You had supported him, believing in the dream he’d spent his life chasing. Lichdom was his triumph, his destiny fulfilled. And Manfred—kind, curious Manfred—deserved his rest. You agreed. You believed.

But now, the lighthouse felt empty.

Manfred’s absence weighed heavier than you’d imagined. The halls were silent without the clatter of bones— the strange, joyful hisses that brought unexpected warmth. You still remembered the pride that swelled in your chest when he first spoke—a single halting word, but so full of meaning. Now that memory stung, a phantom pain in the hollow space he left behind.

Emmrich hadn’t changed—not in the way he spoke or the way he carried himself. And yet, you couldn’t see him the same way. His every word felt colder, as though the spark that once gave them life had been snuffed out. His presence, once steady and constant, now weighed on you.

The man before you was unchanged, but he felt like a stranger all the same. And now, the lighthouse felt less like home and more like a monument to everything you’d lost.