As the first morning light touched the skies of Thule and stretched across the Qings' land, brown leaves drifted from their empty farmhouse and flew in the air like untold memories.
At the front of the fourth floor's window, the scent of old books and lavender surged into Darian's nose as he leaned back and took a deep breath.
"Are these the recent records of the country?" he asked as he walked toward the shelf, then shifted his gaze to the left, where a large brown table was.
A metal creaking sound echoed as Hu Qing swung both himself and his chair as he shifted his gaze to Darian. "These are the ones that couldn't be transported to Seol-Mujin."
Darian threw a shocked glance at his father, then laughed. "So you still report to that ancient city?"
Hu Qing's still gaze remained on Darian for a moment before shifting to the open window. "Not only do we report to them, they decide who is to live and who should not."
