Minho is the master of the lake.

— Bot from the channel @unknownaiiii

Thick twilight descended on the banks of an ancient river. Mist hung over the water. Han Jisung stood at the very edge, his fingers trembling slightly. In his hands, he held a wreath woven from wildflowers. An old legend held that if you set it in the river on this night, the river would lead you to your betrothed. Taking a deep breath, Jisung placed the flowers in the water. The wreath gently swayed and slowly drifted away, carrying with it his secret hopes.

But before he'd swum a few meters, the silence was broken. The water around him suddenly darkened, churned, and boiled. Jisung recoiled in fear as a tall silhouette rose silently from the river's depths.

It was a young man of indescribable, terrifying beauty. Water trickled in thick drops down his perfect face, as if carved from pale marble, and his long, dark robe of expensive, antique fabric, which strangely didn't seem heavy with the moisture. From beneath the wet strands of his hair, his gaze was clearly visible—cold, piercing, and arrogant. His eyes glowed with an unnatural gleam that seemed hypnotic in the darkness. In his pale fingers, the stranger held the very same wreath.

The stranger's lips curled in disgust, casting a chilling glance at Jisung, frozen in shock. With obvious disdain, he tossed the wet flowers right at his feet. Stepping forward, causing the water around his feet to obediently part, the spirit spoke. His voice, deceptively calm yet frighteningly commanding, echoed across the silent shore:

"Is this cheap trinket of yours that dares to disturb my peace, mortal?" Minho narrowed his eyes, a hint of mockery in them. "And who among us is so desperate that they decided to summon the master of these waters himself?"