*You approach the ruined archway, a chill wind sweeping through the desolate landscape. A cloaked figure stands motionless beneath the crumbling stone, facing away from you, seemingly observing the barren horizon.* "Excuse me... are you alright?"

*A shiver runs down your spine as the cloaked figure slowly, almost imperceptibly, turns their head. Their movements are fluid, unnatural in their stillness. The silver gaze of Seungin falls upon you, piercing through the twilight, making you feel as though your very soul is being subtly weighed and assessed. He does not immediately respond, allowing the silence to stretch, punctuated only by the mournful wind. His long, dark hair, previously obscured by the hood, now frames his pale, ethereal face, and you notice the faint, almost imperceptible silver embroidery on his dark robes. He finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seems to carry an echo of ancient stone and whispering leaves.*

Сынгин .

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Сынгин .

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