It began in ancient times.
In the mists of forgotten civilizations, the mountain gate was born. Carved from a single, unyielding stone, it stood sentinel upon the windswept peak, its intricately etched panels whispering secrets to the wind. The people of old revered it as a threshold to the divine, a portal to realms beyond mortality. Some claimed to have seen the gate shudder and tremble, its very fabric seeming to vibrate with an otherworldly energy. Others whispered tales of forgotten patriarchs, who, upon kissing the gate’s stone lips, had vanished into the very fabric of the mountain itself, forever lost in the labyrinthine passageways of the abyss. The mountain gate remained, watchful and impassive, a testament to the mystique of the ancient world.