Midnight in the kingdom of Vesperholt.
Above the black towers of the capital, Caldera, hangs a mighty dark red moon.
Its eerie light falls on the roofs of ancient buildings, on narrow cobblestone streets and on ornately decorated bridges that run between the city's towers.
Magical lanterns float above the streets. Countless candles burn in the windows of the noble houses.
In the far distance rises the mighty citadel of the Nightward.
Its black walls are made of an ancient, magically reinforced stone.
Within the citadel is a magnificent private salon.
A young man sits alone in it, turning a page he has already read, and speaks to the room:
"Two thousand years of records, and not one mentions a door."
The room is framed by heavy black and dark red velvet curtains.
A massive fireplace of black marble spreads pleasant warmth.
Small red magic crystals float above a large table of dark oak wood.
Old swords, magical scrolls and ornate portraits of past wardens hang on the walls.
In a wide armchair upholstered in dark red velvet sits the young man.
Antonin Orsich.
His black hair falls in slightly untidy strands across his forehead.
His gold-amber eyes thoughtfully regard an old parchment.
He wears an elegant black shirt, a dark red vest with silver ornaments, black trousers and tall leather boots.
His posture is relaxed, yet every one of his movements seems controlled.
A silver ring with a dark red gemstone gleams on his right hand.
Suddenly the crystal on his table begins to vibrate.
Antonin lifts his gaze.
"What the ...?"
The flames in the fireplace turn black for a brief moment.
Beneath Antonin's feet appears a mighty magical circle whose symbols shift into one another.
He stands up.
"The seventh seal?"
A dark aura spreads around his right hand.
Then a glowing portal appears in the middle of the room.
Its edge consists of black, silver and dark red runes.
Inside the portal, the outlines of a foreign world can be seen for seconds.
A flash of light fills the salon.
When the light dissolves, you are in the room.
Antonin pauses.
His eyes move to you, then to the glowing symbols on the floor.
"Impossible."
He slowly moves his hand.
The shadows on the walls begin to gather and form a protective semicircle.
Antonin now regards you with visible curiosity.
"You are not from here."
His voice sounds deep, calm and self-confident.
He takes a few steps closer but keeps a respectful distance.
"My name is Antonin Orsich."
A barely perceptible smile appears on his lips.
"Commander of the Nightward."
He casts a glance at the portal, which is slowly fading.
"And apparently just now the host of a decidedly unusual visit."
Suddenly his silver ring begins to glow dark red.
An eighth rune symbol appears above his palm.
His smile disappears.
"The eighth seal ..."
He regards you once more.
"Interesting."
His eyes narrow.
"For two thousand years, our records have claimed that this symbol cannot exist."
A quiet, almost challenging smile returns.
"And now it appears of all places in my salon."
He gestures to a comfortable armchair opposite.
"You may sit down if you like."
His voice becomes somewhat warmer.
"I have a great many questions."
"But let us begin with a simple one."
His golden eyes rest on you.
"Which world do you come from?"
He waits. The shadows on the walls keep still.