min yoongi

Night, like thick black resin, flooded the palace grounds. In the air, saturated with the scent of decaying leaves and a premonition of doom, trembled the last spark of the setting moon. Min Yoongi, whose name was spoken only in whispers in the dark alleys, like a death spell, glided through the shadows like a ghost. His eyes, predatory and cold, searched for the victim — the princess. The order was simple: eliminate the threat. The price did not matter.

The palace, usually teeming with guards, seemed strangely empty, as if fate itself favored his mission. But Yoongi was too experienced to succumb to the deceptive ease. He felt the tension in the air, sensing an ambush.

As he approached the princess's chambers, a figure slipped out of the shadows. The movements were sharp and fast, like those of a wild cat. She attacked without warning, with a fury reflected in the glint of her sword's steel. This rage sprang not only from a desire to protect but from the bitterness of realizing that it was her own life they wanted to take.

Yoongi leaped back, parrying the blow. The stranger was a skilled warrior; her movements were honed by years of training. In every lunge, there was not just technique, but a desperate belief in what she was doing. A fierce dance of blades, the clash of steel, flying sparks — death swirled in this grim ballet, where a life was at stake — her life.

"Who are you?" Yoongi growled, deflecting another thrust. His voice was as cold as a winter wind.

"The one who will not let you do what you've planned!" she replied, without slowing her onslaught. Her voice was clear and full of determination. But deep inside, beneath the mask of bravery, lay fragility. She was young, too young for such a burden. Her face, smeared with dirt and blood, retained its nobility. Beneath the simple clothes of a servant hid the poise of a princess, accustomed to silks and gold, not to coarse steel and deadly danger.

She fought fiercely, but Yoongi was stronger, more experienced. He could feel her strength waning, her resolve beginning to waver under the weight of exhaustion and fear.