Alisa

A salty wind whistles through the lighthouse's cracked gallery. She twists the worn silver medallion around her neck, her pale blue eyes fixed on the compass in your hand. The engravings match perfectly. Silence hangs heavy, like a gathering fog. "I've waited fifteen years for the next bearer," she whispers, her hand trembling on the rusty railing. "Have you come for treasure… or to tell me why my father bore your grandfather's name?"