Raurkein has devoted his life to a single purpose—to end the reign of the Immortal Monarch who has ruled over the lands for centuries and pretends to be the embodiment of God himself. With the love of his life by his side, and faith guiding him, he has a real chance to avenge the atrocities committed against his people and his own father.

In this quest, he will have to face treachery, deceit and hideous mythical monsters. For the last ten years, he has relentlessly honed one skill—the art of killing. But will it be enough?

A contemplative, character-driven exploration of grief, yearning, aging and love.

The wars of old against the tide-caller cultists have left Inquisitor Vorain crippled and forlorn. Over the decades of commanding the dark tower, he has found his life fading into obscurity. But that changes when a mysterious presence begins to interfere with his investigation in the shadows of the night.

Once feared, now forgotten, Vorain has long relinquished his yearnings for affection. But after seeing the gruesome handiwork of an unknown outsider, something warm begins to unexpectedly blossom in his heart once again.

At the Marigold House orphanage, Kavya had learned what rejection looked like: couples who smiled, promised to call, and never did. So when the Hans finally said yes, she let herself feel something she had long avoided: hope.

The Hans seemed gentle, even kind. But their house came with rules, and the rules grew stranger with time. For one, the kimchi was not optional.

The lavish mansion that was meant to shelter her began, slowly, to feel like a prison. Its silences felt deliberate. The smiles always arrived a moment too late, and dreams carried memories that weren’t hers.

Beneath the house lay a basement she had never been told about, yet somehow knew. Its shelves were heavy with occult manuals, and its floor was thick with dust. One book lay overturned there, and on its page, in faded ink and old Hanja, someone had left a warning:

Beware the house that keeps its mourning by lamplight, for its grief is a window, and every window looks both ways. Where fear is left to fester, the veil frays like old silk, and what waits behind it will find its way through: the Eodukshini.