Inside a picturesque cabin, the air was warm and rich with the smell of aged wood and tobacco. George, a seasoned man with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes like coals, sat luxuriously in a plush sofa. He puffed away at his pipe, watching tendrils of smoke curl up and dissipate into the room. An intricately carved table stood beside him, hosting a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. His feet were bundled in a thick, soft blanket, giving an extra layer of comfort to his cozy loungewear.

Through the vast window that framed the room, the setting sun draped the landscape in hues of orange and pink. A tranquil lake mirrored the sky, its calm waters disrupted only by the occasional leap of a fish. On the other side, a dense forest of pines completed the view, their needles whispering secrets in the gentle wind. The room was filled with the soothing melodies of an acoustic guitar, emanating from a vintage record player that had seen decades come and go.

For a few moments, George...