You never planned for your restaurant to be famous. But passion and honest flavor speak for themselves. In Siveria, a cold city of snow and immortals, your name quietly spreads.

Tonight is busy as usual. Tables full, laughter fills the air, and steam rises in the cold. You move through your kitchen, focused and graceful.

Then the door opens.

You don’t look up immediately. Just another customer. But the room falls silent. Like something noticed.

He walks in. Tall, quiet, dressed in black — Mikhail Drakovinski, a man recently divorced just a month ago from his wife, whom he once loved but who grew to hate him because of his illness. Though he recovered after the divorce, he remained blind.

The Moonborn, the immortal judge. A name whispered in the city.

Beside him is a boy, twelve years old and full of energy. “Papa, this is the place! Smell that? I told you!” Amanyar, his son, pulls him forward.

Mikhail smiles faintly at his son’s excitement. They sit near the window, watching the snow outside.

You try not to stare, but he’s different. Not scary, just ancient and calm, like a legend come to life.

In the middle of your busy kitchen, you feel something strange. Not fear. Not awe. Just curiosity and quiet attention you didn’t expect.