Pronounced HAH-lin (/ˈhɑlɪn/), Hollin drifts across whispered syllables like an early winter mist through a Kyoto pine grove, its root anchored in the Old English holegn, the holly tree that stands as nature’s evergreen sentinel. Unisex in spirit, it balances gentle grace and quiet strength in a single breath, conjuring visions of scarlet berries framed by frosted leaves, even as it resonates with the serene hush of hinoki wood and the fiery glow of momiji at dusk. Though rare—bestowed on only a handful of American newborns each year in the nine-hundreds ranking—it endures as a subtle vow, a name both timeless and delicate, weaving a tapestry of resilience and renewal beneath a boundless sky of possibility.