Each well carries its own legend and magic. Where will you cast your wish?
Sealed in ice that has never once cracked, no matter how many centuries pass. Wishes cast here move the way frost spreads across glass, slow and quiet, but they always arrive.
Its waters run warm from somewhere far below, the way roots find heat no sunlight reaches. A wish tossed into the Emberroot doesn't rise. It settles, and grows toward whatever it's becoming.
Said to fill each morning with the very first light to touch the earth, before it reaches anywhere else. A wish cast here begins the way everything does: new, and a little unsure of itself.
The water here moves outward and doesn't come back, the same way dusk never returns once it's passed. This is where a wish becomes less about wanting something and more about letting it go.
Less a well than a place where the sky comes close enough to touch. What you release here doesn't sink. It lifts, and keeps traveling long after you've stopped thinking about it.
The oldest of the six, sunk further down than anyone has measured. What's cast here isn't answered right away. It's kept, safe in the dark, until it's ready.
