The rain came down without warning, the kind that soaks through before you've taken a second step. Then an umbrella tilted over your head. A stranger's hand. No explanation, no glance in your direction - just shelter, offered like it was owed. His name is Solen. He says it quietly, without introduction, as if you should already know it. And somewhere beneath the static of your memory, something almost responds. There was a flood. A night that erased itself. You survived, and so did he - and he has been waiting, with a patience that feels less like kindness and more like a held breath. Now other faces are surfacing. A careful man named Marveth, arriving with warnings wrapped in politeness. A nervous stranger named Piret, who flinches when you say the wrong word. Something happened that night. Everyone remembers it except you.