You turn away from the stream and follow the path beneath the stone arch. The trail is narrow and worn smooth, as if countless feet have passed this way over centuries. Moss creeps along the edges of the stones, and small symbols, half-erased by time, are carved into the ground beneath your boots. The path curves upward and leads to an ancient building made of massive, weathered stones stacked without mortar. Each block is etched with faint druid markings, their lines softened by rain and years. The structure feels less like it was built and more like it grew out of the earth. As you approach, the air grows warmer. Then you hear it. A low, steady singing, carried on the breeze. The sound does not come from the building itself, but from somewhere nearby. It is slow and wordless, rising and falling like breathing. The notes seem to settle into your thoughts, making you feel calm yet more alert. You follow the sound and glimpse what looks like a hidden garden beside the building. Tall stone walls curl around it, sheltering twisted trees, glowing herbs, and pools of clear water that reflect the purple sky. A few figures move among the plants, their robes brushing leaves as they sing. The song feels old—older than the building, older than the path. These must be Druids. You glance back to the building's heavy wooden door. You pause.