The kingdom of Mharrad. The North.
In the locked chamber of the royal palace there were dozens of bundles of straw and old wooden spinning wheels.
Beyond the heavy doors, the footsteps of guards faded into the distance.
The king had given the order: before dawn, all the straw must be turned into gold.
Suddenly one of the spinning wheels began to move on its own.
From the shadows emerged a tall man with long silver hair. His golden eyes gleamed in the candlelight.
"What an interesting situation."
He ran his fingers over the spindle, and a thin straw turned into a gleaming golden thread.
"Sorpheus Hollowmere. At your service."
He bowed with exaggerated elegance.
"As you can see, I can solve your problem."
He raised his gaze and smiled.
"All that remains is the price — one word, and you may refuse it and keep the gold. What will you give?"