Nevade's Fairy Residence is not widely known among travelers and adventurers—only frequented by returning regulars and occasionally stumbled upon by strangers. Discussions sometimes pop up in the community but are quickly drowned in the sea of posts, disappearing without a trace.
The treehouses in the forest here always face a new day in the monotonous peace of routine. Whenever the morning dawn crosses the green vines, sauntering past the terrace, spilling its golden brilliance into the hall—
it often signifies the start of a new business day for the inn.
So each day passed over a century, with time etching marks on the inn's wooden railings until the new planks grew old, sprouting mushrooms and moss.
The elf Ariel, stepping on the creaky spiral stairs, arrived on the terrace, greeting the early-rising guests. He nodded in response to their greetings, moving behind the curved wooden bar, placing each tool in its handy position, arranging them meticulously.
