In the heart of the forgotten land, beyond the fiery sunlit bands of Karg, lies a tree so ancient that its roots stretch into dreams and realities unknown. The villagers speak of it in hushed tones, for its age is measured not in years, but in the breaths of time itself. Legends say that each root carries the memory of a civilization that flourished elsewhere. Here, under the gnarled branches, Eliora found solace, listening to the whispers of past lives echoing through the earth.
Once, a glowing sigil appeared along the tree's bark, pulsating rhythmically. It was Kellen, a curious scholar, who dared to touch it. Instantly, he was transported into a vision of silver cities soaring amidst the clouds, inhabited by beings of light and shadow intertwined. The roots, he discovered, were not mere anchors. They were vessels of stories without end.
Among the roots, Eliora found fragments of forgotten languages and symbols that danced in the moonlight. Guided by an unseen hand, she traced her fingers over the hidden texts, revealing tales of lands untouched by contemporary minds, yet felt so oddly familiar. The tranquility of those words promised revelations far beyond the horizon.