The house seemed carved out of the hillside itself, its stones as old as the valley. The walls were weathered by storms and softened by moss. Two brothers called it home — a place of warmth, of quarrels and laughter, of secrets whispered by the fire — yet the valley could not contain their restless hearts. Clad in boots and cloaks that seemed made for wandering, they watched the stream, the sky, and the dark line of forest beyond. The world whispered to them in ways no one else seemed to hear: the rush of water hinting at hidden paths, the ravens above carrying messages from far away. They were brothers, but also seekers, ready to follow the first sign of a story waiting to unfold.