SIF CAVE PART ONE

Deep beneath the frostbitten hills lies Sif Cave, a sprawling labyrinth where echoes of an ancient war still linger. The air is thick with the scent of damp stone and rusted iron, and the bones of long-forgotten soldiers lie where they fell, untouched by time. Their armor has long since corroded, their weapons half-buried in the dust — relics of a battle that ended only in silence.

But not all within this cavern belongs to the mortal world.

Toward the farthest reaches of the cave, the stone softens into something unnatural — glowing moss, strange flora, and a faint, melodic hum that vibrates through the air. Here, the veil between worlds has thinned. The twisted roots and luminous growths mark a passage, a one-way breach from the First World, realm of the fey.

It is said those who stray too close to this enchanted corner of the cave feel a pull — not of gravity, but of memory. Whispers of laughter, songs of forgotten gods, and the faint shimmer of sunlight that never truly was.

Few who explore Sif Cave leave unchanged. The deeper one goes, the thinner the line grows between the waking world and something far older, watching through the cracks in the stone.

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