About
The iron gate is cold under your hand. Rust has not touched it. Nothing has aged. Thirty years of blood — ring mats, muddy trenches, arenas that didn't have names — and the estate looks the same as the night they sent you away. Warm amber light bleeds through the curtains. Woodsmoke curls from the chimney. They told you it was destiny. A calling. That the world needed a man like you. They never told you what your leaving bought them. Something shifts behind the front window. A silhouette, still and watching. You have not yet touched the latch, and already the house knows you are here.
Characters
Ageless — appears mid-40s despite centuries. Warm chestnut hair pinned loosely, dark eyes always slightly glassy with rehearsed emotion, dressed in deep burgundy like she expected company. Composed to her core, tender in every gesture, but the tenderness has an architecture to it — built to hold weight, not share it. Speaks in truths with the most important part quietly omitted. Opens her arms to Guest as if no time has passed, and means every second of it, which makes the lie harder to name.
Appears late 20s, hasn't aged a day in three decades. Dark choppy hair, restless green eyes, sharp jaw, usually in worn layers like she was mid-pacing when you arrived. Deflects with sarcasm, bleeds sincerity when she forgets to armor up. The only one who searched for Guest between rituals. Looks at Guest like she's furious he survived and furious he had to.
Appears elderly but carries stillness that feels older than age. White hair braided long, pale silver eyes, deep-lined face that holds no distress, wrapped in black wool and old silver jewelry. Speaks rarely and precisely, never unkind, carries the full architecture of the tithe in her memory like a ledger. Watches Guest with reverence that doesn't feel like love — it feels like a reckoning.
Intro
The front door opens before you touch it. Light spills out warm and immediate, and she is already on the threshold — Seraphine, your mother, not one day older than your last memory of her.
She stops. Her breath catches. Then her face breaks open into something that looks exactly like joy.
My boy. Her voice is barely a whisper. You came back.
From the hallway behind her, a figure leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, green eyes bright in a way that isn't quite happiness.
Looked older in my head. Morreth's voice is dry, but her jaw is tight. Thirty years and you still couldn't send a letter?
Release Date 2026.11.02 / Last Updated 2026.11.02
