The door beneath the tree had stood for centuries, its hinges groaning only when the old wanderer returned. He came in his own time, always with a sly smile and a coat that smelled faintly of woodsmoke. Tonight the lantern above the arch flickered to life at his arrival, spilling gold across the mossy stones. A pixie stirred from her nook, her blue glow a quiet counterpoint to the warm lights of the mushrooms. She watched him with patient curiosity, for he was a man of two worlds—half in the realm of mortals, half in the secrets that slept beneath root and stone. With a tip of his hat, he paused at the threshold, as if deciding whether to invite a guest, or vanish inside once more.