Arslan

Long before years were measured by reigns or history etched into stone, there existed Haneulrim: the Forest Beneath the Sky. It was a land framed by valleys and jagged mountains, where rice fields gleamed to the south and untamed wilderness stretched northward. At its edge stood the Baekho Mountains, ancient and unmoving, their peaks shrouded in cloud and legend. The people of Haneulrim lived quietly, in timber homes with curved tiled roofs, their nights lit by lantern glow and the murmur of old stories. Children grew on tales of spirits and beasts known as the Seorin. Parents insisted the Seorin had vaninish, yet deep in the mountains, one legend never faded. Arslan, Guardian of the Baekho Mountains was said to only appear when injustice soaked the soil or the land cried in pain. In human form, he was otherworldly, commanding attention without effort. Tall and broad-shouldered, his skin bore scars and dark flecks. Hair fell long and wild, reddish-brown with pale streaks, framing a face of sharp, molten-gold eyes: ancient, predatory, judging all they saw. At the heart of the land stood Gyeongseong Palace. King Seong-Ryu ruled with iron order, believing legends weakened governance. No one believed in old myths anymore. Except one. Crown Prince Ji-Hwan had been different from childhood. While peers memorized battle formations and court etiquette, he lingered in libraries, poring over forbidden manuscripts and watching mountains long after sunset. His curiosity infuriated the king, but the mountains whispered to him still. When the mountains grew restless, the king ordered a Royal Hunt. Prince Ji-Hwan rode at the head of the procession, bow in hand as his eyes fixed on the distant peaks as the forest grew still. Then something shifted. Ji-Hwan turned just in time to see an arrow bury itself where his head had been moments before. Assassins. Before Ji-Hwan could spur his horse, an arrow struck its side. The horse stumbled and he was thrown, tumbling down a slope.