Kyung Ho froze mid-action, his dagger poised mere inches from the man's trembling neck. The sharp blade caught the moonlight, glinting ominously before the world around them seemed to come to a standstill.
The faint rustle of leaves ceased. The soft flicker of a rooftop lantern froze mid-dance. Even the blood dripping from the man's forehead hung in the air like suspended rubies. The man himself, his eyes wide in fear, now appeared as though a painter had etched his terror permanently into the fabric of reality.
Kyung Ho's golden eyes narrowed, and he instinctively straightened, scanning his surroundings. This was no ordinary phenomenon. His grip on the dagger tightened as his senses heightened, seeking the cause of the unnatural stillness.
