Byung retreated to his chambers, the heavy wooden door groaning shut behind him with a finality that muffled the distant celebrations still echoing through the corridors. The air inside was cooler, carrying the familiar scent of damp stone and the faint metallic tang of blood from his armor, which he began unbuckling with stiff, aching fingers. His ribs protested with every movement, sharp stabs of pain lancing through his torso like hot needles, but he pushed through it, the discomfort now a constant companion he had learned to ignore. The torch on his makeshift desk flickered, and the room felt almost peaceful after the chaos of the day—the duel, he had pushed his body to its limit and was receiving the consequence of such action.
But then his nose caught something lurking in his room, it wasn't a familiar scent either.
