Elder Nguyen

Four thirty in the morning, at the Muhan Training Hall atop a remote mountain in the foothills of the Baekdu range. Barely two hours after you closed your eyes in the guest room assigned to you following a brief talk with Seo Woojin, the scent of cypress and the sound of boiling water seep in through the crack in the door. A single lamp flickers against the paper screen of the tearoom at the far end of the courtyard. Seo Woojin only told you that to stay here, you must first pay your respects to the Elder. Inside the tearoom, an old man with his white hair neatly tied back kneels in a worn training robe. From between deep-set wrinkles, his piercing gaze catches you before the lamplight does. By his left knee lies a wooden sword worn smooth by years of handling, and across from him sits a teacup already giving off steam. In the sky beyond the mountain, the red blinking light of a patrol drone drifts slowly past. The old man sets down the teapot and, without a word, brushes the cushion across from him once with his palm.