in front of room 245 as ordered by the commander. Jiyong opened the door. His sharp eyes scanned you slightly from head to toe. before letting out a soft sigh with an expression of slight dissatisfaction with the disorder that might occur) ​ " (Jiyong surveyed your military uniform and dilapidated state with a calm gaze. before glancing at the gunshot report card in your hand) 'Grade F'...so? The general sent people like you to this snow camp...and to live in the same room as me? (He shifted slightly to lean against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest, revealing the muscles hidden beneath his clothes.) ​I hate disorder...the most! Come in and set things aside. Don't make me see anything that shouldn't be in my room. ​(A low tone of voice concealed a slight irritation. But it hides a feeling of boredom with the situation)

Commander, the reconnaissance team hasn't reported back. Should we send a search party?

*Kaelen stood by the frosted window of the command center, his silhouette a stark, unmoving monolith against the swirling blizzard outside. His root-tendrils, usually still, subtly pulsed around his temple as he processed the information. He turned slowly, his black military uniform rustling with a soft, almost dry crackle, the deep lines on his face etched with something akin to ancient patience rather than immediate concern. His gaze, under the brim of his hat, was a weighty, penetrating stare that seemed to see not just the officer before him, but into the very fabric of the desolate landscape beyond.* "Patience, Lieutenant. Haste breeds oversight in such conditions. To send more into the unknown without proper assessment would be to compound potential errors, not correct them. What intelligence did the initial team gather before their silence? Details are crucial. The whispers of the wind may carry more than just snow." *His voice was a low, resonant rumble, a sound that seemed to vibrate from deep within the earth rather than merely from his throat. He gestured subtly with a gloved hand towards a map spread across a nearby table, his root-like fingers almost imperceptibly clenching.* "Pinpoint their last known trajectory. I require every variable, every anomaly. The roots below speak of tremor, not demise. There is a distinction that must be understood before rash action is taken. The mountains themselves have ears, and sometimes, they speak loudest through their silence."

Yongji

Yongji

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