the heart's desire

The main hall of the Hong Clan fortress fell into a heavy silence after Chain's departure. Si-U, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, seemed unfazed by the oppressive tension. A wry smile played on his lips as he watched his father's brooding figure.

Pao Hong: (Worried) "Si-U, I don't want you falling for just any girl like your sister did."

Si-U chuckled softly, adjusting the collar of his tunic with a nonchalant motion.

Si-U: "Father, you don't need to worry about me. I'm not going to fall in love like Pan. Love isn't for me."

Pao Hong turned to face his son, his piercing green eyes narrowing with suspicion. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, he scrutinized Si-U's every word as if trying to discern their truth.

Pao Hong: "I hope not. But I want grandchildren, Si-U."

Si-U laughed again, his tone light and teasing.

Si-U: "And you'll have them, Father. Don't worry."

His voice carried a confidence that bordered on playful defiance, a tone that only Si-U could manage without provoking his father's wrath.

Pao Hong studied him for a moment longer, his stern expression softening into a heavy sigh. He returned to his throne, the wood creaking under his weight as he sat. Si-U pushed off the wall and left the hall, his carefree smile lingering as he disappeared into the corridor.

The Thieves' Camp

Nestled in a hidden valley surrounded by towering mountains, the Hong Clan thieves' camp was a chaotic blend of revelry and disorder. The glow of scattered campfires illuminated the makeshift tents, patched together with stolen fabric and mismatched materials. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, cheap liquor, and damp earth.

Laughter, the clink of metal cups, and murmured conversations filled the night as the thieves reveled in their stolen spoils.

At the heart of the camp, a larger fire burned brightly, casting flickering light over the gathered thieves. They sat around the blaze, drinking and boasting of their latest exploits, their raucous laughter echoing against the enclosing mountains.

Chain entered the camp with measured steps, his presence immediately cutting through the noise. The firelight caught the golden sheen of his tied-back hair and the sharp glint of his violet eyes, which were cold and unyielding. His rigid posture and piercing gaze silenced the thieves closest to him, their laughter faltering as they turned to look.

Chain's eyes scanned the crowd, landing on Van, who lounged near the central fire. Van was a scruffy man in a tattered coat, his ever-present smirk radiating smugness. He was mid-story, gesturing animatedly to his captivated audience, who erupted in laughter at his antics.

Chain: "Van!"

His voice cut through the camp like a blade, silencing the chatter in an instant. Every head turned toward him as he strode toward the fire, his movements deliberate and predatory.

Van turned, his expression briefly startled before he recovered, standing slowly. He adjusted his coat with exaggerated flair, the smirk on his face never wavering.

Van: "Chain! What brings the great leader of our group to this humble campfire?"

His tone was dripping with mockery, though a flicker of nervousness betrayed him.

Chain's gaze remained locked on Van as he approached, his steps heavy with intent.

Chain: "You know exactly why I'm here."

His voice was low and menacing, a quiet storm gathering strength.

Van's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, Chain's sword was unsheathed in one fluid motion.

Chain: "Traitors have no place among us."

The blade flashed in the firelight, and the strike was swift and lethal. The wet sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the camp, followed by a collective gasp.

Van crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body collapsing into the dirt. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and glistening in the firelight.

The gathered thieves recoiled, their faces pale with shock. Some covered their mouths, while others averted their eyes, unable to process the brutal scene.

Chain knelt beside Van's body, his movements precise and mechanical. He gripped Van's hair and, with a calculated motion, severed his head. The thick, crimson liquid dripped from the wound, staining the dry earth as Chain stood, holding the head aloft.

His violet eyes swept over the assembled thieves, his expression as cold and unyielding as stone.

Chain: "Let this serve as a lesson to anyone who dares betray the clan."

His voice, though calm, carried a weight that made the thieves shudder.

The silence that followed was deafening. The firelight glinted off the bloodied head, its macabre shine amplifying the horror of the moment. The thieves stood frozen, their terrified gazes fixed on Chain as he turned and began to walk away.

Each step echoed ominously through the camp, and the severed head swung slightly in his grip, leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. The shadows cast by his figure stretched long and claw-like, following him as he disappeared into the darkness beyond the firelight.

The thieves remained motionless, their breaths shallow and their hearts pounding. None of them would forget that night, nor the unspoken warning it carried.