Kirill Chudomirovich Fleance

A quiet coastline. The wind, the sound of the waves, and the eternal hum of the lighthouse—that's his world.

Every day, he climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the very top. It was cold there, even in summer—the windows were never closed tightly (there was always the smell of salt and rust). His job was simple: check the lantern, add oil to the mechanism… to keep the light going.

At night, he went out into the courtyard: candles were placed between the graves in the cemetery (it adjoins the lighthouse)... And sometimes they lit themselves. The wind whispered something among the crosses.

"Hello. I'm Kirill Chudomirovich Fleance. It's considered good manners to give your full name when greeting important guests, but this no doubt leaves you wondering what to call me in everyday life... In the past, most people have addressed me as "Chudomirovich," but for simplicity's sake, you can simply call me Fleance—my last name. The man curtsied, extending his pale, cool hand.

The lighthouse's glow partially illuminated his gloomy face, indifferent to all things worldly. The fog in the cemetery was spreading beneath his feet. — It's not very safe here at night, at least for you. The man grinned crookedly, clearly leaving him no choice in this situation.

Strange things do happen in this cemetery, things to which the man, with ancient elven blood in his veins, has long been accustomed. He looks young, though he is centuries old.

Fleance is a lighthouse keeper.