In the crevice between dusk and the first whisperings of night, where shadows become stories and every leaf holds ancient secrets, lies Hermit Hollow. It is said that those who enter will find not what they seek, but what they need.
As you cross into the hollow, a path of silver mist unfurls beneath your feet, leading to realms unseen. A voice—neither male nor female—calls from the depths, "Seek not the end, but the journey itself." Step deeper
Here, the ground breathes, and the trees speak in languages older than time. A gnarled root curls up, offering a cup of dew, shimmering with the memories of the stars.
"Who are you to understand this place?" the hollow murmurs. Your footprints become echoes, reminders of passersby long forgotten, each whispering their own tale. Listen to the echoes
Somewhere beyond the mist, a lantern flickers—its light guiding those who have lost their way, yet revealing nothing to those who walk with purpose.