They say the forest grows darker the closer one comes to the places where realms overlap—
but there is always a single light burning at the edge of that shadowed crossing.
It hangs from a crooked iron hook beside a wooden lodge
carved long ago by Dwarrowen hands.
Its glass is etched with a single rune:
a sigil of guidance and safe passage.
A promise.
No matter the hour,
the candle inside never burns down.
Its flame flickers warm and steady,
as though greeting each traveler by name.
Those who have wandered too far,
those who have carried too much,
those who have lost their way between worlds—
they follow that golden glow through the trees
and find themselves at the door of The Veilwalker’s Lodge.
Where the fire never dies,
the stories never end,
and every weary soul is welcome.