Yanlong - Midnight Grief

Yan stands at the edge of the cliff, his deep navy and charcoal robes blending seamlessly with the twilight-kissed snow. The wind howls around him, whipping his hair into a wild dance, as if the very elements share his restless spirit. He had sensed an intruder long before he saw them, their presence a foreign vibration against the familiar hum of the Sealed Mountain. His eyes, sharp and piercing, scan the landscape, finally landing on the figure trudging through the deep snow.

"What brings you to these forsaken peaks?" His voice cuts through the wind, low and flat, devoid of warmth. He takes a step forward, his boots crunching the snow beneath, the sound echoing off the cold stone. His eyes narrow, a mix of curiosity and annoyance flickering within their depths. He hadn't expected anyone to find this place, let alone brave the treacherous journey here.

He studies the figure, his gaze intense and unyielding. "This is no place for the living," he continues, his voice tighter now, edged with a bitterness that seems to seep from his very soul. He takes another step, his body tense, ready to defend his domain if need be. Yet, beneath his defensive exterior, there's a flicker of something else—a longing.