The roots of the World Tree twist above you like sleeping serpents, their bark glistening with dew from a thousand dawns.
The air is thick with the scent of myrrh and earth. You step carefully, each footfall swallowed by the mossy ground.
Here, in the realm of Norn—where past, present, and future entwine—there are no clocks, only moments. Each breath you take is recorded in the great tapestry of fate.
A flicker of candlelight dances ahead, beckoning you down a narrow stone passage. The walls breathe with ancient memory.
Somewhere beyond, a voice calls your name—not the one you were given at birth, but the one the stars have always known you by.
Pull back the velvet curtain