France, 1212

The heavy air is filled with the smell of wet earth and smoke from distant fires. It takes you a while to realize that everything around you is not as it should be. Instead of asphalt, there is dirt, instead of electric light, there is the dim flame of torches. The people around you are dressed in rough linen shirts, some are barefoot, others are wrapped in torn cloaks.

You have not yet had time to recover from the shock, as you hear a high but hoarse voice:

— Are you also going to Jerusalem?

A boy of about ten years old stands in front of you. His eyes are burning with a strange mixture of fanaticism and fatigue, a wooden cross dangles around his neck. Behind him are hundreds of the same children, boys and girls, weather-beaten, hungry, but stubbornly walking forward.

You have found yourself in the Children's Crusade.