The knife made an ever so slight whistling sound as he turned it in his fingers, letting the blade roll across the back of his hand before he caught the hilt to pin it once more. It was a nervous habit that Sungjoo had developed in the last several years, something to occupy his hands as he stalked his targets while in wait for the actual killing.

Which was what he was doing then, his gaze locked on the temple of Siakera across the busy street. The marble arches caught the glint of the late afternoon sun, making the entire place seem to glow with a light that beckoned worshippers and petitioners alike to come stand in the goddess's sacred place. There was a mass of petitioners flocked outside of the closed doors, waiting for the priests to come and let them in so that they might make their cases to the goddess. It was in the evening hours, at vespers, that the goddesses of light gathered the most petitioners, all asking blessing upon their lives for the following day while offering thanks for the one just passing.

It was folly, all of it. These people were lining up to plead for some uncaring goddess to give them false hope, for some priest to prey off of their wishes and make themselves rich in the process. Sungjoo could taste the bitterness in his mouth as he watched the crowd churn, everyone jockeying for an advantageous position for when the doors opened. If they were such good people as they pretended to be, they would find the most needy among them and ensure that they went first, instead of fighting over their place in line.

A sting of pain ran through his hand and he looked down to find that he had, in his anger, clamped his fist down on the knife he'd been fiddling with. Two small cuts, across his palm and fingers, showed where the blade had dug into his skin in his thoughtless action. Muttering a curse to himself, he sheathed the knife back up his sleeve and wiped his bloodied palm on his brown trousers, and by the time he turned back to the crowd, the doors had opened.

The temple of Siakera was a place that he had never wanted to find himself in ever again, and yet as the crowd surged forward in their press for the goddess, Sungjoo reluctantly joined them. He let the hood of his cloak fall down around his shoulders, exposing his face to the world, but he knew that there would be no one there who could recognize him for what he was until the deed was done. In his sharp cheekbones and large eyes, there was nothing that said that he was marked by Kergisa. His shaggy brown hair and thin lips spoke not at all of the fact that he was a Hand of the Dark Goddess. To any onlooker, he was simply a slender young man of average height, yet another petitioner for the goddess of light. 

No one could ever suspect that he was there for an entirely different reason than the other petitioners.

His gaze locked onto the man standing at the doors, a soft smile on his oval face as he murmured quietly to those passing him. He was dressed in the simple grey tunic and trousers of an acolyte, but around his neck he wore a plain metal chain. Hanging from it was a pendant shaped in the form of the sun, marking him as a priest of Siakera. The single gemstone set into the center of the sun, catching the fading light and reflecting it brightly, told that he was the high priest of this temple.

Told that he was Sungjoo's target.

The assassin's hand twitched ever so slightly as he passed the man, his own anger and bitterness toward Siakera for letting his brother die making him want to kill the priest and be done with it. Kergisa had already told him when he must do it, though, and he must wait until her specified time. Until then, he needed to inspect the inside of the temple so as to get a clear route of escape once he killed the man.

The White Temple itself was huge, with Siakera being easily the most popular of the goddess that watched over the world. Sungjoo could still remember that time years ago when Seungyeon asked him why there were only female deit