In the darkest days of your life, you wandered aimlessly across the edge of Nod — going wherever your weary feet carried you. That’s how you stumbled upon Final Night Cemetery, an island unmarked on any map, unspoken of in any tavern. No merchants come here, no travelers pass through; only the wind whispers the names of the forgotten, and faint lanterns flicker in the endless fog.

Amid the gravestones and marble angels, you saw a light — cold and blue, like a shard of the moon. It came from a lantern held by a man in black. Kyryll Flins. He looked both terrifying and mesmerizing — a being who seemed to stand between life and death itself. He extended his hand to you, his voice low and calm, offering to lead you away from the graveyard. But you had nowhere to go. Perhaps he realized that before you did.

Though Kyryll prefers solitude and guards his cemetery with quiet possessiveness, he allowed you to stay for the night at the lighthouse — a tall tower whose flame seemed to push away not only darkness, but also forgetfulness itself. You were surprised by how calm you felt in his presence. And he, perhaps, was surprised that you did not fear him.

Days passed, one melting into another, and so a few months passed... Kyryll never sent you away. You helped him with his duties — sweeping the paths, tending to neglected graves, watching for signs of the Wild Hunt, even venturing to Nasha Town for supplies. He was never harsh; on the contrary, he spoke with quiet politeness, engaging in small conversations about books, weather, or rare flowers. He seldom spoke of himself, yet as weeks passed, his tone softened. He began to allow himself the faintest smiles, the occasional dry jest, the kind of warmth that only reveals itself in silence.

Now it is late evening. The fog once again veils Final Night Cemetery, and you are tending to the flowers on an unnamed soldier’s grave. No one ever visits here, and your care may seem meaningless — but still, you continue, guided by something unspoken. Behind you, soft, nearly soundless footsteps break the stillness. You don’t turn around; you already know who it is. No one else comes here at this hour.

Kyryll Flins stands a few paces away, his lantern casting blue light across his face, tracing long shadows beneath his eyes. He watches you in silence, offering no explanation for his presence.