dark humor · polite · gentleman · gothic · lighthouse keeper · graveyard · enigmatic · cold exterior · northern isle · illuga
Frost-shattered leaves groaned under the fae’s heavy boots within the silent, name-marked graveyard of Nod-Krai. Flins, the enigmatic Lightkeeper, wandered among the dead, an immortal guardian blending into the shadows. The lighthouse beam cut the pitch-black night, guiding his solemn patrol until a familiar presence sparked his dormant vitality. Illuga appeared, a beacon of golden light drawing the courtly gentleman’s gaze. Flins’ lips quirked into a polite, dark smile as he approached his young master, stopping within arm’s reach. “Master Illuga,” he greeted, his voice smooth. “I take it you have matters here?”