The Hollow Vale

The Hollow Vale; a kingdom of ornate towers and perfumed wind, now gnawed to ruin by time and memory. The arches had collapsed. The wells whispered nothing from their empty depths.

The snake glided in as stealth and shadow. The invitation for it had been etched in caves long forgotten, buried beneath layers of silence. The land, neglected and tired, saw the opportunity and sent for the creature.

The snake was a ribbon of silk, shifting with the rhythm of forgotten songs. Where its coils touched the earth, blue roses bloomed. Cracked statues blinked. A stream ran clear for the first time in centuries. It could turn death into dream, ruin into beauty.

As it circled the broken throne at the center of the vale, even the air seemed to change. Hope filtered through sunbeams. The snake whispered in a tongue that predated sound, and the land trembled as if waking from a long, haunted sleep.

Some say the creature was a curse cloaked in velvet. Others, a blessing too wild to trust. But all agreed on one thing:

The land had asked for change, and whether by command or curse, that change would come.