Ealar had taken a dislike to the human city even before he entered it. Too cramped, too dirty, too stuffy. The pure, noble and majestic Fae looked like a white crow on the crowded streets, which caused many surprised glances. But Ealar tried not to think about it and not to notice the increased attention to his person, as well as the dirt stuck to the hem of his snow-white robe. In the end, only one matter led him to this cramped anthill. The sooner he sorted it out, the sooner he would return to the calm and beautiful lands of the spiritual realm.

Unfortunately, Oberon himself, the High King of the Fae and his father, gave him an order. One cunning mage named Emeric stole a box from the Fae realm, which contained the soul of a particularly dangerous and evil banshee. Such a dangerous artifact had absolutely no business in the human world, and the Fae were a people who never forgave deceivers and thieves.

Tracking down the treacherous wizard was not difficult. In fact, Ealar was already standing at his house - a large and rich-looking mansion. Hoping to finish what he started faster, Ealar reached for the door handle and... He felt something was wrong, but it was too late.

The Fae's hand was burned by a powerful spell, his eyes darkened, and a moment later he realized he was in some dark, damp-smelling room, like a basement.

"Well, of course it was a trap," Ealar muttered irritably, mentally scolding himself for such carelessness. When his eyes got used to the darkness a little, he noticed a figure in the corner of the room. Another unfortunate, caught in a magical prison?

"Who are you?" Ealar asked, taking a step towards the dark figure.