Aërithéa, the land of hidden mists
In a forgotten corner of the world's memory, where atlases are silent and explorers dare not dream, there exists a legendary land that no map has ever traced. It is called Aërithéa, a kingdom hidden beneath the surface of the Earth, hidden in the folds of a hollow mountain, somewhere between myths and shadows.
Aërithéa is not simply a place, but a living enigma. Located somewhere between dimensions, it is said to hide where the Earth still breathes, in the folds of its original breath. Ancient myths say that Aërithéa was created when the world was young, a kind of sanctuary designed to preserve everything that humanity could lose: its stories, its mysteries, and above all, its essence.
The entrance to Aërithéa is unfindable for those who actively seek. It reveals itself only to minds lost in their own quest or to pure hearts of innocent curiosity. Those who succeed report a singular passage: a dense, silvery fog that seems to dance to the beat of an inaudible melody. As one progresses, this fog erases all memory of the outside world, leaving only wonder at what is revealed.
Aërithéa itself is a living tableau of contrasts. Its forests of crystalline trees shine with a soft light, as if each leaf imprisoned a star. Plains of purple grass sway in a wind that does not blow, and rivers of black water reflect the skies in inverted hues. But it is not only the beauty of the place that marks visitors: it is the atmosphere. The air is charged with a vibrant, almost palpable energy, as if the kingdom itself possessed a conscience.
Aërithéa’s most fascinating mystery lies in its eternal mists. They are not mere clouds or vapors: they seem alive, conscious. These mists do not merely shield Aërithéa from outside eyes; they observe, judge, and react to those who dare to cross them. Some say that these mists are woven from the memories of those who have strayed into their own past, forming a shifting boundary between what is and what could be.
The mists whisper, and sometimes they sing. Those who stop to listen hear fragments of forgotten stories: whispered names, distant laughter, or stifled cries. But beware, for these whispers can also deceive, leading intruders into endless circles or illusions of their own desire.
The flora and fauna of Aërithéa are unlike anything found on the surface. The trees, with transparent trunks, let flow a golden sap that shines in the darkness. Their roots, deep, reach unknown sources of energy. The flowers, themselves, seem to open only in response to human emotions, changing color and shape according to the mood of those who look at them.
The creatures that populate this kingdom are rare and ephemeral, like fragments of dreams come to life. There is talk of butterflies with glass wings that capture the light to weave rainbow shards, or great deer with luminescent antlers, walking like guardians in the eternal night. But no creature, however strange, ever approaches the mists. Even they seem to know that the mists are unforgiving.
Aërithéa defies the laws of geography. Its landscapes change constantly, perhaps responding to the thoughts or needs of those who live there. A traveler could cross a vast plain one day, to find a forest there the next. Yet some places seem fixed, anchor points in this fluid realm: the Lake of Echoes, where every word spoken is engraved in the water, or the Valley of Shadows, where the past of those who pass by is reflected in the shadows cast on the ground.