> "Oh, sweet eldritch child, you have no clue where you are,” - Adamastor

Nord stepped slowly into the room, the overpowering stench hitting her nostrils like a punch in the nose. A noxious cloud of decay and rot filled the air, invading her nostrils and threatening to overwhelm her senses.

She tucked her nose under the collar of her nightgown in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the smell, but it was no use. The odour was too strong, too intense, too all-encompassing. It was inescapable, undeniable, unignorable.

With suspicion, she moved closer, her eyes inevitably drawn to the figure on the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. An old woman lay there, her face sunken, her body withered and frail, her skin dry and cracked. Time had ravaged her, age had etched itself into her very being, and death had come to claim her at last.

The old woman appeared to be asleep, her expression peaceful, her demeanour calm and relaxed. Her white hair framed a face that seemed almost gentle in repose. She wore a nightgown very similar to Nord's.

Nord's gaze roamed the room. Everything was untouched, in perfect order. Clothing was meticulously arrayed, closet doors stood slightly ajar, and the furniture was free of dust. It was as if time itself had halted, preserving this room in a moment of stillness. Or someone kept the room clean and neat.

Everything was in place. Except for the body.

It was an anomaly, a contradiction, a paradox. It didn't belong, it didn't fit, it didn't make sense. It was a question, a riddle, a puzzle. How long had she died? The woman on the bed seemed old. It was as if she had been there for years.

How long ago had she died?

"I haven't managed to arrange a fitting funeral since the mortuary shuts during the night. I kept hoping someone would show up and I could beg a favour, and help me, but no soul appeared. Strange, really, as she was adored by everyone."

Nord peeked over her shoulder, watching the man from earlier casually propped against the doorframe.

"What's her name?" Nord asked.

"Rosemary. She ran this establishment," the stranger replied.

"Rosemary?" Nord echoed, the name ringing some distant bell in her mind.

"Morningstar, Rosemary Morningstar. That woman was a friend, the truest friend. She never turned away anyone who knocked at her door, any time, day or night," he declared, breaking into a chuckle, "damn it, she even helped me!"

"How long has she been... like this?"

"Ten years, more or less. Pretty sure she went peacefully in her sleep. After Frank's death, she wasn't herself. Mournful all the time; I reckon she was just biding her time to be with him," he mused, moving closer to the bed, "Such a gentle soul she was. Frank, that lucky Hobruin got a fine woman for life."

"A what?" Nord interjected, bewildered.

He gestured towards a wall adorned with various picture frames depicting a joyful couple. Photos from their wedding night, in front of a steam train, some with friends, others of the two of them alone. But one figure stood out the most prominently - a bear. A fully garbed bear stood beside a captivating fair woman with flowing blonde hair and the widest smile. A striking resemblance to Nord's sister, South.

"Frank was... a bear?"

"Hobruin."

"What?"

"I didn't ask your name, did I?" he interrupted, extending his hand, "Adamastor, by the way."

Hesitatingly, Nord shook his hand, "I'm Nord."

"Nord?"

"Nord Morningstar," she added.

At the sound of her name, Adamastor jerkily withdrew his hand, "You're a Morningstar?"

"Yeah..."

"You don't bear any resemblance to Rosie... not in the slightest!"

"I hear that often, but she shares a strong likeness with my younger sister, South," Nord explained, a bashful smile playing on her lips.

"So you're the next one in line?"

The question seemed to hover over her. "Next?"

"Everyone's aware that the Morningstar's are the wardens of the Hallow, aren't they?"

"Yeah, something along those lines," she mumbled, her eyes wandering over the picture frames. Images filled with curious characters caught her attention: people with cat ears, antlers, pointy ears, and more large bears, all immaculately dressed in blouses, blazers, and fedora hats, just like a steampunk Victorian era.

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She couldn't determine whether they were the product of Photoshop or some elaborate cosplay. Perhaps AI art? The imagery was so convincing, so authentic, yet it couldn't possibly be real. Could it?

Nord's focus snapped back to Adamastor. "Help you?"

"With the funeral! Now that you're here, I can head into town! We might even be able to reopen the inn store; it's been closed for over ten years."

"Thanks to me? What are you talking about? Am I supposed to stay here and make sure a corpse doesn't run off?" she inquired.

Seeing her puzzled expression, Adamastor suddenly understood Nord's confusion. "Where do you think you are, sweetheart?"

"States... somewhere in San Francisco, I think? I've never been here, so I have no clue."

"Ravendrift."

"Ravendrift? Which state is that?"

Adamastor face settled into a look of final realization. "You're right; I'll go to town myself. You stay here, take a bath, relax, and we'll figure things out from there."

"I don't have any clothes!"

"Kitchen. I stashed your suitcase there."

They both made their way to the kitchen, and Nord's impatience bubbled over as she approached her suitcase. But before she could open it, her attention was caught by her cat carrier, completely torn apart.

"Kirara?"

"Who?"

"My cat! My cat was in here. Where is she?" Her voice edged with panic. She peered inside the mangled carrier, then dropped to her knees to search under the counter for any sign of an orange tabby. "Please, please, where is she? Kirara! Kirara!" She cried out, hoping the little feline would emerge from some hidden corner. "Come to Mama, come on, come here!" Her voice broke into a desperate plea for her cherished pet.

"You brought a cat?"

"Yes, she is orange, with green amber eyes, she...she... has half of her lips black. She seems small for her age. She is ten. She... where is she? Did you see here?" She asked, standing up and piercing with despair into Adamastor's eyes. "Please, she is everything to me. She has been with me for so long. We..."

"Darling, I didn't see any cat, thank the Atua, or I might have sucked her up until her bone marrow."

"What?" Nord asked, disoriented. "How can you make a joke like that?"

"Oh, sweet eldritch child, you have no clue where you are or what I am. Look, she wasn't inside that... that..."

"Carrier?"

"Yes! She wasn't inside, so she probably escaped. She might be out in the woods, or perhaps..." Adamastor’s voice trailed off, and he visibly regretted his loose tongue. "What I mean is cats are smart. Sooner or later, she'll turn up."

Nord's attention shifted to her suitcase. The blue polyester fabric was still drenched, and she had little hope of finding any dry clothing inside. But when she opened the case, what she discovered was not at all what she had expected. The contents, or the lack thereof, left her stunned, a new mystery unravelling before her very eyes. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but comprehension remained elusive.

"What is this?" she mumbled, taking the first item out of the bag, her fingers tracing over the unusual contents.

"Those look like two fancy daggers," commented Adamastor, his tone matching Nord's puzzlement.

Indeed, where she had expected to find clothing, there were only sealed plastic bags, each containing an item that seemed entirely out of place. It was as if everything had been prepared with the foreknowledge that she would end up in water, all her belongings protected and preserved.

The daggers were just the beginning. Something was very wrong, and she couldn't shake the sense that she was being drawn into something much larger and more mysterious than she could have ever anticipated.

"This is not mine," Nord stated, her voice tinged with disbelief as she took the blades out of the plastic bag. The two daggers seemed identical, with short blades, sharply tapered points, a curving central spine, and two cutting edges sharpened the full length of the blade. An ellipse-shaped hole was in each, and one blade was marked with her name, "Morningstar," while the other bore the word "Berith." When she placed the two daggers together, she could read "Morningstar heart Berith."

"That is so cute," Adamastor commented, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

"I don't know any, Berith," she mumbled, her confusion deepening. The daggers, the words, the entire contents of her suitcase – none of it made sense. Who had prepared these things, and why? And what did it mean for her? The questions swirled in her mind.

She yanked her suitcase open and unearthed a notebook. Ripping it out of the plastic bag, she impatiently flipped through the pages adorned with pencil and pastel drawings. The motif remained consistent: a young man with unruly long hair tied back in a haphazard half ponytail.

"Are you sure?"

"This isn't right. I don't know this person. I didn't draw this!"

Adamastor’s finger pinpointed a tiny scrawl beneath the last stroke of the drawing, and he murmured, "N. Morningstar. Sounds like you."

"I didn't... I don't remember. And it's like the same guy on every single page," she muttered while skimming through each sheet. A peculiar detail caught her attention - the character's features. His eyes were completely shrouded in darkness, with a vacant white expanse in the centre in the shape of a flame.

"That's a demon," Adamastor stated matter-of-factly.

Nord brushed off his comment and shifted her focus to the other items laid out before her. Among them was a smaller plastic bag containing an object resembling a pen, yet thicker and devoid of a pointed tip.

Intrigued, her curiosity overcame caution, and she retrieved the object from the bag. Its central feature was a simple button, and driven by her curiosity, she pressed it. In an instant, the small tube extended, stretching about a meter from both ends. The sudden motion prompted Adamastor to swiftly lean back, narrowly avoiding the blade-like edge that emerged, a hair's breadth away from piercing his ribcage.

"Be careful!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with concern. "What are those things? Are you preparing for war?"

Nord pressed the button once more, and the metallic rod retracted to its original form with a decisive snap.

"I... I don't know..."

Inside the suitcase, her eyes fell upon the rest of the tantalizing array of tools that resonated with her everyday job. A wireless tattoo machine rested there, and beside it, a bag brimming with plastic vials of ink, a vibrant spectrum of colours - black, white, green, red, blue, purple, and yellow. These were familiar companions, yet her gaze lingered on the novelty of the machine. It looked brand new, never used.

Amidst this collection, a portable solar charger took the form of a foldable notebook. Then, a brick-like object, resembling a fall-proof mobile phone, stood nearby.

Nord's fingers tore through the plastic bag, revealing the treasure within. With a swift motion, the screen of the device flickered to life, illuminating her face. The message that materialized on the screen held an air of urgency - "Don't forget!" it declared, a cryptic directive that hung in the air like a whisper from the past. But what past?

Yet, the heart of this technological enigma proved to be as unconventional as the tools that surrounded it. The phone's operating system diverged starkly from the familiarity of Android or iOS. Instead, it bore the markings of a relic, a fragment of a bygone era - a Windows phone.

Nord's curiosity was now a blaze, "Don't forget what?"