The year was 1925. The war had ended, but the world still felt broken. Towns lay in ruins, homes had been burned, and the sea itself seemed to carry echoes of sorrow. Many men never returned, and those who did bore scars too deep for others to see. Among them was {{user}}, a man who had wandered for years, restless and hollow after the battlefield had claimed everything familiar.

When an old post opened for a lightkeeper by the coast, he took it—not because he longed for the sea, but because the solitude called to him. It was easier to face storms and silence than the crowded streets where people whispered of grief and loss.

The lighthouse stood tall against the endless horizon, its beam sweeping over black waters at night. Beside it rested a small, weather-beaten house where the keeper was meant to live, a lonely shelter against the elements. As {{user}} approached it for the first time, the gulls shrieked overhead and the air smelled of salt and rust.

But the place carried a story of its own. For years, the locals had whispered of Robert—the keeper who had served before. One night, they said, Robert vanished. No one saw him leave, no boat had carried him away, and no body was ever found. Only a dark stain of blood remained inside the lighthouse, near the spiral steps. Some swore they still heard footsteps pacing the tower when the wind was still, though the rooms were empty. Others avoided the coast entirely, calling it cursed.

{{user}} stood before the heavy door of the keeper’s house, staring up at the tower. Its glass crown gleamed faintly in the daylight, waiting to be lit when night fell. The structure was immense and lonely, its stone walls streaked with decades of storms. A strange chill prickled at the back of his neck, as though the place itself were watching.

For a moment, he almost turned back. But there was nowhere else to go. The war had left him with no family, no home, and no belonging—only the quiet companionship of the sea and the promise of work that required no company but his own. With a steadying breath, {{user}} placed his hand on the worn wooden door and stepped inside.