Author's notes: I apologize for the long period of time between updates (which is especially strange considering this chapter has been in my hard drive for months now), I guess that time has a way of passing without me noticing.

Chapter 2

The sun had begun to set over the western sky as his blood crusted form stepped between the pillars leading into the dojo complex. The sword hung limp in his hands; the steel so utterly stained in blood that only trace remnants of its former luster could be seen reflecting off the fading sun. He walked with careful vigilance through the mostly empty streets, each highly exerted step threatening to give way under the weight of his body, and send his tired mass crumbling to the ground.

Children playing outside of their homes suddenly stopped to stare at him as he dragged himself forwards. Whether it was because of the mask of spilt human remains that coated the length of his body, or because of their own young age, the children could not recognize the one that they had all looked up to in admiration. Even his sword, a symbol of pride for all those that lived inside of the dojo, was indistinguishable from that of any other.

And then the stench struck them. The putrid, horrific smell of decaying flesh and human excrement that clung to his skin moved freely through the air, tainting their senses and sending them scurrying towards home, their hands clasped over their nostrils.

He slowly walked onto the softwood steps that lead into the main barracks and training room. He stood parallel to the door, and raised his hand to rap against the heavy oaken frame, and then, without striking, he withdrew his hand. For countless moments he stood in front of the entrance, moving neither to, nor from, but somewhere in between, trapped in indecision. Then, finally, he raised his arm again, and nudged open the door. As the hinges gently swayed, the framework let out an oppressive squeak that echoed through the dojo.

Soft footsteps rang out from the far corner of the temple, and the comely form of a young woman walked out from the adjacent room. An insipid gray dress hung over her shoulders and stretched down over her feet, covering her from the neck down. Her long brown hair fell over her face and upper body, the unfastened strands casting shadows over her eyes and cheeks, obscuring the image and making her seem homely, and frightful.

She stepped forwards, her eyes questioning, and shocked by the grotesque appearance of the man standing at her doorway. His face was utterly masked by caked sweat, blood and dirt. The edges around his eyes formed small pools of filth, and the eyes themselves had sunken into his skull from terror and exhaustion; seeing and yet not seeing; always starring into nothingness.

"Yunsung?" she whispered unsure of herself.

He moved towards her, and she retreated. He looked so much unlike the man that she remembered, and although she knew that it was in fact Yunsung, she could not find it in herself to embrace the recollection.

"Another glorious defeat for the Chosen," his tired, raspy voice echoed, as his feet began to give way underneath him, and he started to fall forwards. Without even knowing it herself, Mina raced towards him, and grasped his collapsing form in her arms. The crusted blood against his skin broke upon the slightest touch, and the hard red mass mixed with dried sweat, and reopened wounds, to flake, and slime against her neck and breast.

She slowly lowered him onto the ground, and gently released him from her embrace. His body rested against the hard floor of the dojo, and for a single instant he seemed to smile, before he drifted into sleep.

Mina stroked the edge of her finger along the line between the skin of his forehead, and his stiff, crusted hair. That was the only place it seemed, that the mask of blood had not encased.

Mina rose from her kneeling position beside Yunsung, and quickly walked out of the room. A few short moments later she returned with a pail of water hanging from her hand, and a heavy blanket suspended across her shoulder.

She walked towards him, and slowly, mechanically, began to remove his clothing. The mass of dismembered flesh and blood that had stained his uniform begun to cling to his body like a second skin, and she found that she had to apply great pressure to peel back the layers.

The heavy moisture of his clothing had left his skin saturated, pale, and wrinkled. Long streaks of filth had formed across his joints and abdomen, while a revolting yellow puss had begun to work its way into the many lacerations across his body. This was not the same Yunsung that she remembered. She could not bring herself to think of him as such.

She drenched the small rag in her hand into the pail, and then carefully ran the cloth across Yunsung's naked body. The filth slowly gave way in long wet streaks of bright red, brown, and black. With each stroke of her hand, the Yunsung she once knew began to come back to her.

By the time that she finished, the afternoon sun had completely set. She looked over his sleeping form in the candlelight, and for the first time, he truly looked like the Yunsung she remembered.

He had changed somewhat though. His muscles were larger now, and more pronounced. His thighs, calves, and triceps seemed to bulge beyond the confines of his bone structure. His wrists had gotten thicker, and even his breathing seemed to have gotten cleaner. And yet, she could somehow sense the tension that flowed through his nervous, strained sleep. Countless fighting had strengthened his body, but shattered his mind.

Yunsung was far too heavy for her to lift to a more appropriate sleeping place, so Mina simply lowered the blanket over his body, and let him rest where he lay. The ground about him was soaked with the bloodied water she had used to wash him, and everything was wet. The edges of the blanket she laid on him only moments before had begun to darken from the liquid, and she could see Yunsung shiver in his sleep.

A gentle rapping struck the door, and Mina shifted her head to watch as her father walked in from outside. Han Myong stood still as he looked onto the man resting against the floor. "I see that Yunsung has returned," he finally said.

"Yes," Mina answered in a low voice.

Han Myong slowly paced across the room towards his daughter. She sat with her legs curled on the floor beside Yunsung, and with her head lowered. He took careful notice of the way that her eyes refused to meet his, and this act of reverence and timidity startled him slightly. Such mannerisms were unlike her bold and aggressive nature.

"You love him don't you?"

Her father's words shot through her like an arrow, and yet she continued to sit unflinching. With her eyes forever locked on Yunsung's sleeping form, she responded with a tone somewhere between clandestine loneliness, and a sort of self-mockery. "What does it matter. He does not think of me as a real woman, only as a close childhood friend, or big sister."

"Perhaps it is that you allow him to think of you as such?" he responded, grasping at what wisdom he could muster.

"What are you trying to say?" Mina said through half gritted teeth, and with sharp, piercing intent.

"Only that a man expects women to act a certain way…"

"So you say that he can only love me if I am someone else," Mina interrupted.

"I meant nothing so harsh," he said. "It is just that you are strong willed. You are… far more like myself… than like your mother. I blame myself for that. When your mother passed away I was left with you, and with no knowledge of how to raise a daughter. I tried my best, but I guess it was beyond my control that you should act more like your raising, then like your fate-determined gender.

"I fear that even though they are not womanly qualities, I may have inadvertently taught you your pride, your hard will, your determination, and your strength. I should wonder if that has meant a harder destiny for you, being what you are.

"Yes, in many ways you are like a son, and yet, in other ways, you are very much a woman. Do not blame Yunsung for being confused."

Mina lowered her head again. The fire had died from her eyes, and she gazed with steady clarity towards the shadows Yunsung's body cast against the candlelight.

Han Myong's focus shifted to the blood-crusted sword that lay on the floor next to Yunsung, and he seemed to smile in a manner unwarranted of the situation. "White Storm has seen much bloodshed these past few months," he said. "It was never meant to be the tool of a massacre – and yet, there is no one more deserving of its strength than Yunsung."

"Time has fused them into one. White Storm, Yunsung, you cannot think of them separately," Mina responded.

"The truth remains that it does not belong to him. White Storm is a Seung family treasure…"

"You cannot mean that you wish to take it away from Yunsung," Mina spoke in resent.

Han Myong laughed slightly, as if something Mina had said amused him, and he couldn't help but let a wide grin spread across his face. "It is just that White Storm is only meant to be passed down through our family… now, if Yunsung were to become part of the family…"

"You cannot mean…"

The smile across Han Myong's face grew wider, and his eyes shone of love, as well as with devious, clever, pride.

Mina's eyes narrowed, and she stood up to gaze sternly at her father. "I don't want him to marry me for any reason other than his own love!" she said.

Han Myong's focus trailed off, and for a short while he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and ignorant of his daughters rage. Then he spoke, softer, and with more careful thought than was customary of him. "Have I ever told you of how I met your mother?" he asked.

Mina seemed startled by the question, and by the gentle character of his words, and she lowered her own aggression to match his gentle state. "Mother told me that you were close as children, and then when you met later in life you fell in love."

A smirk grew across Han Myong's lips, and he laughed out loud. "That is true – but it is not everything. I did know your mother when we were children, but I did not meet her again until after we were scheduled to be married. Our two families had been at each other's throats for years. As a gesture of peace, I was arranged to be married to your mother. As you can probably imagine, I was infuriated when I found out that such a decision had been made without my knowledge.

"The thing was though, that I was madly in love with another woman. She was witty, sharp tongued, sexy, and full of energy – all the things that your mother was not. I was so angry at my family that for three years after the marriage, I could only think about what I had lost, and about how much I hated and despised your mother," he laughed lightly, finding amusement in his own words. Then he seemed to become more solemn, and trail off into a separate line of though. "It saddens me sometime to think that because of my own youth and stupidity, I lost those three years.

"The point is that I grew to love her. Those little things that she did would absolutely enrage me at first, but eventually I saw them as something unique and characteristic of her. What you said before about Yunsung and White Storm is true for people as well. If you spend enough time together, you fuse to become like one. That is the truest form of love. I wouldn't give the few good years I had with your mother for anything."

Mina went silent, and for a short while seemed to struggle with herself. Her eyes trailed off into the darkness, and she began to move her mouth as if ready to speak, but then Yunsung's closed eyes twitched, and she stopped.

His eyes rolled from side to side underneath their closed lids, and he smiled of pleasant dreams. She couldn't help but smile as well, and his peaceful slumber inspired a quick response of her tongue. "Do what you have to," she said.

Han Myong grinned as he leaned over and picked the bloodied sword off the ground, then turned and left Mina standing over Yunsung.