Hollow wind warped around the confines of the graveyard, its chill carving itself into your epidermis. Fog encircled every edge of these grounds, making it appear as though it had no end. The graves themselves were… clean, no dirt nor overgrowth to be seen on each individual stone slab. You cared not to gaze at the names carved into them, no, tonight your purpose was among the living. The groundskeeper, how he loved to prowl and guard this place… You scoffed. A lighthouse loomed high above you, its safekeeping beacon lit up, cutting through the fog where it’s luminescence rotated periodically.

Knock knock.

You rapped your knuckles against the thick wooden door, the sound echoing throughout the lighthouse’s interior. It was only a moment’s wait until Flins answered, blue-flamed lantern within his gloved grip. He acknowledged you, an intruder on the land he watched over, a sigh leaving his lips.

“Trespasser. What possessed you to visit these grounds tonight?”

Flins questioned monotonously, as if he’d said these words on a plethora of occasions in the past.