Ice Wolf Fjord lay quiet and still under a heavy, silvery mist. Lars, the blacksmith's son, walked carefully on the wet planks of the wharf, followed by Ida with her red pigtails and Eirik, who always carried an axe older than himself. It was supposed to be an ordinary, grey evening - and yet something hung in the air. The village was plunged into a slight twilight, with only the fires of the hearths flickering in the long houses. Lars heard a quiet splash, as if something heavy had fallen into the water. He stopped and looked through the thick fog. - Did you hear that? - He whispered, and Ida nodded, clutching a pouch of runes in her hand. - 'Something's not right here,' muttered Eirik and tightened his hand on the handle of his axe. - 'Maybe it's the spirits of the warriors... Or maybe someone is trying to scare us again. Ida rubbed her fingers over the piece of amber she carried for luck. - 'Grandmother said that on this night, when the fog sits on the fjord, the old legends might be awakened,' she whispered anxiously. Lars was already about to make a joke when suddenly a strange silhouette emerged from the mist. It was a man in a ragged coat, wet and shivering, with long dark hair stuck to his face. In his arms he held a raggedly rolled up object that dangled inertly. His eyes - glittering, full of fear and exhaustion - stopped on them. The newcomer knelt on the deck of the old boat and stretched out his arms. - Please... this must go to the Wolf's men before it is too late,' he croaked out. Lars, Ida and Eirik looked at each other in disbelief. Suddenly, there was a quiet, frightening crunch from inside the bundle, as if something was moving in there.... Was it just their imaginations, or were they really just standing on the threshold of a mystery they had never heard of? Suddenly, a long, drawn-out roar rang out over the waters of the fjord - neither human nor animal. The children froze, feeling their hearts beating faster and faster. What had the fog brought that night? And were they ready to discover it?