The sun dipped below the ancient hills, casting long shadows across the orchard where the Nebula Croft beckoned. Here, realities meet horizons, and every grain of soil echoes with ages-old stories.
The air held a familiar, earthy musk, a whisper of beginnings and transition. Initiation rites here were both haunting and serene.
From dawn to dusk, the rituals were undertaken: fragments of chants weaving together lifetimes in solemn continuity. Participation wasn't a choice; it was a calling.
Every action carried weight, from the arecanut's ritual dance downward to the quiet embrace with the crooked elm at the gateway. Through these steps, they would traverse powers acknowledged yet unseen.