This place is almost classically remote, only accessible via a small offroad vehicle or on foot. Everyone in town knows to turn their heads when families or groups of travelers, clothed in mist and otherworldly garb, slip between the trees in a local park. From there, the trail grows narrower and more absurd, and patches of random seasons appear during the hike. Children stuck on this trek catch snowflakes on their tongues or stomp in unexpected puddles, overjoyed at the absurdity of it all. Their parents stare ahead, often so accustomed to this journey that it no longer fazes them.
After what seems like forever, the trees-- now gathered in a crown far beyond their reach-- have a break in their endless wall. Those who know the landscape are relieved, for they know it's not just a clearing. Almost immediately, the travelers find cobblestone beneath their feet and breathe a sigh of relief. Their journey is almost over.
Someone usually stands near the edge of the pit, dressed like this weary band and smiling. Bells ring somewhere in the pit's mirage-like darkness, and everyone rejoices. Their friends are home; their families are home.
The children are so swept-up in the fanfare that they hardly notice their parents leading them down a new kind of path, a bridge stretching into that pit. Some clutch to the handrails or their mothers in fear, but the elevator doors at the end slide open, and fascination overtakes them once again as they see through its windows and into the city below.
With the barrier spells peeled-away, the first thing they see are the lanterns, floating glass globes that sparkle and bob through the air. A few of them even bump into the elevator as it descends, passing houses that now hold them in nets to their outside walls. Each home is itself a work of art, carved out of the sides of the pit and layered with patterned tiles. Tunnels lead deeper into that solid rock, lit up on the edges like movie-theater aisles.
A balcony connects those houses, and the people who see the elevator pass by them look up from what they're doing to wave. Children chase each other; people read, study, and cook. An old man weaves shawls that glisten with magic whenever he passes his hands over them.
Somewhere, hidden deep out of sight, a staircase leads to layers of houses deeper in the cavern, where translucent window boxes replace many of the lanterns. A school stands resolutely at this depth, with thick-paned windows plastered with children's drawings. More families live here, sharing spaces deep in the caverns with cousins, grandparents, and family of friendship rather than blood.
Near the bottom of the pit is a town square, lively and welcoming. The shopkeepers look up from their wares as the elevator stops beside them, and the doors slide open.
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