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It was a house built not of stone and mortar, but of memories and magic. The walls were thick bark, polished to a dull shine, and the roof was thatched with dried fern leaves that never seemed to rot. Elara stepped onto the moss-covered path, her heart fluttering like the glowing moths that danced around the lanterns hanging from the branches above.

An old man, skin as wrinkled as the tree itself, peered over his spectacles. He wasn't a giant, nor a gnome, but something in between—a Keeper. 00FE9511-78EA-49E4-A96C-66E53CACB38F.jpeg

"I didn't know I was invited," Elara whispered, clutching the silver key. It was a house built not of stone

As she reached the tiny circular door, it creaked open before she could even knock. Inside, the air smelled of cedar and old parchment. Books with spines made of dragon-scale lined the curved walls, and a teapot hummed a low, melodic tune on a stove carved from a single river stone. An old man, skin as wrinkled as the

Elara sat, the warmth of the cottage seeping into her bones. Outside, the world was vast and often cold, but here, held in the wooden embrace of the Great Oak, she finally felt the ground steady beneath her feet.