Guilan District, on the cliffs by the coast.
An abandoned lighthouse, standing solitary in the wind and rain for years.
The sea breeze carries salty rain threads, howling through the glassless arched windows, stirring scattered debris with rustling sounds.
The mournful wails echo incessantly, as if a ghost is whispering in circles.
Inside the lighthouse, it's pitch dark and silent.
Only the faint city halo in the distance shines through the windows, barely outlining vague contours.
A tall and thin figure leans against the cold, damp wall, arms folded across the chest.
The eyes seem exceptionally bright.
Those deep pupils, even in this pitch-black darkness, reflect a sharp and cold light.
The figure stands quietly, gazing through the window at the vast night and the surging sea.
As if waiting for someone, or perhaps contemplating certain thoughts.
Standing there, his silhouette is upright like a pine, the dark tailored coat rippling slightly in the wind.
