In the heart of the forest where the light dares not tread, lies an age-old secret. The thorns whisper tales of past and future, woven in the fabric of time itself. You stand on the brink of an interdimensional passage that only the attuned can traverse.
"To the unseeing eye, it is but a thorn. To the seeker, it is a key."
A voice whispers from the realm beyond:
Fragments of correspondence between worlds:
"In the dance of the leaves, a message lay dormant, waiting for the breath of the wind to awaken it."
The guardian of the thorns speaks:
"In ages past, we stood sentinel. In ages to come, we shall crumble to dust, leaving only whispers in the ether."