At the edge of every realm,
where the veil thins and the forest begins,
there stands a lodge of dark wood and warm firelight.
Travelers do not stumble upon it by accident.
They arrive when the world has worn them thin
and their spirit has wandered too long without a place to rest.
Inside, candles glow like soft stars.
A hearth crackles with the scent of ancient magic and cedar.
Chairs seem to shape themselves to weary bodies.
And stories — whispered, shared, or silently held —
hang in the air like runes waiting to be read.
Some say the Lodge chooses its guests.
Others say it simply calls to those who have carried too much for too long.
But all agree on this:
Once you enter its warm, firelit sanctuary,
you do not leave unchanged.