Transcript
At the heart of the Lost Garden stand the sentinels of silence. Roots older than memory, crowns brushing the veil of sky. Their bark is etched with runes none can read in daylight. But in the hush of night, they begin to whisper. Some hear prophecy. Some hear madness. All hear truth they cannot ignore. Those who linger too long may forget their own name, trading it for the secrets the trees demand be kept.