For many cycles beneath the twin moons it endured, and the wanderer knew a contentment beyond the imaginings of mortal men. Hunger had fled him as though it had never been born, and sleep enfolded him with such divine perfection that neither the jeweled palaces of forgotten emperors nor the fabled gardens of celestial gods could have bestowed a richer blessing.

The hidden vale wherein he dwelt bore every sign of workmanship so ancient that no race now living could have claimed it. Some mighty people, whose very names had been consumed by the abyss of Time, had shaped this sanctuary before the first kingdoms of mankind had risen from barbarism. And though their bones had become one with the dust of forgotten ages, their beneficence lingered like an invisible enchantment among the emerald stones.

Each dawn descended not with the blare of trumpets nor the roar of beasts, but with a radiant stillness known only to those favored by the elder powers of creation. Pale shafts of golden light pierced the colossal cedars whose lofty crowns vanished into veils of silver mist, while mighty oaks, older perhaps than the birth of continents, stretched their gnarled limbs like vigilant guardians over the enchanted hollow.

Countless motes drifted lazily through the morning brilliance, resembling the luminous souls of an ancient race whose destiny had long ago departed from the worlds of flesh. Through the meadow wound a crystal stream of such immaculate purity that its waters seemed distilled from the very essence of forgotten stars, singing melodies unlike any fashioned by mortal lips. Each hour its music changed, weaving harmonies unknown to earthly ears, as though the brook itself possessed an immortal consciousness born when the planets were still molten fires adrift in the black seas of infinity.

Long since had the wanderer abandoned all reckoning of days. Time, that relentless tyrant who scourges kingdoms into dust and humbles the proudest conquerors, no longer exercised dominion over him.

The burdens that once bent his shoulders dissolved each morning with the rising vapors that floated above the sacred waters, vanishing as completely as dreams before the sunrise. Once had he pursued legends whispered by scarred adventurers in smoke-darkened halls.

He had sought cities carved from impossible cliffs, temples whose jeweled domes touched alien constellations, and relics of vanished civilizations whose forgotten sciences rivaled the miracles of the gods themselves. Yet now those ambitions appeared as empty shadows cast by lesser men, for he had discovered a realm greater than all empires, a kingdom not won through conquest, but revealed through perfect tranquility.

His resting place lay beneath the colossal branches of a mighty ash whose silver bark glimmered beneath the ghostly radiance of the moons, as though the tree had drunk deeply of celestial light since before the birth of mankind. Upon a couch woven from fragrant grasses and flowering reeds, he surrendered each night to a sleep unmarred by terror, ambition, or regret.

No monstrous dreams from forgotten worlds invaded his repose. No memories of blood-soaked battlefields or ruined civilizations haunted his spirit.

Each awakening found him renewed beyond all understanding, his limbs infused with the effortless strength of youth, his mind clear as the transparent atmosphere upon the highest peaks before the dawn winds stirred. Nor was he alone within that mysterious refuge, though no creature brought him fear.

White foxes of uncommon stature watched silently from fern-clad ridges with eyes of molten amber whose intelligence seemed scarcely less than human. Ravens of midnight plumage gathered among the towering branches overhead, yet never did one utter its harsh cry, as though each understood the sanctity of the vale and dared not profane its silence.

Graceful deer wandered close enough that he could hear the measured rhythm of their breathing before they slipped once more into the emerald labyrinth of the forest. Stranger still were the winged creatures glimpsed only at twilight, whose translucent pinions shimmered with every color known upon Earth, and many unknown, vanishing whenever he sought to approach them.

At length he perceived another wonder beyond all these marvels. Though fruits of dazzling hue hung heavy upon the branches and roots of curious fragrance thrust upward through the rich black Earth, he found himself in need of neither. He drank freely from the crystal brook, yet no hunger ever returned to trouble him.

Instead, an indescribable fullness sustained both body and spirit, as though unseen currents flowed continually from the living heart of the valley into his very soul. It seemed to him that the hidden sanctuary existed outside the common laws governing mortal existence, nourished by subtle energies known only to the forgotten architects who had fashioned it before history itself had awakened.

Yet destiny is patient, and even the greatest enchantments cannot forever shield a man from the summons of the unknown.

One evening, while crimson clouds gathered above the jagged western mountains and the heavens blazed with the fiery banners of departing day, a sound unlike any he had heard before drifted upon the cooling breeze. It was neither the cry of beast nor bird, neither the whisper of leaves nor the murmur of hidden waters.

From beyond the encircling peaks rolled the solemn voice of a mighty bronze bell. One deep note followed another, each vibration reverberating through the ancient forest until the very stones seemed to remember some forgotten oath sworn in the youth of worlds.

The wanderer rose swiftly, for never before had any voice intruded upon the inviolate peace of the hidden vale. Ascending the wooded slope that overlooked the sanctuary, he stood upon a granite ledge.

He gazed toward the dying light upon the western horizon, where shadow and flame embraced in solemn mystery. There, beyond the last ridge, the heavens shimmered with a pale emerald radiance unlike the light of any earthly sunset.

Vast shapes moved within that glow, colossal forms whose outlines defied reason, as though mighty cities drifted through the skies upon invisible currents, awaiting only the courage of one soul bold enough to seek them. Then understanding came upon him with the irresistible certainty of revelation.

The valley had never been merely a refuge. It had been a proving ground fashioned by an elder race whose wisdom surpassed the dreams of men.

It had waited through forgotten millennia for one worthy to choose freely between eternal repose beneath its enchanted boughs and the endless road leading toward wonders, perils, and immortal glory among worlds yet unconquered. With one lingering glance behind him, the wanderer smiled, not with sorrow, but with the fierce joy known only to those born for high adventure.

Then he turned toward the tolling bell and strode into the gathering twilight, carrying forever within his breast the sacred silence of the hidden vale, a treasure no monster, tyrant, nor alien empire could ever wrest from his soul.