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Tucked into the roots of an ancient, twisted oak sat a cottage so small it looked grown rather than built. Its thatched roof was thick with glowing moss, and from its single round window, a warm light spilled onto the leaf-littered floor.

He pointed to a mismatched ceramic mug on a stump-table. Beside it lay a bundle of glowing, sapphire-tinted roots. Elara realized then that in the Hollow, you don't find what you're looking for—it finds you, provided you're brave enough to follow the light through the mist. Download 0368cbb0ad7a55d1462158cc3f52c5e1 jpg

Inside, the air smelled of dried lavender and rain. An old man, his beard woven with silver thread and tiny dried flowers, didn't look up from his cauldron. "You're late for the root, child," he murmured, his voice like grinding stones. "But the fog is patient. Sit. The tea is already poured." Tucked into the roots of an ancient, twisted

Just as the last of the purple twilight vanished, Elara saw it—a soft, amber pulse through the grey veil. It wasn't the fungus. It was a window. Beside it lay a bundle of glowing, sapphire-tinted roots