A temple is more than a home of the gods. It’s a sanctuary for the soul. A place between worlds, where light and dark make peace and agree none will entirely rule the land. A dark violet forest, where human breath has no place, but solely mythical beings and bugs. Crawlers who dig their world in silence. In the core of this place, rises an enchanted tree. Its leaves glow mysteriously against the ancient, shadowy bark, while tiny fairies dwell between them. A transcendental throne, from which Boreas spreads his cheek-biting breath. Cold, stingy, and yet so alive. A paradox without resolution. It enters your ears and cracks your lips. It whistles stories of winter but graces you with lands of everlasting spring. There is no contradiction here, only pure harmony.