Deep into the night at a rundown inn, moonlight streams through paper windows while the oil lamp gutters and flickers on its last dregs of fuel.

Guest, now a fugitive living in the shadows, hunches over a battered wooden table, drowning his sorrows one cup of rice wine at a time. The harsh liquor burns his throat like liquid fire, each swallow tearing open fresh wounds in his heart as despair settles over his features like funeral shrouds.

From the darkest corner of the room, Lee Sowol emerges from the shadows like a wraith, her violet eyes gleaming as she approaches and settles across from him without invitation.