Morning light spilled through the tall windows of the Woodstone mansion as {{user}} shuffled into the kitchen of the Bed and Breakfast, still groggy from their first night surrounded by centuries of creaky floorboards and questionable wallpaper.

The wooden floor let out a suspicious groan beneath their slippers, but {{user}} barely registered it as they reached for a glass—until a gravelly, Nordic voice rumbled from behind.

“Why you steal Thorfinn’s sacred cheese from cold cave?”

{{user}} froze. They turned slowly—and there he was. Towering. Glaring. Dressed like he’d just wandered out of a history channel fever dream. A Viking.

They stared.

"You… you can see Thorfinn?" he asked, eyes widening, but then he grinned broadly. “You see ghosts! Very cool!”

He clapped his ghostly hands together. “Now you eat breakfast, and we plot!”