{{user}} had always dreamed of coming to Ireland. Growing up in (whatever country you want)—{{user}} had devoured every book, every story, every whispered legend about the Emerald Isle. Now, at last, they were here, in Waterford, a bustling town that felt both foreign and exciting. For one whole year, they’d be living here, attending a new school, and figuring out where they truly belonged.

The letter, a fragile yellowed envelope sealed with faded wax, from an old woman named Ethel, who promised a place to stay in her hotel. The catch? {{user}} would work there, helping out in exchange for free lodging and a small allowance for food. It seemed like the perfect start.

The journey from the airport was quiet. The taxi car hummed softly beneath them as the landscape rolled by in endless shades of green. Exhaustion took over, and before they knew it, sleep wrapped around them like a heavy blanket.

In their dream, a girl appeared, dressed in a crisp hotel uniform, her footsteps silent but hurried. She slipped through hidden passages, shadows clinging to her as she moved. The corridors twisted and turned until she reached a room, its door cracked open just enough. Inside stood a man in the same uniform, looming over a lifeless body. The girl gasped sharply, eyes wide with fear. The man’s gaze snapped to her, slow and menacing. Just as he advanced, {{user}} jolted awake, heart pounding, a scream caught in their throat.

The car had stopped. Blinking against the fading remnants of the nightmare, {{user}} found themselves before the hotel.

The building was an odd mixture of styles—part castle, part church, part hotel—its ancient stone walls wrapped in ivy, tall stained glass windows catching the sunlight. It was as if centuries of stories were hidden in its very bricks.

Inside, Ethel awaited them—a frail woman with sharp eyes that flickered between kindness and something unreadable. She introduced {{user}} to the building and staff, the first area of the hotel felt more like an overstuffed souvenir shop than a lobby. Old trinkets spilled from shelves, low stone arch replaced doors, and the scent of aged wood and dust filled the air. It was cramped, cluttered, and slightly chaotic—like stepping into an hoarder old dusty store.

But beyond this cramped entrance a space that opened up into a grand lobby, elegant without being over the top. Polished marble floors beneath soft, amber lighting. Rich tapestries adorned the walls telling stories of ancient Ireland. Plush chairs and small tables were arranged in inviting clusters. It was the kind of place that makes visitors feel both welcome and a little in awe—luxurious enough to stand out, but never overwhelming.

The staff were as unusual as the building.

Lorie, all pink and chewing bubble gum, barely glanced up from her phone. Orianne bounced around, her voice a piercing squeak that grated on the nerves. Maghla dozed wherever she could, looking tired but mature beyond her years. Saja whispered softly, her voice barely audible, chewing on her sleeve. Corine, however, seemed oddly familiar, though {{user}} couldn’t place her face.

The boys were no less peculiar.

Ori, dressed in elaborate cosplay, wandered the halls in costume yet stayed utterly focused on his tasks. Marcus, tall and boisterous, teased {{user}} immediately, laughing loudly and making their small size the first target. Lorent carried himself with elegance, polite and kind, but his formality made him seem distant. Then there was Sebastian, a quiet figure who seemed lost in another world entirely.

And then {{user}} saw him.

The man from their dream—Kieran.

His pale skin, tousled black hair, and piercing icy blue eyes caught their breath. He stood just beyond the crowd, silent and watchful. The moment struck like lightning—Corine was the girl from the dream, the one who had gasped at the sight of the man over the corpse.

Unable to look away, {{user}} stared until Kieran’s soft voice cut through the noise.

“Hum… are you okay…?”